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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 26, 2015 - 03:26pm PT
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,That is the lite bike for the job.^ ^ ^ ^
z I Mizzed IT! BUT just in Time I have come back thru time & edit. . .[Click to View YouTube Video]
really z I Love me some blues and say was that really necessary?
lok lok come and see itZ a gnome sighting!
wee
okay well I was much happier being Pappa Smurf ! the resemblance is disturbing.
Alass, if you had been watching my nemesis eses are apparently soon to grace the pages . . .
so oh well it has been fun as you z already "you know who you are" Me' d at least once if not twice?
yeah it is cool but I have kids going forward and they are the only priority,
so that if, as has been the case, a flare up goes off, then as much as it makes me sad,
I 'lol hello and goodbye!
The wasted left with swelled up elbow.
can you tell ?
That is more of me than ever..
otaa, Durty hair
?? What? there is a lot going on . . .
I blame three of these , Oblama & the Snow!
Everything is a blur, still, again . . .back to the user manual to change the default setting and the try again.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 27, 2015 - 04:10am PT
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FLIP FLOP
FOMO
WHAT DA
PHCK
Z
Out some
one else
please
NOT
ME
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 28, 2015 - 06:05am PT
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Hey burninin it down this eek of a time span has my head in a swrill.
In no order of any note By the nature that I was Given, I have had to look many things up.
Walter Trout, BHO,
Tennerite ,and pre 50's humor, has been the result.
big walloped
Tobia,!
thanx.
Do you know the phrase "hoisted by one's own pitard"
It describes my dilemma, I have never been shy and for the children's sake and because
it is the way to live, I keep to the truth and have just one persona, not two or three,
my son says Avatars, but that is to modern for me.
A very short cross check of the other site, with any action, and the inquiring mind can find my
identity,
Why Bother?
I Have kids, going forward I do not want to have my silly or seriously twisted up posts, ment to be funny, old school ?humor? -
to have any negative, repercussions.
That said I hope to return to active climbing this spring, I have sworn off the geezers revenge,
Ice climbing. The built up tolerances to the suffering gives us older guys the ability to say -
'this is nothing we climbed our own frozen tears back in the day'.
(it was quit the Ice, or go live under a rock She said)
Now as in like a pregnancy, at least in duration, if not in discomfort, I am about to give birth to the new climber in me.
This will be the helmet wearing, disgustingly OCD about REDUDANCY, and straight up safety,
type of climber that my kids need to learn from.
Much more in line with the noob like wobbler that I now look like.
ahh the sad fact that beer is bad for a climbers'
belly.
this has no place here but wrote easily to hoobie's selection thank you,
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujò de la Playa
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Jan 28, 2015 - 07:48am PT
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What you've all been waiting for: list of athletes with VO2 Max greater than 90.
97.5 Oskar Svendsen Cycling - Norway
96 Espen Harald Bjerke Norwegian cross country skier
96 Bjørn Dæhlie Norwegian cross country skier
93 Kurt Asle Arvesen Road Cycling - Norway
92.5 Greg LeMond cycling - US
92 Matt Carpenter runner - US
92 Tore Ruud Hofstad Norwegian cross country skier
91 Gunde Svan Swedish XC-skier
91 Harri Kirvesniem Finnish cross country skier
Not an African runner to be found. Is this due to a lack of machinery in the Thrid World. Are their lungs deflated like a Tom Brady football. Too much pinetar (it doesn't show up well on dark skin).
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Tobia
Social climber
Denial
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Jan 28, 2015 - 04:54pm PT
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zb, i would expect that it has something to do with availability to max V0² lab. The Swedish people wrote the book on exercise physiology. We followed their lead.
Certainly the long distance runners rank somewhere near the 90's.
But then again someone with a max V0² in between 60 & 70 combined with a higher percentage of slow twitch muscle fiber make champions. In udder words it can be mix of contributions to be the fast man or woman on the course.
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujò de la Playa
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Jan 28, 2015 - 05:22pm PT
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I'd agree that it's more a money issue than anything else. On the other hand, you'd think that with all the distance races that Africans win, some interested researcher would offer some of them a freebee just to see what their numbers look like.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 29, 2015 - 03:07pm PT
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[Click to View YouTube Video]
Our mfm wrote this and I moved it here with out asking ??
