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FRUMY
Trad climber
SHERMAN OAKS,CA
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May 11, 2013 - 03:53pm PT
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What ever happened to Charlie ? I have not seen him in a couple of decades.
Anyone have a picture of Karl with a K ?
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can't say
Social climber
Pasadena CA
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May 12, 2013 - 07:44am PT
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It's what drove me from Tahoe in 1980 Dr. F.
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FRUMY
Trad climber
SHERMAN OAKS,CA
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May 12, 2013 - 10:38am PT
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No that's not him.
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Bullwinkle
Boulder climber
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May 12, 2013 - 11:06am PT
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Sounds like him, as I've said an excellent artist.
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pyro
Big Wall climber
Calabasas
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Topic Author's Reply - May 12, 2013 - 11:29am PT
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was on the phone with banny the other day and asked about the hand. one of banny's first trips to stoney he met the hand!
Dr F looks like were getting closer to having a picture of the greg allen.
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pyro
Big Wall climber
Calabasas
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Topic Author's Reply - May 12, 2013 - 02:29pm PT
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WOW! now that is kool.
glad the climbing community got together on the taco.
we need Loomis to identify for sure cuzz i heard he and loomis were tight.
now we just need the hand to chime in.
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Bad Climber
climber
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May 12, 2013 - 02:55pm PT
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Yeah, Locker, that hand pic? Ooooooogy! Serious ANTI-chick magnet. Yikes. It's amazing the different forms the human body can take. That one is freaky, and I'll have nightmares for the rest of my life.
Thanks for that!
BAd
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climber bob
Social climber
maine
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May 12, 2013 - 03:23pm PT
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BINGO!
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dickcilley
Social climber
Wisteria Ln.
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May 14, 2013 - 07:11am PT
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What the Fish said about Karls art is verbatim what I tell everyone .I canīt understand why anyone would have anything bad to say about Karl.He had a mental disorder.The hand had a physical defect.Some people never growup.
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The Fist
Trad climber
reno,nv
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May 19, 2013 - 07:53pm PT
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This is some seriously funny sh#t, some of it is even true. Pyro: I knew "The Fish," but we didn't hang out together. Lots of duct tape? That's news to me. I'm Rick James, Bitch: As far as a fake accent goes I lived abroad for about six years, two in London and I think four in Sheffield where I lived with John Allen's brother Rob in a semi-detatched house on Chippinghouse Road. We lived next door to John (who was a pioneer of the 5.12 grade on gritstone back when 5.12 meant something,) Steve Bancroft, who was John's partner in crime and a pioneer of hard routes on grit and limestone, and handsome Nick Stokes who was a dead ringer for Max Headroom. I wasn't faking an accent I'm sorry to report. In the same way that a Glaswegian goes from indecipherable to Queen's English after a few years of immersion here in The States (and without the benefit of elocution lessons no less,) I picked up quite a lot of a guttural Yorks accent when I lived there, and it stuck for a time after my return. The only remnant of those days is that on occasion I'll still say "us" when referring to myself in the singular, as in: Can you spare us a bit of chalk?" instead of "Can I bum some chalk?" It just leaks out without any conscience effort to affect it. Believe me, even during my formative years I was perfectly aware that nothing came across worse than faking an accent in an effort to impress. During the coalescing punk rock years of '80-'82 in L.A. I'd run into to guys trying to get laid by doing that when they were talking to girls, and even if done seamlessly if you found out the guy had never stepped foot in the U.K. he immediately donned a crown that spelled "Idiot," in giant letters. After my repatriation around '87-'88 my sister used to give me sh#t delivered in highly nasal Val-speak: "Eh my Gawwwwd! What's up with the fake accent?" "Woot fake eccent?" would be my response. I couldn't hear it, believe it or nut. As far as "Talked sh#t all the time," I'll plead partially guilty. I was given to talking a lot, and thought I knew a lot like many immature people. I wouldn't call it "shit" per se, in that I didn't go around slandering people either behind their back or to their face. It was a bad enough charateristic that Mike Beck and Hans Luppiner and their crew (who I climbed with occasionally,) called me "The Doctor," because I thought I knew a lot of climbing information. It had occasional unforeseen bad consequences. I got hauled up "Poodles are People Too," by the talented Toivo Kodas, brother of bad-ass Vaino Kodas, and he walked up the route like it was nothing-- in EBs and without cams of any kind. I told Hans the route was a