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Big Mike
Trad climber
BC
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Thanks Roger and Em! I really love Kevins shot too!
Everyone else keep posting too! What a beautiful place!
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Spider Savage
Mountain climber
The shaggy fringe of Los Angeles
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Great photos Big Mike. You are a good photographer for sure.
Em, you too. Those flower shots were worth waiting for. ;-)
I did a scan through my roll again but they mostly kinda rot. Already posted the best.
Hey Mouse, PM me if you need a new computer. I've a couple to spare.
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Brokedownclimber
Trad climber
Douglas, WY
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I do believe it's time for a judicious "bump?"
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Looks like a great group of people in a spectacular setting.
but......
What's up with that????
Were there playpens of screaming children, as well, that you're not telling us about?
;-)
ps
Hardly Visible=Bob Weir lookalike
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Big Mike
Trad climber
BC
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Thanks Spider!
Lol. Very observant Jefe.
Boris was exempted because he:
A) Had an alternate site across the road. Wayno, Masha and i quite enjoyed having a place to retreat from sunny group camp during the day.
B) He's a big softie and could hardly move to harm a fly.. Lol
As for Kevin.. I was going to save this one for the tr.. But since you set it up so well....
Hardly Visible on Morning Glory Spire
Moose.. I'm getting there bud! Have fun in Poland!
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Fritz
Trad climber
Choss Creek, ID
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 2, 2014 - 08:30pm PT
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drljefe:
Indeed!
There were no play-pens of screaming children.
There were two very nice dogs that visited camp for party hours, but over-nighted in other camps.
We dined gracefully at about 8:00 PM every night and all agreed Chef Wayno did a wonderful job, along with his many "Worker-bee" helpers.
There were 3 very-amused and very-fun folks in their mid-20's that seemed to tolerate our geriatric regimen-------and even appeared to be having a very good time.
I think the next youngest camper was 55 and the ages ranged up to 74.
Sigh. I didn't see any rubber chickens.
We would all love to interact with more younger climbers, but the "no-dogs, no small children" rules remain in place for a likely 2015 COR-Fest.
Per several requests, including from Chef Wayno: camp & dining attendance will be 30 people maximum in 2015.
2015 is a long time away, and I'm still a risk-taker. Things could change.
Namaste
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JOEY.F
Gym climber
It's not rocket surgery
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Looks like a great time, cheers and thanks for the photos, a place to mark on the to do list...
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Big Mike
Trad climber
BC
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Lol... I wish i was still in my mid 20's.. I'm pretty sure Greg does too!! Lol
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Fritz
Trad climber
Choss Creek, ID
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 2, 2014 - 09:08pm PT
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Big Mike! You and Greg are in your mid-20's until you turn 30.
It is "looking-back" geriatric-math.
Had a great time getting to know you, Grippa, & Page. Maybe next year----you can even drag me up a 5.8-5.10a?
Your photos are wonderful! Thanks for taking the time to post them!
Namaste
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MisterE
climber
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Great pictures! I miss the City so much - it's been over 15 years since multiple annual visits from Washington. Cairo, on the right of one of Thin Slice is an amazing arete, as well as Bloody Fingers, COD, Rye Crisp, ad nauseum.
Thanks for the stoke, and I missed Wayno once again.
Someday...someday we will feast!
:>)
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Wayno
Big Wall climber
Seattle, WA
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Donini sighting tonight in Seattle. Some old guy showing slides and telling lies. Free beer. Fun times.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Free the beers!
Sorry I'm late.
Tough approaches suck.
You all have been patiently waiting for pix, but while cut off from the net I wrote this streaming consciousness Trip Report.
After the Rock City Blues
There is no beautiful internet. I have came home to my not-beautiful house. There, underground, flows a broken promise, a stream of unpaid bills. I have no cash to pay my bills, at least not until the new month; and so we’ll see how this plays out. ‘nuf said?? Bit more to add.
The RockCity is magnificent. You know that. I have never been so far to the east, nor but once have I traveled through portions of four states, though this time it was with a chauffeur.
He drives easy...