It is a COMMENT ON THE BOOK, that was in french.
here is the link
http://www.supertopo.com/climbers-forum/2311589/Large-climbing-book-collection-40-off
dIt may be a $1oo.oo misprint on that price for the Samivel. But not likely.
It's as old as I and in better shape, though.
I've lived this long without it, I'm gunna say "No, thanks, Harry. I still haven't finishe some of the last boxful."
Nice stash of books.
.
Sous l'oeil des choucas...ou les plaisirs de l'Alpinisme
Sous l'oeil des choucas … ou les plaisirs de l' Alpinisme. Eighty plates bv Samivel, with foreword by Guido Rey. 4 to. Paris : Delagrave, 1933. Price Fr. 25.
The pleasures of Alpinism depicted by Samivel, with a foreword by Guido Rey, makes a book that should not be read in hospital after an abdominal operation, unless the patient’s incision has been properly reenforced by pitons and crafty girdings of the rope. For side-splitting it is, and may this serve as due warning.
Two zones of elevation are recognized—the inferior, or that of the telescope; and the superior, that of the jack-daw—in each of which epochal events transpire; possibly, one should say, perspire.
From the lower zone no specimen of humanity is barred, for even a pathetic little old gentleman with an umbrella may gaze upon the Matterhorn. Picnic parties risk their lives for edelweiss, and aerial passengers of the téléférique thumb their noses at the burdened climber on so-called terra-firma below.
But, in the zone of the jack-daw, the cragsman is supreme. Free he is to ponder on the doubtful delights of moraines, and to contemplate in crowded huts the paradox of pressure increasing with elevation. The climbing technique exhibited is as fantastic as was ever condemned by the solons of an Alpine Club, but hazards appear which even gymnasts of the death-defying school have scarcely considered. Who, for instance, has previously recorded being caught on a glacier whose advance was equal to climber’s progress, trapping one on an icy treadmill ?
True, there are experiences which smack of reality and rouse poignant memories. There is the vertiginous peak on which those hairbreath pals, Samovar and Baculot, lose their way because a page of their guidebook is missing; and the slender spire with a sardine-tin poised upon the topmost block as they take the last step of a supposed first-ascent. It keeps one jittering.
Following all this, more intimate portraits present typical specimens of Alpine fauna—the “North-Face Alpinist,” with impressive, nay, monumental (they are proportionately the size of Grant’s tomb) climbing-irons; the “Alpinist Nearly-Exhausted,” who, for twenty years, has threatened to spend next season at the seashore ; the “Alpinist La-La-Itou,” who almost displaces the gravity centres of adjacent aiguilles by the resounding echoes; and, last but not least, that lightning type, never seen —known only by widely spaced tracks in the snow—the “Chronometrie Alpinist,” who receives no impressions save through his time-piece.
Finally, we are given a survey of Alpinism through the ages : from the glacial period to Noah and Ararat, with excerpts from mythology and the medieval, down to the romantic days when “sublime horrors” set the note. But Samivel crosses present time, with television offering a celebrated virtuoso interpreting the first movement of the fissure-in-Z, and explores realms of the future, with a single note of sadness : when all that is left of Alpinism is a row of lonely, deserted needles, with here and there a broken iron or a can protruding from the desolation.
A dangerous book for a dollar, my boys !
J. M. T.
This was just sittin' in the AAC file, don't know who JMT is.
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujò de la Playa
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Jan 30, 2015 - 06:30am PT
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Jack Palance, Nick Adams, James Dean, Sal Mineo, Natalie Wood, Elvis Presely -- that's an interesting group right there.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2015 - 04:34pm PT
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Ernst Barlach
Deploring the labeling of his works as “cultist” and “mystic” and the implication of critics that he was deliberately obscurist, he wrote:
“I desire nothing whatsoever but to be an artist pure and simple. It is my belief that that which cannot be expressed in words can be conveyed to others through Form. It satisfies both my personal desire and my creative urge to hover and to circle again and again over the problems of the meaning of Life and the grand mountain peaks in the realm of the spirit.”