walk, and how could I know otherwise? I don't think I even managed all the moves. Hans went up on it and found God. Said I'd nearly killed him. I definitely felt awful about it and learned to be more circumspect when blabbing about routes I couldn't do. I knew Dave katz, who was better known as "The Inflatable Man," possibly in part because he'd been at the weight bench for years, absolutely because of the way he talked himself up. He had quite an ego for a middling 5.10 climber. I didn't hang out with him, never did a pitch together. Dave hung out with "The Tape Brothers," if I recall. They were two guys who came to J-Tree and climbed nothing but cracks with prefabricated duct tape gloves that were reusable. Swellymon: Thank you for the even-handed assessment of my deportment, and yeah growing up with a Congenital Lymphedema certainly did suck when I was young. Kids are a lot of fun and I got into a lot of fights (something I was never particularly good at or enjoyed,) because of it. I was at Alexander Hamilton High School in '78 which had a student body that was about 80% Black, and I remember being surrounded by a knot of fifteen to twenty kids all excitedly shouting "Check out Nigga's hand! Check out Nigga's hand!" and jumping up on each others shoulders to get a glimpse of "Nigga's hand!" It was awful no doubt and led to a lot of insecurity in my makeup and a definite sense of disadvantage along with an "It's me against the world," attitude when I was young. Dr. F: I didn't live on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe in '82, and I hadn't lived in England yet so hadn't had an opportunity to learn how to "fake" an accent. Maybe you're talking about later after in the decade after I returned, but I honestly can't remember anyone giving me sh#t-- at least not to my face. Places I lived on Tahoe's North Shore in '82 were at the late Dick Richardson's parent's home in Squaw Valley, in a tube tent behind Christy Hill Restaurant where I worked, also in Squaw Vally, a few nights at Greg Lilly's house in Alpine Meadows, and lastly with a guy who was a chef at Christy Hill named Kim and his fiancee in Dollar Hill (not certain if that's North or West Shore.) I also lived on the West Shore but that's a moot point here. Kalimon: Yeah, that would have been me. Pyro: Last name: Allen. Never did a pitch with The Fish. Well sh#t, Bob Parrot. Hello. Randisi: Yeah no accent because I hadn't lived abroad yet. I definitely had a grating character to some, I'm sure if I met myself as a youth now I'd find myself fairly obnoxious. You're correct in that my hand was a huge disadvantage in thin cracks. Kevin Thaw hauled me up Butterballs like a sack of dead fish. On the other hand I got locks in inch and a quarter cracks like Horseshoes and Hand Grenades (which I wasn't strong enough to do,) I could cup three-inch fist cracks like that of the "Midget Chimney" on Bridalveil East which I did with Rick Sylvester, and actually managed without falling possibly/probably do to my hand advantage. cant say: That's pretty funny, that is the shape of my hand balled into a fist. Twisted Crank: Do you mean genetically engineered? That's true I was made for the Dihedral because I nailed left-handed, though I'm mostly ambidextrous. I've got to return to the commission I'm working on, but hope I've cleared some of this up. I'll return and continue with this thread, and Pyro the story about Alan tackling Ben Yonan, head of Curry Security and future Federal Prison inmate is true, and one of the epic stories from my youth in The Valley. I'll tell you all the sordid details when I return.
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Kalimon
Social climber
Ridgway, CO
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May 19, 2013 - 07:59pm PT
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Thanks for posting Fistmon! Those were the best times in Camp 4 and the Valley and you were one of the colorful and sociable characters. I am glad I was fortunate enough to meet you.
Take care of yourself.
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The Fist
Trad climber
reno,nv
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May 19, 2013 - 08:04pm PT
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Aw f*#k, I didn't catch this at the start of the thread. Yeah that's me. I paint-- it's what I should have been doing all those years I was trying to climb. I have some funny stories I'll share at some point. That hand appears to be an Elephantiasis which is caused by a Filarial worm which enters the body via a mosquito vector. It settles in lymph tissue and this poor individual has had the worm settle in the lymph tissue located near his left armpit where it's blocking the flow of lymphatic fluid. My condition is a Congenital Lymphedema and is nothing like that in severity. There are far worse images online of Elephantiasis. Remember the Butthole Surfers album? Balls in a wheelbarrow. For a good time call...
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Watusi
Social climber
Newport, OR
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May 19, 2013 - 10:23pm PT
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Wow this thread brings back old memories...
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KP Ariza
climber
SCC
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May 19, 2013 - 11:46pm PT
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Yes it does MP. I used to buy gear from Greg Lilly at his home "mountain shop" in Alpine the very first year I started climbing. Haven't thought about that dude since. Super nice English guy. Wonder what's up with him these days.
Greg, I started climbing with Skippy and Urmas around '83. Skippy had some good things to say about you. That Squaw house had quite an approach up a flight of 60 stairs or so. Especially after a day of climbing and of course, burning the herbs. Skip was good folks.
