You know, I can't think of the last time I heard somebody from outside Fresno say something good about my hometown. I’m not kidding, people really look down on Fresno. I’m not really sure why. I think its primarily based in ignorance. Sure, we have an alarmingly high crime rate, one of the greatest concentrations of meth labs in the world and a teenage pregnancy rate that is off the charts, but we have a lot goin' for us. We have amazing mexican food, wonderful sunsets and big mountains in our back yard. If you can look past the urban sprawl, the choking air quality, the lack of culture and the homicide, you might just find that Fresno is a great place to live or even visit. The aim of this trip report is to change a few minds. Rattle a few cages, turn some notions upside down. I'm tired of Bay Area punks and LA socialites turning up their noses or looking down on our little paradise. If you've ever shot down Hwy 99 and wondered aloud..."Who lives in this forsaken concrete pitstop of a town?" Well here's your answer. Micronut does. And he loves it. Hopefully this TR will show you why.

NOTE: This is a four day, real time, one weekend in the life of a Fresnan Trip Report.
(Four days, because in Fresno, our weekends are always four days, that's just how we roll.)

I would like to establish two themes in this Trip Report.
1. "Fresno folks have more fun." and
2. “Having a steady job and wife and children and a mortgage and responsibility do not mean that one’s climbing days are over.”

I'll do my best in the next few pages to defend these theses. I once wrote a real life thesis, but I’m not fully sure the plural of thesis is theses, or thesi, or thesum, but its fun to say “these theses” five times fast. Try it. At the end of the TR, you be the judge. So take your pre-conceived notion about us hicks from the armpit of California, and hold on to 'em for a bit. Let me show off my hood for a few minutes, and if you like what you see, stop in and join us sometime.......if you can keep up, that is.

THURSDAY MORNING 6:40am On the commute. Elevation 16 feet above sea level
Its gonna be a good day and a good weekend. I can just tell. I can pick out four summits I’ve stood on top of in this photo. The air is cold and clear. The gang bangers and drunk drivers and meth-heads we are known for in the Central Valley are still asleep. The morning belongs to commuters and with colors like these I’m glad to be one of them. It always warms my gut to catch a clear sunrise over God’s country before work.

THURSDAY MORNING 10:05 am Seven hours till quittin' time
Micronut sits at his desk, waiting for the next patient, wasting a few minutes on Supertopo. Vitaliy has just posted his proud winter TR of 3rd Pillar by Winter. The amazing Steve Bryne Wired Bliss thread is in full bloom. The Pullharder guys send Whitney in Winter in mere hours. Chris Mac posts another awesome gear review and I make sure not to click on the Philipino singles ad or buy a Family Disneyland.com Vacation…I have four kids and that is not a financial option at this point in my career. Angry men pound away on their keyboards over in the Republican's Are Wrong About Everything thread, slandering and spitting at eachother. They will solve the world’s problems today, and still be angry at men they have never or may never meet in person. A new comer to the forum is immediately laughed off the site by asking about the effectiveness of cordalettes and Micronut salivates over a photo of The Swiss Arete......wondering if he and Macronut could pull that thing off if this crazy winter weather stays stable.

10:17 am Get back to work Micronut. You got kids to feed and a mortgage to pay
you might note that Macronut, my loyal and ever stoked climbing partner, stands proud in two photos in this picture. The one on the left is in Jtree. The one on the monitor above the patient (I run a loop of alpine photography when x-rays aren’t in use) is him on top of The Leaning Tower of Pizza in The Alabama Hills. He’s doing a Karate kid stance on the top of the slender pinnacle. Exhibit a. Fresnan’s have more fun.

12:46 pm Lunchtime
Micronut fuels his machine. He will need strength, for this weekend will be a long one. His body is a temple, yet this day he defiles it with Taco Bell. There is nothing Mexican, or pizza-like in what he has just devoured along with three soft taco supremes, but if he could meet the man who invented the Mexican Pizza he would give him a hearty handshake and nod to genius. The food digests while he listens to an NPR analyst discuss the broken-ness of the American public school system. A small dollop of "Spicy" taco sauce adorns his scrub top lo the left of his right pectoral bulge. No problem, it looks like blood. Times up. Time to go give four more hours to the man. I'd love to skin out now and head up to Tollhouse for a mid day route on some choice granite, but i'm self employed, so stickin' it to the man is just plain old counter productive.