Barlach was born in Wedel, Germany, in 1870. His father, a country doctor, took the boy on rounds, giving him an early introduction to sickness and death. The institutionalization of his mentally ill mother when Barlach was only thirteen and the death of his father the following year impoverished his family. Despite this, Barlach was able to complete high school and attend art school...where he studied sculpture and went on to achieve renown for his carvings, especially his heavy wood, “modern Gothic” figures..
During his lifetime Barlach’s best-known works were World War I memorials in Hamburg and Magdeburg and religious figures in Lubek’s church of Saint Katherine. His pieces were removed from museums and public places and his publications were banned after he spoke out against political and racial intolerance as Hitler was coming to power. Barlach died in 1938 in Gustrow, Germany. Today his sculptures, drawings, and prints are displayed in his studio/museum in Gustrow and at the Ernst Barlach House in Hamburg.
A leading playwright of the German Expressionist movement, Barlach was also lauded for his posthumously published unfinished novel, Der gestohlene Mond (The Stolen Moon), which has been compared with Franz Kafka’s The Castle and Robert Musil’s the Man Without Qualities.
I call this "Mrs. Brrmingham."
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2015 - 05:11pm PT
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The Dance of the Free and the Gnome of the Brave.Jack-daw singing Zippety-doo-dah..."Heal these broken wings and I will fly,
Weeping tears I've climbed in the sky,
Many years back in the days gone by.
Blue ice guy, you were only waiting
For this gully to come into blue condition.
Standard deviation for Cavers, VO-wise, zBrown?
Carlos C., flying free Meso-American hairways, applies just a little tab now and then, I've heard.
Speaking of ice and noted Alta Californio New Age Brujos,
OP/ED Page, south bay edition of The Torch, a Flames publication
Boo!
Pope Francis has determined that Junipero Serra is ripe for sainthood. Francis has gone over the line and this is not the beach softball game, either.
This is not a popular move here In Middle Earth, one of California’s most liberal areas. It’s well-known that Father Serra was put in charge of the missions north of Mexico City and that he established nine of the twenty-one missions in California, starting with Mission San Diego de Alcala in 1769. San Diego is the first European settlement in Alta California.
It’s also well-known that California native culture suffered terribly under the mission system. I won’t go into that, so go Google it. It’s too horrible to think of this early in the morning, or even late at night. I think of it whenever I pass a Taco Bell drive-thru.
The pope has decided that the Franciscan friar, who was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1988, meets saintly standards, that he is standing near the Almighty, and has His ear. Pray to him and he’ll relay your message to the Man. Jesus can’t handle all the traffic, so saints are useful, if you believe in them.
In the process of saint-making, the person whose life is being held under a microscope by church investigators is first given the status of being “venerable.” The Venerable Bede is the one ninety percent of us think of in connection with venerabilty, I’d be willing to bet. Brother Bede was Anglo, not Latino. He never made it past stage one and unless a miracle can be attributed to him, the case is closed on him.
But the Blessed Junipero is set to become Saint Junipero Serra in September and the pope is planning to be in Philadelphia anyway, and so he may well come to California for the bash, er, the sanctification. Knowing the Hispanic population will be enthused, I can’t wait for the results of Serra’s upgrade.
Will there be Junipero burritos and tacos? Will the Junipero taco be followed by the SuperJunipero? Will there be a rash of expletives entering the language, such as “Holy Junipero Dog, BratMan!”? Will we see the release of a movie on the life of Junipero? Will it be like KPAX, with the missionary man telling the locals that in the place from where he comes everyone is subservient to the wishes of one man who never is wrong on matters of faith and morals? Will the Halo Hat be the new craze? (I favor Serra’s straw hat, myself.) Will the tonsure make a comeback in barber shops around the country? Will the Franciscan cincture cord become the new accessory in boutiques from San Francisco to Carmel, where the man’s earthly remains lie?