[Click to View YouTube Video]
I was a victim of Rock City Blues, almost. My friends kept my spirits up, though my body has failed me. I found I could not climb as I had wished, suffering want of breath after getting off the ground in decent form. Yes, it’s true: I FLAMED OUT! Having made the starting moves as stylish as I could (that is, seemingly with no effort) on two climbs, My Private Idaho and First Lead, both on a yo-yo, I had to admit that I am PAST IT, WASHED UP, FINITO, and REALLY GETTING OLD. This is a shock to any ancient teenager such as I.
But my companions seemed to think little of it. At least I had tried, not once, but twice, and they know they, too, will hit a wall sooner or later, as I did. I thank them for their beer and sympathy and belays most heartily.
It happens; Not to all, but to many of us. Eventually, one’s past “weaknesses” catch up to us and our bodies cannot perform. Even mundane things like eating and sleeping are affected and there is a spiral downwards, coinciding with the onset of aging, which ruins our expectations, causing The Blues.
I was a fairly heavy smoker beginning at eighteen. I have drunk my share of alcoholic beverages and more. There was the meth for a time. What did I expect, neglecting the warnings against such behavior?
Now that “I’ve got it figured out,” I find that I will not be moving anyplace near the city I just checked out, the City of Rocks. I’ll still be “from Merced,” as long as I live, but I think it’s best I stay living at this altitude, near-sea level, with its crappy air and its insane auto traffic and no Range Cattle, Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrels, colorful cactus flowers, and inviting spots in which to linger, enjoying the rest of my life.
But it was fine for a time to be in a place where it seems that you can reach up and touch the clouds.
Idaho is just too damned high for lungers who want to be active. Even Minden, NV, where I spent time with Andrcej at his home, is at an elevation (@ 4,700’) that precludes my living there. I had a great time and have pictures. What more do I need? Aside from more reliable income, that is...
I came to the decision that I will continue to participate in these get-togethers, as they are too good to miss, the friends I make are uniformly friendly and kind and generally appreciate my posts on the Taco, which is fulfilling.
And I am a good belayer. Ask Heidi, ask Moosedrool, ask BrokeDownClimber, and ask Mark Mason. I don’t mind looking up into the sun. I leave my pipe in the pack with the camera. On one thing only should a good belayer concentrate—the person on the end of the rope. Have belay device—will travel.
So this is what I got from this City of Rocks invite: I can’t climb any more myself, but I can help others have a good time.
As a last note on this subject, I would like to say to WAYNO, I know what you went through, bud, all week long. His gout and my heavy breathing kept us both on the ground, despite our wishes to the contrary.
“C’est la vie,” say the Old Folks, “for soon we’ll all be in hell.”
The Gaetano D’Aquino Moscato made the trip to California in great shape, whoever left it in my cooler.
There were a couple of passable bottles of white, as well, which I considered booty, but know came from Wayno. Moosedrunk insists on calling him Wino. Which brings up this question:
What is the difference twixt muscatel and moscato?—remember, I have no internet with the answer to everything.
Does the Idaho winery produce a variety called moscotel? Or is it moscotato?
Muscovites are said to be directly descended from Tatars,
But some are not descended from taters.
They are russet taters growing there, not red taters.
They happen to be Red Staters, not Blue.
--John C. Freedaho, the Bathfinder
“The Ten-Thousand Century Choss Report”
“There is more choss in this Western Panorama Country than there is in all your sage philosophy. For instance, if all the bigger chunks were broke down, Goshamiti knows how many little pieces of choss, all reposed at a certain angle, more or less, might result. Near as we can tell, the state of Nevada is just flattened-out choss, and lots of Utah is the same way. The true angle of repose for choss in both of those states seems to be zero.”
 Moosechoss & Mousechoss, “Choss-Sniffers Plus,” as seen on The Weather Channel
Cycles of dry and wet: we saw sheepish clouds coming homeward. A sea of them. I took zero pictures, having a dry camera battery...and it rained on us at City of Rocks. Fortunately, Moosebrew’s beer stash seemed bottomless, and the wine flowed like a river, so there was a consistent “wet pattern” throughout the week, affecting several other climbers, like Fritz and Em Knott. My greatest apologies to both, one more time. Boyishly, the old boy slinks away, humbled by their magnanimity. Thank you for the companionship and I am sold on Pomegranate Juice.