5:01 Quittin Time! Let the weekend begin.
On the commute, I’m behind this guy.


What do you mean big city dwellin, vegan eatin, “occupy” lovin, Ikea shopin Bay Area liberals think Fresno is full of redneck-Republicans? Some things will always be a mystery. Got Sig? (a Sig Sauer is a type of gun, for those who are not black powder inclined) I Heart Beer.…..he he….now I don’t care who ya are, that’s funny.

What’s even funnier….and I kid you not, I took both of these photos within a mile of eachother, is that I was behind this dude/gal…..not really sure…. only a couple months prior.
Our little honada here has an “Arms are for hugging” sticker. And somewhere nearby is a black Toyota with a Sig Sticker and a “Be Popular” patch. You can’t write this stuff! These two should hook up on a Supertaco Political Thread. They’d probably end up married.

I’m on a timeclock, so I peel off the freeway and take surface streets. It takes 11 minutes from work to home today. Man, this heavy Fresno traffic is a drag. I have to be showered and looking cool asap order to take my kid to a concert tonight. It’s the Newsboys, a bigtime Christian rock band. Who says Fresno has no night life?
It’s a big deal to her and we have a blast rocking out and worshiping together. Its very, very.........very loud. I won’t ever have full repair to my eardrums, and I’ll hear ringing noises for a month. But it’s worth every minute.

FRIDAY MORNING 6:09am Parking lot at Metalmark Climbing Gym




This morning, like many other Friday mornings will begin with two men getting strong. Wicked strong. Like Yosemite strong. Like Snake Dike and Royal Arches and Fairview Dome and Nutcracker and Eichorn and Cathedral and Tenaya Peak strong. Wait……all those routes routes are like 5.7 (ok, RR on Fairview is 5.9....that first pitch worked me). Why are we doing this again? I am an alpinist. I am superior to indoor climbers in every way. I climb with a pack. I climb cracks. I "approach". I stand on summits. I hate climbing gyms.
Ok. But I kinda like this climbing gym.
This gym has nice coffee.....Lisa, the friendly gal at the counter who always has a smile, makes it fresh every morning for us old fogies who do alpine starts here.

This is the first time I have ever really worked out in a climbing gym. This year will be the year we go big. We got plans you see. Big plans. Like super-secret, big mission in-over-our-heads alpine plans. Me and Macronut have been gittin’ after it together for a long time now. We boulder hard in the foothills when Fresno sleeps. We raid sleeping Sequoia domes by moonlight. We ski and climb and stand on summits as often as our wives let us, but we are workin’ Joes and we don’t have the time to become 5.12 climbers. We take our adventure where and when we can get it, and we make our adventure happen when it doesn’t come easy. We sometimes fail. We’ve been known to back off stuff. We are survivors. We come home late and we fight another day. This spring, when the snow melts, we will be ready for battle because of the hardening of our bodies in this plastic paradise we call a gym.

We are on the rowing machine before 6:12




You know you are there early when you are warming up to the sound of the vacuum.



We each go to work on our projects. Today, Bieber is going down. This little punk has shut me down before, but I’m gonna show him why the shelf life of a boy band is shorter than Davey Jones.

Macro chooses his project………Though we live near Clovis, Ca, arguably the trucknut capitol of the world, I’m not really comfortable with him climbing this thing…….

Now, there's something you should know about Macronut. He's strong yall. Strong like bull. He's been known to accidentally snap off door handles. He's your go-to guy for a stuck mayo jar lid. He works on car engines without tools, his fingers alone are as good as a crescent wrench and a socket set. Women no longer let him hold their babies.
He wanders the carpet, prowling....looking for his victim.. The next route that will fall prey to his steely grip.
So he moves six inches to the right and settles on this wicked little route.
It puts up little fight. It would be useless against his sendyness anyway.