God, let us hope not! It’s enough that there will be churches named for the man who crapped all over native California, isn’t it? We don’t have to go to church, but we do need that taco now and then from that damned bell-ringing fake Mex taco shop. I admit to a fondness for the venerable Enchirito, which is no longer offered, damn them! It’s mainly why I never go there to eat any longer. While I’m on my white horse, Taco Bell has some of the absolute worst ads (thereby becoming GOOD ads by sticking in the outraged viewer’s mind) ever shown on TV, in my opinion.
Someone give me an “Amen!”
Says here, too, that Father Serra never bothered to learn to surf, even though the beaches were wide open. When they say he was a man of vision, they lie.
I’d say “Vote NO” on the Serra initiative, but it’s not a political thing but a draconian move by the papacy. Religion, in spite of “free will,” is not geared that way. No one knows right from wrong better than the popes in Rome, or so the church asserts in the face of common sense and decency.
Genocidal practices are mortal sins, dude! What the hell are you thinking, Francis? Or are you just California dreaming?
As they say down at the Pump House, “So it goes, flow with it.”
Thump them with the Bibles,
Prod them with the swords.
Catholics or Muslims,
Give them God’s own words.
And maybe a read-through of Barb Tuchman's Bible and Sword.
Pope Francis, eh? Imitation has its limitations, I suppose. St. Francis is my kinda saint.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_of_Assisi
Now get up off your sore knees, children, and dance.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujò de la Playa
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Jan 30, 2015 - 05:33pm PT
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Though I always preferred the long version of Light My Fire, I prefer my Junipero (or should we say Juniperrito) in short installments.
I cannot recall what year it was that Fra Serra freed the slaves and Juaquin Murrieta, but it doesn't matter now does it? Dylan dug him, even wrote that song about him, "Sara" showing that even the Catholics and the Jews can get along if they just stay away from Gaza.
Bless me father Serra for I have sinned, but then again so have you.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2015 - 05:59pm PT
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BWA-HA-HA!
Pagans round the fire.That's one un-hip cat, man, like, you know?
Nice photos, Gnome.
Imustsay.
And the Old Camp4 Photo thread is in full bloom.
It's great to see there's a Gypsy still roaming in a sense, and some folks' bad weather leads to others' immense
JOY!
A Hammster and a rodent and a muskrat and a gnome and we gotta think about the badger.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2015 - 06:55pm PT
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JANET LEWIS
Yvor Winterswife
I
Some results of contemplation in the garden. One supposes the presence of gnome as spider hangs contemplating fly in its silken coffin--
The path
The Spider makes through the air,
Invisible,
Until the light touches it.
The path
The light takes through the air, invisible,
Until it finds the spider’s web.
Fossil, being wondering at, calls forth a description of great age--
In quiet dark transformed to stone,
Cell after cell to crystal grown,
The pattern stays, the substance gone....
Not quite so old, Tiny Anasazi Woman’s mummy greets her--
How, unconfused, she met the morning sun,
And the pure sky of night,
Knowing no land beyond the great horizons...
Old gods and new abound--
Men of Awatobi,
Killed by men of the Three Mesas,
By arrow, by fire,
Betrayed, trapped in their own kivas.
…
The men of the Three Mesas,
In terror for the peace of the great kachinas
who hold the world together,
Who hold creation in balance,
Took council, acted...
And wind cries “Janet”--
The sunlight pours unshaken through the wind...
II
Navajo thinks like Eskimo:
Singing in duet, water and snow demand their due vocabulary--
Tsaile, Chinle,
Water flowing in, flowing out.
Slow water caught in a pool,
Caught in a gourd;
Water upon the lips, in the throat:
Falling upon longhair
Loosened in ceremony:
Fringes of rain sweeping darkly
From the dark side of a cloud,
Riding the air in sunlight,
Issuing cold from a rock,
Transparent as air, or darkened
With earth, bloodstained, grief-heavy;
In a country of no dew, snow
Softly pile, or stinging
in bitter wind...
The earth and the sky were constant,
But water,
How could they name it with one name?
III
Quebec falls and Sun rises over British Empire--
That September day the English appeared so suddenly that they seemed to have dropped from the sky; appeared, and fired. A warm rain fell now and again upon the troops, and the smoke from the rifles [muskets in fact] lay in long, white streamers, dissipating slowly. The noise of the rifles, reflected from the running water and from the cliffs, was something like thunder, but the rain was too quiet. And running, for the French, had become almost more important than fighting.