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The Fist
Trad climber
reno,nv
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May 20, 2013 - 12:12am PT
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Some corrections on Paul "Zubie" Azubalis. I knew Zubie pretty well having lived with him briefly after living in "The House of God" on Tahoe's west shore ghetto Tahoma. The House of God btw was Carol Moyer (who sadly fell to her death on the Tangerine Trip in I believe '83,) housemother and girlfriend to fellow God-squad member John Allen (who helped pioneer 5.12 on gritstone,) Kiwi Jeff Shrimpton, Duncan (who I suspect is "London Climber" on this thread,) and Matt, neither of whose last names can I recall in my advanced years. All house denizens were fairly hard-core born again Christians except myself who had to repair to the porch in sub-freezing weather to smoke a joint. The Brits were all very nice blokes as it were, and Carol was a sweet person. By the way it was a two bedroom house with six of us in it, John and Carol in one room and Jeff, Duncan, and Matt in the other with me surfing downstairs, but I digress...
Zubie was no stoner or acid burnout, although I can't be certain his seemingly fractured character wasn't the result of having taken acid long before I met him in the Valley around '80. He never relayed any stories that would lead me to believe that was the case, and after all he had been an Eagle Scout of all things. He had a fairly wild way about him, a purely manic laugh that came seemingly out of nowhere, and he was horribly accident prone.
A partial list of his accidents were: Falling water skiing on Lake Tahoe, which resulted in a pinched nerve in an arm that rendered it useless for a year. Falling ice climbing and hitting the ground from 60 to 80 feet which knocked him out for six hours (this was before we met and I suspect inaugurated the spacey yet frenetic nature that was his character.) Worst of all: Riding his mountain bike down Highway 50 from Spooner Summit he came around a corner at a speed of around 50 mph (according to Zubie,) and he collided with a Carson City utility truck of some type that was parked in the middle of the road, The accident left him in a coma for six weeks, and after that his character became really fractured.
Zubie was a really nice guy that would give you the shirt off his back, and he always had beautiful girlfriends. When i returned from England around '88 I was at loose ends, and divided my time between speed fueled obsessive-compulsive sex and going to hardcore punk shows with my sixteen year-old girlfriend in Los Angeles, climbing in The Valley, and hanging out at Zubie's bicycle/climbing shop Spooner Mountain Sports in Carson City, Nevada. I also stayed with him and his gorgeous wife (whose name for the life of me escapes me,) on L Street in Virginia City. The one-dimensional podunk folks in Carson city were all sure Zubie was on drugs and I know for a fact he didn't even smoke weed.
Zubie eventually lost his shop due to non-existent bookkeeping practices, and the last time I saw him was around 2005 at the Zephyr Bar in Reno. I hate to say it but the knock-outs and coma had taken their toll and Zubie wasn't the same. He was there with his plain-looking, heavy set girlfriend, who seemed to double as his nurse. He was practically drooling is how I remember him the last time I ran into him, and it left me fairly depressed for a few days. If he's still around I hope he's okay because he was kind, generous, and would never hurt a fly.
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The Fist
Trad climber
reno,nv
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May 20, 2013 - 12:19am PT
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Greg Lilly went to prison for attacking another English guy whose name was I believe "Strappo," with a baseball bat as Strappo slept. He thought the guy was sleeping with his wife and he nearly beat him to death. Gnarly. I used to buy gear from him too, and he let me stay with him from time to time when I was homeless. I would never have guessed he had that sort of violence in him.
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KP Ariza
climber
SCC
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May 20, 2013 - 12:34am PT
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Damn, Lilly wasn't quite the docile flower he portrayed himself to be it turns out....
Edited: When I met Zube he certainly smoked alright. How could you not kickin' it with Skip? I don't mean that in a bad way. Dope was just a necessity on those climbing trips. Almost more so than food and water. Zube was along when we did a new route on Hammer Dome at Calaveras in '85 or so. Smoking is about all he/we did for two days straight on that trip. I remember that bellowing laugh he'd bust out with. Funny sh#t.
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The Fist
Trad climber
reno,nv
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May 20, 2013 - 12:35am PT
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I'd forgotten that you lived there too Craig, but I remember now that you've unlocked that door in my memory. I remember Andy ran a tow truck and waxed the ends of his mustache, and I remember one day I cashed my unemployment check in Tahoe City and went to use the pay phone at Safeway on the east end of town. When I took the quarter out of my pocket to make the call I unknowingly lifted a hundred dollar bill out too which fell to the ground unnoticed by me, but not by the guy waiting behind me to use the phone. I ran back three minutes later and the money and they guy were gone. That was my rent money which was due that day. I got home that early evening around six and told Andy what happened. he was already well sauced as he was most of the time if I recall, and thought I was lying to him. I wasn't, and as I protested my innocence he replied by punching me in the head a half-dozen times while I tried to block his punches with mixed results. I forget what happened after that but I believe I moved out within a few days as I had no recourse to get rent together again. Since that day I haven't lost more than a few dollars at any one time. I learned a hard, painful lesson care of Andy's fists.
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