He doesn't know it yet, but his training is almost complete. I have taught him all he knows and needs to know. He will be be ready when the snow melts. He will lead the hard pitches on Third Pillar of Dana. He will unknowingly cary the "heavy" pack when we approach The Fishook Arete. He will take the narrow, crumbling, downsloping outside edge of our inevitable epic forced bivy on Mt. Sill this Fall. He will not need, nor use mechanical advantage while hauling when we do Washington Column this Spring. The student has become the master.
(How many towns in america have so much stone within one tank of gas? Fresno's central location is one of its crowning achievements.)


I lower him.....and briefly scold him for almost spilling my coffee as he made the final moves to the top. His footwork had become a tad sloppy for an instant, and he lunged with herky-jerky swiftness over the last few holds. He is better than this. Fluidity and style matter in the gym. Our effortless appearance on the scantest of holds, honed from years of climbing the worlds most saought after trad routes is what separates us from the plastic masses. This brief lapse of style angers me.

He follows me quickly over to my route, seeking approval after his infraction. I will show him how its done.
I tie in with the stewardness and wisdom of a weathered alpine sage. Never trust your life to one piece of gear.
I will dispense of Bieber Pelt quickly, without a hint of pump or sweat on my brow......in my approach shoes. After the opening sequence, something feels off...my aura perhaps? Is that what they call it up in Berkley? Or my chee...yeah, that's it my chee...its all gummed up. Bieber Pelt's holds feel slick, I cannot see the way ahead, my arms begin to feel heavy. I detour over onto an adjacent route, not willing to give Bieber Pelt any of me this morning. Justin is a pimply faced one or two, maybe three hit wonder. And he has bad hair. His route is not worth my time.

I saunter three feet to my left. A cute little route called "Adventure Time .11a" looks like it should be fun.
Micronut: "This'll just take a sec man, then you can get on Trucknuts."
Macronut: "Whoa....Micro...lemme check that knot."
Macro: "Ok...mkaay....up, over, up through, alright...mkay,.....then down and around, then up, then through....ok..ok....check...chek......yeah. My bad, you're right, something just looked funny for a moment."
Micro: "No prob brah....it's my life on the line. I know you got me. We've always got eachother's six out there man. That's why we're still alive. We didn't get our official Touchstone Climbing Belay Cards by cuttin' corners now did we?"
"OnbelayBelayonclimbingclimbon" I say and I'm gone.
I drop knee four times in the first three moves. I match on an empty t-nut hole to add flair to the otherwise simple moves.
"This route is totally .10d plus man......no way its .11a-"
I yard over the pitiful little roof and fire into the meat of the route, a tilted headwall of technicolor holds awaits. At the halfway point, I stop to fiddle a #2offset Metolius mastercam into a bucket.
I feel a hint of a pump set in as I yank test the pro a couple times, finally getting two lobes to stick. I bust past my piece and aim for a sick little sloper at 22 feet. Two girls walk in the front door and to the warm up boulder. I rest there for a bit, and ask Macronut to hold on while I take off my shirt. Its getting hot up here.........I'm gonna put some Adventure back into Adventuretime. I motor up the headwall............and something goes wrong. My forearms begin to tingle, my heart-rate intensifies, blood pools in my retinas. I am instantly pumped. The route spits me off and I dangle, spinning mid air in my humiliation. Mystified. Beaten down like a dog in the streets. I hate gyms. Gyms are stupid. Gyms are not real climbing. They are for pasty, pale flatlanders who are into indoor soccer and playing wii on weekends.
"Put me down."
"down!!!!!!" I scream. "NOW!!!"
"And someone get me a fresh cup of COFFEE!!!!!!" I shriek.
People just stare at me. The latin/techno/house music stops. The girls over at the boulder look away, unsure of what they are witnessing. In a humble and awkward moment, all I can say is...
"A hold spun...I gotta get to work. Macro...gimme four laps on the V3's. I'll see you tonight. Dinner with the wives remember. And Macro...its supposed to be fancy, so no approach shoes."
Macronut warms down and we call it a morning.