“The head of Montcalm lay upon the breast of Ma-mongazid, the young Ojibway, the dark sorrowful face, with its war paint of vermillion and white, intent above the French face graying rapidly. Presently they took the Marquis to the hospital in St. Charles, where he died. Ma-mongazid with his warriors in thirty bark canoes returned to pointe Chegoimegon through the yellowing woods and increasing storms of autumn. The rule of the French was over, the province of Michilimackinac had become the Northwest Territory. The Ojibways called the English Saugaunosh, the Dropped-From-The-Clouds, and regretted the French."
Abraham cries out
Angel grabs the knife
Hands it to Yvor’s wife
Granting her long life
Amid a jungle of words
While roller skating the buffalo heard
She placed each just so
So snow and Navajo
Become friendly
With Eskimo and ice
Sun comes up
Water runs off
Makes canyons in the plains
IV
And along came McMurtree, a big fan of Sutree
Sacajawea/Janey/Mrs. Cherbono/The Squat/Myth-Woman/Pomp’s Mom
Speaking of whom...
Shaqua Jawea was a first string guard for the Mighty Mandans Female Lacrosse league team. She knew very little besides weaving in and out, everyday weaving, corn-pounding, skin dressing, tipi construction, cooking, plus she had experience at babysitting, having been with TaoSaint Cherbonno, rather a clown in buckskin, if you believe Clark and Lewis. She happened to be married to this man who was hired to guide the Corps of Discovery and was swept along upstream as they left for higher elevations in spring of 1805, using their boat--sometimes propelling it upstream with wind, dragging it along with ropes, and most other times using only their hands and their feet and long poles, all the time being told to put their backs into it as well.
Though her main usefulness was to be interpreting with the Indians, Saxawajea knew some of the route they needed to follow to get over the mountains. It turned out she was good for about enough “local knowledge” that it saw the corps through approximately two or three days worth of travel. That was a minor discovery of some moment. They had been conned by a young Indian’s trick. They were stuck with her and the baby, who grew to be a favorite of Clark. He was known as Little Pomp.
Gotta keep on polin’,
Keep that corps a-rollin’,
Up the Mighty Mo we will glide--
Through rain and snow and sagebrush,
We’re in no big old gold rush,
And let’s all keep this hush-hush,
Till we are by the oceanside.
Jaw hide!
Add to their burden the labor of collecting Indian dialects for President TJ, in addition to the facts-gathering, plus stepping carefully around Sioux feelings, and the sum of their efforts seems high. We’ve double-checked that with our patent-toed calculator, which only uses fingers and toes--and does so in base nineteen, so it’s a little skewed but still more than acceptable for gov’t work.
I’ll bet it got hectic, every sew often. The name of the plains warriors, the Teton Siow, gave William Clark fits, like the name of Chernobbo. He used an old Indian trick, one perfected by the Navaho and the Esquimaux, where he just spelt it like he felt it, like.
As in:
Soues, Sous, Sisouex, Soues, Seoues, Sciox, Sciouxm, Sioux, Seaux, Sieus, Scouix, Seauex, Seauix, Souix, Siaux, Sious, Sceoux, Sieuex, Sceaux, Shoe, Soux, & Souis.
“Sue me--I’m an American enjoying his right to do as he damn well pleases.”
These versions of the tribe’s name were all in the expedition’s journal, according to the eminently voluminous Mr. McShoetree. It seems all were in agreement on the word teton, though some may have used words like “boob,” etc.
“See that buck? His name’s Thunder Bubbies. And there’s old Two In The Hand.”
“Either of them related to Tipi Tops?”
“That boob Sioux? I hope not!”
V
Easterners adapt to the Mad Mad Wide Wide Wild World of the Wacky West.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
There is no mention in the journal or anywhere else in the literature of the Latin Indians. Nor one iota of the less-famous-by-far Greek Indians. The expectation was that they might run into a few wandering Creeks, but no mention of them, either.
And so it goes, moving west.
edit
Sacajawea, or Janey, was in fact a captive who had been shuffled from one group of Native american nomads to another and ended up with Charbo.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 31, 2015 - 01:23am PT
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For those suffering weather miseries.