As a rule, Donini won’t drink before six p.m. Laudable. Exemplary, in fact. At the time of my party foul I had hardly finished my first beer (it was one of MooseBrew’s with a high alcohol percentage, though.)
This fopo took place shortly after my cursing Zeus for the rainstorm. We were gathered round the campstove while Wayno was preparing rue for the glop he was concocting. I just felt a bit put-upon by such a display of heaven-sent impediment to a good time that I yelled up at him some imprecation. Immediately the lid flew off of the pot of rue and landed on the ground, amazing all who saw this reply from Olympus. WHOA! Sorry, ThunderBoy!
I got the hot side of the car going home. The north side. * squint * “Port out, starboard home,” is what they used to say on passenger ships bound for the Orient. Which became the word, “posh.”
Plagues of cones. Orange cones on the highway. Surrounding us. Hounding us. Confounding us. Especially so around El Conevada.. And not one solitary Giant Orange along the route, but there never are any more. Viva La Sierra Naranjo!
And returning home over Carson Pass there were hundreds, yes, hundreds, of Lycra-clad bicyclers. Squads of them. Miles and miles of them, all on the right-hand side of the highway, heading uphill like a swarm of butterflies of all varieties, and all had helmet-heads with Oakleys for eyes.
“Lepedaloptera.”
It’s a wonder more riders aren’t squished on automobile grilles and windshields, as they sometimes have a silly tendency to ride side-by-side, not in single file s they ought. They seem to leave their brains in their cubicles on Friday, some of these pretties, thereby obviatin the need for helmets, if you ask me.
Moosedrool knows this road well, has it wired, in fact, and barely slows down for the bikes. Eff them, as long as WE were safe.
He said he’d already got his “bag” earlier this year, and had a freezer full of helmets.
He was joking. HA HA HA! There is no bag limit on pedalestrians!
I could walk up that hill faster than some of them seemed to be riding.
And I’m a very sick man...
And there was “The Hawk” on the return trip. Not the ill-starred, bitchy avatar, but the universal sound of the Sierras, 104.1 Mhz. ROCK & ROLL!
Moosecruel tells me how he loves The Blues, not the urban BB King stylists, but the John Lee Hooker down-home singers and callers. LIGHTNIN’ HOPKINS! TAJ MAHAL! NAVIN JOHNSON!
Pound that steering wheel, MooseBuhl!
And what have we here in the San Joaquin flats?
REAL bikers! Another joke! HAHAHAHA! No Lycra here, boys.
In asking you to build and decorate your houses more beautifully, I do not ask you to spend large sums, as art does not depend in the slightest degree upon extravagance or luxury, but rather, the procuring of articles which are beautiful and fitted to impart pleasure to the observer as they did to the maker.
In an age when science has undertaken to declaim against the soul and spiritual nature of man, and when commerce is ruining beautiful rivers, magnificent woodlands and the glorious skies in its greed for gain...the artist comes forward as a priest and prophet of nature to protest.
--Oscar Wilde, lecture on The House Beautiful, 1882 American tour
Philosopoopers like Donini will tell you that old climbing gear is not on HIS rack. He uses only the lightest and strongest and modern of equipment; and he can’t understand the fascination collecting old gear holds for others. The old gear which is avidly collected by others and left moldering in milk cartons in the garage by yet more climbers, is given away by him, or put to some other use than climbing. Donini sets no store by the past when it comes to equipment. And yet his ethics are unimpeachable and based on traditional values.
Jim was expounding on this topic at the campfire, which led to the discussion by some others of “Where have all the church-keys gone?“
“What’s a church-key?”
“I had a good collection of eight-track tapes going and then they started using cassettes.”
“What’s an eight-track?”
“Well, I drove a Pinto death-mobile during the gas crunch and I didn’t like it, let me tell you.”
“Gas crunch? Pinto? WTF?”