(Climbing Gym Postscript)
----I was a bit skeptical about Metalmark coming to town. I’ve pretty much spent the last 20 years making fun of climbing gyms. But this place has turned out to be a blast. Prior to its opening, I had probably been to an indoor gym maybe a handful of times. But there’s a nice little climbing community here in Fresno and I’ve met a lot of people thrugh the commonality of shared workouts on plastic. A lot of the old Tollhouse Rock first acentionists are here. The place is a fun mix of beginners, boulderers, tradsters, soloists, alpinists, posers, hardmen, climberchicks, oldfogies and young cats who send Valley 5.12s. Its a bright spot for Fresno and I hope it does well.
With pumped forearms we shake hands and head our separate ways. Macronut heads to work. I’m headed downtown to runs some errands, and when I say downtown, I mean down. Down into the lowest realm of society….yes, I’m headed to a County government office building. For reasons I don’t need to share on this forum, I must acquire a certified copy of my birth certificate. To me, there are two places I absolutely despise going. 1. Abercrombie and Fitch at the Mall, and 2. Any city, county state or federal building. I loathe pullin’ permits, renewing lost motorcycle licenses, obtaining public records and any other processes that involve buildings like the DMV or the County Clerks Office. If you think Obamacare is a great idea…..picture yourself sitting at your local non air-conditioned DMV on a sweltering Friday in July…..you just pulled #113, and they’re callin’ single digits…...and you just cut off three fingers in a table saw accident. I know our medical system is a mess, yall, and somethings gotta change, but that’s where we’re headin folks, the writing is on the wall.

Ok, sorry for the monologue, back to Downtown, Micronut first has to find parking. This will be an expedition for sure. There will be nothing fast or light about this thing. From approach to crux to summit and back again, obtaining a copy of my birth certificate will be a grind of a route.
I’m gonna need calories, so I swing into Wendy’s and get a biggie Coke.
10:08 am DOWNTOWN FRESNO Corner of Tulare and M Street
I accidentally hit the brakes a bit hard upon landing at Basecamp and promptly spill 48 oz of Coca-Cola product down my right leg and into the floorboards.
This route is gonna be a lot harder than I thought.
With a sticky, sodden pant leg reminiscent of the 1910 Sourdough Expedition on Denali, I slog past what appears to be another party, camped on the same ridge.





Their puja, their prayer flags, flutter in the breeze. They have come to Occupy this ridge for reasons only they may know. They do not seem to be moving upwards. Maybe hey have a summit team high above, somewhere on the upper pitches. They seem to have been here for a while. The Occupy Fresno Team seems to have a total of four members. I wish them well and head up the fixed lines to ABC.
The first proper pitch is steep, but my gym training pays off in spades.


Ok, to be honest, near the top, I pulled on a draw.

Soon, only meters above me, lies the summit gully…….

I crest the ridge and find myself apparently on route….this is just like the gym. I can do this. I can follow tape! Was the Green and blue route 10b or 10c at the gym?

Oh man, is that foot jib on? Come on Micronut, you know the beta…this is just like Bieber Fest 5.10d…grab the rail, match feet, hips in…..stab for the mono and get….up….there!
“BAM!” I yell as I hit the anchors and tag the summit! Ernestine Flores, the guardian of the mountain, is not impressed.

In the Himalaya, local tribes of the Sherpa people often believe that spirits endwell the holy summits of the high peaks. They guard he high places, only allowing passage to the pure of heart.
Here, in the Fresno County Office of Vital Statistics, Ms. Flores is the deity of the highest realm.
I am reminded the summit is only half the climb.
I woo her with tales of me and Macronut’s alpine achievements. I serenade her with stories from Tuolumne to The Tetons. I share with her the magic of a faraway land called Supertopo, where everybody is always right and nobody listens to eachother when they argue and complete strangers trust each other with beta on routes that could kill them and they share their adventures, both real and make believe in total harmony. I tell her what it feels like to stand boldly on top of a high lonesome ridge while the wind gnashes and threatens to rip the very breath from your lungs. I also throw at her 20$. Which immediately works. I thank her profusely, snatch the certificate from her chubby hand and tell her “I’ll see you on Supertopo.” She’ll probably have made her first forum posting by the time you read this.