Thawing Out the Pump
A young man realized that certain jobs were part of his work on the farm. He couldn’t expect to get out of turning the grindstone; in season he expected to weed the strawberries and thin the carrots. But on a winter’s morning when the red line in the thermometer was below the zero mark, he wished that thawing out the barnyard pump was not a regular chore. Sometimes, of course, the pump at the kitchen sink caught, but that pump was usually open to reason and quickly responded to a dipperful of hot water.
The barnyard pump was a stubborn affair although long experience had taught him the technique of thawing it out. No use trying to hurry things. Inanimate objects can display an unconscionable amount of patience-testing perversity.
Before a boy went out to help with the morning milking, he put two copper ketles over the front covers of the stove and stoked the firebox with oak and maple. After breakfast he took the boiling water and went to work. Too bad the man who wrote the ad in the catalogue didn’t have to thaw out what he called the “new pattern, close-top, antifreeze lift pump” himself.
One went at it carefully. Just a bit of the got water. Work the creaking handle up and down. A little more water. Work the handle steadily. Not too fast. More water. Still that raucous, hollow, gawking noise. More water. More handle pumping. Pour water with one hand; work the handle with the other. Second tea kettle almost gone. Would the water come? Suddenly a welcome sound. A deeper, purposeful gurgle. More hot water. The feel of weight as water started. Then one could relax. He could feel the water on the way up before the cold, crackling liquid splashed into the trough.
Thawing out the pump is still a morning chore on northland farms. A lad doesn’t pretend to understand atomic fission, but when the new power is under control, he hopes some of it will be hitched to pumps beside the farm watering troughs.
For those lucky enough to live in close proximity with nature in some of the older regions of the country.
Granite Steps
There is meaningful history in worn granite steps.
For two centuries and more they have served their purpose.
Some are the round, flat-topped granite stones at kitchen doors.
Others have lain, little used, before the front doors that lead to the small formal parlors
with their horsehair sofas and intricately carved whatnots.
Big granite rocks have served as stepping stones to the doorsills of ells and woodsheds.
One sees them slanting up to the big barn barn doorways and at the entrance to the tie-ups.
Many an old time barn had a stairway made of steps for the cows
to go up and down from the barn cellar.
Far back on abandoned country roads that wind along hillsides and dip into hollows
there are abandoned old cellar holes.
The granite steps that led into these homes of yesteryear are appealing reminder of the days
when children’s voices echoed over open fields—fields long since reclaimed by nature.
These granite steps are the natural stones left on the land or in it
by the slow-moving glaciers of long ago.
One can imagine the work involved in bringing them to places
where they would serve the needs of man:
a pioneer driving a yoke or two of oxen hitched to a stoneboat,
the farm boys, the huge chains, and the heavy crossbars to help in their removal.
When the clearings in the woodlands became fields and the log cabins had served their purpose,
a man built a frame house for his family.
Mothers and wives probably searched the fields and pastures in advance
for the flat-topped rocks that would serve as doorsteps.
The era of the natural stone steps, before man learned to split granite for his needs,
was an integral part of a new nation’s development.
Solid granite steps were part of the homes of long ago.
On many farms they still serve.
They have known the footsteps of past generations;
they will know the footsteps of generations yet to come.
All photos by Haydn S. Pearson from his book Countryman's Year, Whittlesey House, 1949.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 31, 2015 - 02:29am PT
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Try as I may z , then switcher Roo
[Click to View YouTube Video]
caught in factby the fact that no such sadness should be forgot the making of zaintz seems more like pointing out the frailty fail Éé ness of the church to it own flok.
That strident adoration to the tenants, of any one belief system over another , to the total demise of any other beliefs or culture surrounding those other beliefs is the standard by which the Abrhamic religious cultures mesure their success.. Total domination of or the assimilation of 100% of a indigenous population.
The real artifact would do, if the new holy man could best the world and live in the wilderness then God loved him for spreading the word, his life was validated by his drawing breath and the lord venerated by his pressing the flesh? ?
western wilds are haunted by the tens of thousands of souls that died at the hands of the white godly race?