Things like that. So goes the campfire conversation, a blend of mostly gray hairs leavened by younger climbers.
BrokeDownClimber’s stories are AWESOME, to use the tritest word imaginable. I enjoyed the time spent with Rodger, at his age the eldest of all of those present. Donini was second-oldest, I was third-oldest. Listening to Rodger’s stories and discussing almost any topic with this gent was a highlight of my trip. He’s erudite, practical, and soulful. And he’s going to Italy again this year to climb. May you climb high, my friend!
We old guys need all the leavening we can get. It was with appreciation that I met some of these leavening agents and that we got on because we have the same basic appreciation for the outdoors and climbing and beer, which appreciation doesn’t seem to change, in general, from one generation to another. I like that consistency.
MooseJewel had this to say after he climbed several days in a row with Donini. “I’m always the old duffer on a climbing rope. This experience blew my mind.” Or words to similar effect. Moosie is only sixty, a “baby angle” on the ST rack, having only started climbing three years ago.
A salute to Willy Nelson, who can't wait to get on the road again.
This is a selection of prime Nevada choss photos taken as we sped unerringly to our destination. I admit it was tempting, but that's the nature of choss...it's all lies when you've done the approach. COR is just the opposite. It's honest granite, in plain view for all to see. No BS.
Enough desert for ya?
I'm going to go have brekkie and I'll be back soon's I've had some waffles.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Burned AND Toasted!
Oops! I forgot! That morning, Sunday, we stopped in Mound HOuse to see Max and Ron and Sally. That was Sunday.
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MH2
climber
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Oh, yes.
To ALL of that.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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What, no archival axle grease signatures?!?
Looks like a grand time was had by all with Wayno and Masha keeping everyone at Belay Weight! LOL
Where are the swimsuit shots from the hot pools...one of several aspects of the COR scene that just keep getting better. Swap your calluses for relaxation and the slow glow.
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Wayno
Big Wall climber
Seattle, WA
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Where are the swimsuit shots from the hot pools
I really wanted to to sit in the pools but the place didn't open until four. Being the camp cook, I didn't have time before dinner and after dinner there was too much wine flowing to allow a safe and legal drive to Almo. Another reason to make a return journey to the fabled City.
I have no cash to pay my bills,
Mouse. Brother. How can we help? What do you need? I don't have much but I can give a little. You are a light of many colors.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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We never stopped at Register Rock, Steve.
Showers are $4.24 at Tracy's in Almo, at the huge poplar tree. I don't know of any hot tubs except maybe at the Dude's mansion everyone was talking about.
And T Hocking, the hernia surgery is not even scheduled yet. No idea when, but maybe in August, if then. You missed this one, but you better make Facelift this fall, or the shit's comin' down, my buddy. Wish you could have gotten there. Say, "Lay hey there vie," ten times and then have a tonic. You'll love it if you can get to COR. Just our style, dude! And the shitters are not to be believed! They have HAND SANITIZER, even. (That's a good name for a new crack climb, I believe.)
On the second day there was Light and then Lightheartedness. And Kevin showed us the ropes on the place by taking us to Emery Pass and to Elephant Rock, where MooseCool got his first lead, but after some Connecticutians came off the route.
Elephant Rock, here comes MooseDoo and he's on a roll.I just finished the Cap from Conn. by C.S. Forster and we were driving MD's Forester. Weird? No, it's not. It's me. I bet Rodger's read it, too.I been tokin' on Mike's and Wayno's sh!t all week. Thanks, brothers!
Wayno, I am Mr. Month-to-Month and lately my funds are short because the payments on the car from my buddy Vern are short. Things will improve when his wife finds a job up in North Fork, near Bass Lake, or somewhere Toll Housey like that. The lucky sod moved to 2,800' where the air is sometimes breathable, though it's just upwind from Fresburg. But thanks, I will survive. You're a prince of a fellow to offer. And you don't serve up glop. :0)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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But you should see his brother!
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Fritz
Trad climber
Choss Creek, ID
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 3, 2014 - 11:56am PT
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Gneiss photos and commentary Mouse! Yere doing a granitic job!
Mouse climbing shot by Heidi!
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