The descent goes smoothly. Soon I’m home, but there is no time to rest in the 'hood.
Fresno has great soil. Another of its finer points. To those of you in Los Angeles or San Fran who like to put down Fresno......this is a yard. Its made from grass. I'm not sure if you've seen one of these. They are quite nice for having family picnics, throwing a baseball or playing on if you are a kid. Fresno has big ones. But you need to mow them every once in a while.
So I mow the lawn and start throwing gear into and on top of the FJ.
Kids need to be fed, snow clothes gotta be packed. Nobody likes being on the chairlift with one mitten. Twenty three trips from the garage to the car and back, two runs back inside to go potty and we are locked and loaded.

FRIDAY 4:00 PM The shuttle leaves for the hills. We’ll be at 5 thou in 50 minutes. Ok.....six potty breaks and two full meals later we are at 5 thou.
One of the shining truths of living in The Sanjoaquin Valley is that we truly are centrally located in one of the most geographically funfriendly states in the union. We can climb on Friday, Ski on Saturday, ride dirtbikes on Sunday and do it all over again the next weekend. Which is exactly what we do.
SATURDAY AM 9:15 Picnic tables at 7030ft elev.


China Peak is no world destination, but snow is snow and when you got four kids and a wife who is from Oklahoma, you have very little need to be a snob about snow quality. Riding the chairlift with your young kids is one of the true joys in life.

I am a Nazi about making sure my kids lather on handfuls of sunscreen, but forget to do so myself, and am sunburned within two hours. Its March and it feels like Miami Beach at 7,000 ft. It feels like fire ants on my face by the time the lifts shut down but I have a warm glow in my belly that only comes from a quality day on the green runs with your one of a kind wife and superfun kids. It doesn’t get much better than this.

Or Does it? …..Remember….we live in Fresno…the land of eternal fun, opportunity and adventure. Lets see what the rest of the weekend has in store, shall we?

SUNDAY am 9:24am Sunday school 2nd floor elev. 14 feet
We’re digging deep into the book of Hosea. Studying God’s faithfulness to Israel, even as they defied and rebelled against him, is humbling and comforting. The parallels to my own life are not lost on me.

12:00 Noon We forgo the usual Sunday feeding fest at Chipotle
But fear not young children, you will stuff your guts soon enough. It is your Uncle Tanner’s 31st birthday today. And yall know uncle Tanner, his birthday always revolves around three things. 1. Chili 2. High Octane Gasoline and 3. Gunpowder
The Toyota FJ proves she is a lady of many dresses. She elegantly transforms on weekends from ski bunny, to church girl to Cowgirl in a matter of hours.
We are soon barrellin’ up 41 North. As we crest the 2000 foot level towing three quads, one motorcycle, six camping chairs, two shotguns, one bb gun, lots of matches and one supermoist homemade chocolate birthday cake, the Hinterlands of The Sierra come into view.
From the rise we can clearly make out the massive formations of Shuteye ridge, home to some of the prettiest stone in the land. We have no sticky rubber or harnesses today. Instead we have chest protectors, “real” helmets and two stroke fuel in our veins.
Some of you Shuteye locals, feel free to let us know what formations we're lookin' at here.

12:36 Somewhere secret near Coarsegold, ca

The Eagle has landed.

425 acres of dirt, snakes, mud, cows and blue sky. The kids tumble out of the rig and are soon chasin’ pollywogs in the pond and slaying dragons out in the meadow with swords fashioned from cow bones and Manzanita sprigs. My grandmother, who is 93 years old now, bought this property with my grandpa when they were young. They never had much money, but bought this land for pennies on the acre a long long time ago. She struggles to pay the taxes on the place but its now seeing its fourth generation of kids growing up on this land. I shot my first bb gun here. First ran a chainsaw with my dad here. Its good dirt. Its in my blood.

The food comes out and the cornucopia of goodness is obscene.
We all unload motors and the kids are full throttle with chili and animal cookies gurglin' in their bellies.
Everybody rides. This lil dude is 2 years old and dad’s leash is killin him. Come on old man, you’re killin my freedom.

We all get our ride on for the next few hours. Soaking up the sun and inhaling the sweet sweet smell of burt 89 octane in the air.

We take some time for gunplay. I'll give you ten bucks if you think yer kid can out shoot my kid when it comes to the old red Rider single shot.
my boy is solid on the draw from 10 meters. Solid.
Only clay targets and egos were injured during our smack talking shootin' competition. Don't worry. We're not all bloodlusty Bambi-killin' eneducated rednecks down in fresno yall.
Ok. Now I don't care who ya are or what city yer from, this is fun.