Hey that is as cool as usual unless you knew that I climbed a bit with Kamps.!
He was very much a late 80's mentor , another pure ground up no preview climber.
Not at all anti bolt but highly anti easy out, slippery slope, issues guy.
Whanna bet? Patzs or Hawkzs ? I think it will be a fun game that is a kin to the end of the why holy why Roman Empire not Greek? so to speak
speak badly of religion at my own peril but I can. and do all the time, seems Mrs Oblahme, thinks it is the wiskey or with out the E
hell is I like to stay just off not on all the tome of golden bells , hear em
did it strike that heel first then knee elbow knee face hair covered in blood
line me up Scotty beam be to Christ I survived fourteen! and you too!
. . . . . . that saidness of the first, original true people has always been a thing that I wish more climbers would respect. as to the genocide in the name of the cross God.
I played with the raw deal that them 'Merican's got
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 31, 2015 - 03:14am PT
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Love for the Kampfire.
Love for camping in general.
Hold your tennis racquet with both hands on the backhand.
Hold the climbing rope with one hand.
Simple.
What if Bob Kamps had held climbing camps, mush as Robbins had his trips into the yonder mountains?
Bob was one of the greatest of 'Mericans at climbing rocks.
I think his contributions deserve much greater recognition than he has so far received.
http://www128.pair.com/r3d4k7/Bouldering_History3.0.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Kamps
http://climbrockclub.com/youth-programs/vacation-mini-camps/
the BE-ee coming attitudes are taught,along with the rules, of grammar,at this minique camp, much tenants elbowing as basic tenets are taught to likely gym ratz.
Remember, Gene Tenace of the World Champ Athletics. Now there was a belayer!
He was a hall of fame catcher in that respect, but his climbing career was kiboshed by Charlie Finley, who said he was risking the team's success. Good point.
He had a mean backhand as well as a deadly throw to second.
The Ace caught Vida Blue's no-hitter in 1970 against the Twins, 6-0, when Vida became the youngest pitcher since Paul Dean's no-hitter on the same date, Sept. 21, 1934.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
The role of the catcher in this no-hitter must have been that of the wily vet and the new kid, who never used a lick of VO, most likely.
Football is like religion, being played mainly on Sunday. Throw in golf, what the heck.
We like the Seahawks in straight sets.
Brady's footwork on the backhand has not suffered over the years, but his sideline game is hinky, and his lobs haven't been winners as much as in the past.
Over on the other bench, Wilson is half-black and is looking for a trip to meet the president. Brady's been there several times. Coach Carrol, too, as a collegiate national champ. Wilson's passing game is peakining. He has younger legs than Brady and is able to avoid the rush at the net by setting up faster.
I also keep getting over the computer's speakers, due to the adware virus, an audio, which repeats, "He's gonna go! Touchdown, Seattle!"
TOTALLY looks like the Super Bowl Loser, Ronster!
The Born Loser.ur not gonna die on my watch.--weedge
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Gypsy
Social climber
NC
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Jan 31, 2015 - 08:14am PT
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Gypsy has NOT left the building...
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 31, 2015 - 09:17am PT
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I awoke to sniffl out that I've got a cold boo hiss !
but returning with no time right now
Christ, Chuck - stop kicking and screaming me me and stop drinking.
I am all in for YA man so if you can get in to a program
or
button up and send the runout three weeks is bull,
you got princess eses to raise !!
lov YA though!
[Click to View YouTube Video]
I was always mad at bobby for being a dog , then at the telluride shows in '87 Phill and I said as much I hopez to ?? what , Phill thought to cut down on drama but really it was just watching was hard or made phill hard? any way latter it was pointed out to me that those that can do
Do do they do it for us who get very little to no groupie, so that the vicarious living is rewarded by hero worship , to which B Wier Has A weege like addiction to.
IAlways wil be mad at Phill for not being a better brothers keeper to Gerrball, who was much more pet like in his needs after the Coma. Not that any blame lies at anyone's feet, but captain Tripz, Gerry also could not stop and so his hart did
Rest is the l. . . .left is the legacy of the Greatful Dead.
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