Everybody’s spent from too much chili, too much speed and too much gunpowder smoke in the lungs. As the sun sets on the land…..the fire dies down and the cool chill of March starts to cover the land. Its time to load up and head home. Kids beg to take a frog or two home, and I tell them they can if they hurry up and wipe the cowpoop off their shoes before they get in the FJ. We all smell bad on the way home, and nobody is really interested in dinner after eatin “foothill food” all day.
The kids are in bed by dark. Its been a good weekend. The kids need sleep. They’ll hit the books for a few days then do it all again next weekend. That's what it means to grow up here in Fresno. We start 'em young.


So that’s a weekend in the life. It’s a wrap. I hope I didn’t ruin anybody’s pre-concieved notions of life in our town. Lots of climbers love to hate on Fresno. If you do a Supertaco forum search you’ll find all kinds of derogatory remarks about our home. Some of you reading this very trip report have said mean spirited things about this place. Oh well, I’m not gonna change the world here, but I hope I’ve shed some light on the good stuff goin’ down in our hood. All kidding and fun natured jabbin' aside, I really like The Bay Area. We like the theatres and swimming Alcatraz was a blast.
Weekends at the Exploratorium and touristy Pier 39 with the kids is a lot of fun. We love the food and the hustle and bustle and culture of San Fran, LA and SanDiego, but man, I just love this town. For all its warts, its a great place to live. We have genuine, hard-working people, no traffic, cheap homes and climbing galore in our back yard. Stop in sometime. We'll show you a good time.

Another week begins…
MONDAY through THURSDAY……..We crank out another week of work, swim practice, piano, youth-group, karate and early mornings at the gym.

FRIDAY, 4:00 am
The alarm goes off. Macronut is texting me…”The usual spot?”
“Yup. See you in ten.”
Temperance and 168. Launch site for all Dawn Patrol missions.

4:41am The FJ is parked in the pitch black of a winter morning, half way up the four lane.


Gear clanks. Black coffee warms our guts. I can't tell you how many mornings we've started our weekend like this. Our non-climbing friends think we are crazy for getting up so early in order to get just a few minutes on the stone. They'll never get it. You do I'm sure.
Like always, we approach in the inky darkness....those strange minutes between the end on one day and the beginning of another. The smells are pungent. Pine. Granite. Manzanita. An intoxicating drink for the nostrils.
We are racking as the cool air spills into the valley. This is a humble little climbing area. Not a destination of any kind. But its pure magic in the early mornings. And its winter remember...at least we have something dry to climb. It never gets old. We run a few laps on Easy Rider, Are You Small? and the nice hand/finger crack of Mr. Wizard....enjoying the quiet and the stillness around us.





Like an idiot, I forget my shoes, so Macronut climbs in approach shoes and I wear his. We switch off at the belays. But nothing can stifle our stoke.

We just love climbing man....is that so wrong?
The sky warms in yellow hues around us, our skin prickles with the warming rays of a new day. A cow moos in the valley below. A rooster crows on a farm down in the sleepy town of Tollhouse.....I swear I can smell bacon.


Climbers call this place Squarenail. Its named after the rusty, square pounded nails that can be found scattered around the hillsides here. The old Shaver Mill Flume ran right through here in the 1890's.
Hard men. Proud men, roamed these hills then. Men of the land. Men of true grit.

Well, hard men still do roam this land. They just wear a little less wool.


On the way out, I stop to shoot some pretty flowers, like I always do. The colors and elegant lines of the creation around us never cease to move me.
There, on the trail in front of me, I find one of the old, square nails. Its been right here, in this approach gully, for a hundred years. I set it on a flat stone so I can get a good photo.

Holding it in my fingers is like holding a bit of the past.

I'm reminded of the simple things in life that matter. Hard work. A good wife. A sturdy roof over my head. A job where I can make a difference in people's lives. Good friends. Kids who are growing up sturdy and confident and humble and bright. Climbing within a stone's throw. And I think....yeah....its all right here. I'll never leave. Fresno is alright. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
See you around Supertopo. Micronut.
Out.