78. Home for a rest

 

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Thailand… how lovely!  Evan pulling on Burnt Offering 12a

Sometime I make questionable choices. Ok, rather often, but that’s neither here nor there.
I thought being warm in Bali with nothing to do but surf and ride my motorbike along the sunny shores was just a bit too enjoyable. So, I decided my sojourn about the Earth has taken me away from my beloved Nova Scotia for far to long. Thus, I left the impeccable weather and bikini clad ladies to fly home and catch the last of the dank Canadian winter. It’s a rather rude transition to arrive and immediately suck on the ice cold popsicle of awful which is April in Nova Scotia. Freezing rain appropriately mixed with gale force winds. Classic maritime weather. Sometimes I reflect (generally I find it best to avoid this indulgence) that it is amazing that anyone gets into climbing here.

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Keith topping out Loas most classic 10c multi-pitch

The result has been mixed. I’ve have the opportunity to spend more time inside then I have in several years. Living out of a tent for a few years changes you a bit. There comes a time when you start too miss some of the more inane time burning distractions that fill most peoples lives, like daytime TV and the accompanying long minutes of commercials, predominately extolling the virtues of products who main attribute is the ability to keep ones bowels sleek and mobile. Oh the joys of a sedentary life. On the other hand the weather did briefly clear now and again, giving me the opportune to play with my beloved East coast granite.

IMG_2931This is what it some of it looked like…

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Granite Everywhere…

IMG_2992You may notice there are not holds.

This shoulder breaking move…
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…turns into this move… Amanda working Green Jug V6

Well I’ve battered my body enough that it’s being held together with Tequila, Ibuprofen, duct tape and a faint glimmers of hope, that soon the pain will all stop. Time to take time for recovery. I’m off the deep dark Canadian bush to spend vast amounts of time alone in said deep dark woods and not climb. Minus the absence of climbing, this generally suits me well. I recently realized some positive things about myself: I can still cook a decent frittata, and I hate humans in groups bigger then 8 (further, cats in groups bigger then 8 is also less then desirable). There’s a certain point where a group inevitably descends into assholery. I think it’s at the 8 person mark. I mean, it can fully happen around the 1 person mark, but chances of assholery seem to increase at some critical mass around 8. This is why I spend vast amounts of my time secluded and in the wilds of Northern Canada. You only have to deal with assholery of one’s. Woot!

IMG_2969Again… no holds.  Jeff don’t care

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77. I’m the most prepared at life

IMG_2664Fishing Loas style on the Mekhong

I consider myself witty, handsome, and generally good at things.  Though I have proudly freed myself from the shackles of personal hygiene, I consider myself (despite my odorous nature), someone people generally like to be around.  There are a few realities of dirtbagdom that one generally doesn’t like to face, 1) sometimes it’s trickier than one might hope in attracting members of the fairer sex (maybe the smell?!…nah.) 2) Comparatively to the rest of the non-dirtbags, cleanbags if you will, dirtbags as a matter of fact, are more likely to shit themselves.  It is a fact that having shit in your pants certainly renders you into the category, of someone; people don’t want to be around.  No matter how witty and handsome.

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After a long day of climbing, you sit down around a camp fire with a crew of your fellow dirtbags, cook up the classic staple of noodles and red sauce, and mention how you had a “fart that almost went a little too far today.”   Everyone chuckles a bit.  But watch out.  This is a dangerous comment, as it starts a chain reaction of storytelling of escalating tragedy in which everyone readily admits too some wild circumstance in which they, their partner or some poor friend of theirs, hilariously shit their pants.  These stories are fantastic, fun to tell, but hard to live.  The time my friend was climbing alone in the Peruvian Andes and accidently drank downstream of a dead cow.  The result of which was being so sick, he shit himself multiple times.  Found himself unable to hike, was trapped, alone, and hallucinating that he was conversing with the higher power.  This was wholly disconcerting as he is an adamant atheist.  When he recovered enough to hike out, unbeknownst to him, 4 days had passed.  That the stuff of legend, right there.

IMG_0799I too prefer my deity to maintain a jaunty pose.

There are essentially two points in your life when it’s expected and generally accepted, you get too shit yourself.  We get the joy of diapers and having someone wipe our ass, at the beginning and at the end.  This is something we should all come to embrace.  This is the joyous and heart breaking reality of a human life.

It’s the in between pant shits that are truly disconcerting.   My first encounter with the fun of adult pant shitting was when I was working up in the Yukon in the deep dark of the Canadian bush.  I was working on a soil sampling project looking for gold.  An end of August snow storm rolled in, such that our helicopter support was unavailable, but we still had to work the project.  Day one I got sick.  I had a glorious three day fiasco of projectiles quickly escaping the back end of my body.  As the snow made a clear marker of distance, a 4 foot spray pattern was something I was particularly proud of, granted it was shooting down hill, and against my better judgement I had eaten some of the ptarmigan my co-worker had shot the day before.  Still a record in my books.

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Usually when you shit your pants in those in between times of being, very old or too young, it invariably reflects poor decision making. Watching my partner squirm in our hanging belay, three pitches up a vertical sheet of ice, he conceded that he should be regulating his morning poopies with coffee.  That are just some things you never forget, no matter how much you want to.   Sharing a hanging belay with him as the worst case scenario finally came to fruition is something that still brings tears of laughter to my eyes.

My poor decision making is reflected in my love of meat.  Street meat in particular.  No matter how suspect. A delicious looking stick, filled with meat (well… an indecipherable piece of what appears to have once possibly been…duck?!).  Who can resist?!

IMG_0720Jungle living in Loas.

So I find myself on a climbing/motorbike trip through Loas.  I started outside of Thahkek staying at the Green Climbers Home.  This is place is all that a climbing destination should be.  Good food, good people, epic climbing.  If you like steep limestone in thirty degree weather, this is the place for you.  This place kinda made news a few years ago for making the unfortunate combination of New Years, Alcohol, Fireworks (yup… so fa,r a classically great combo) and thatched roofs.  They sadly burnt themselves down to the ground… happily, they are back now, up and running with new and improved less flammable roofs.  Go there, you won’t regret it.

IMG_0777My trustee chopper… by that I mean unreliable piece of crap with brakes that could be described as, unreliable at best.

Done with climbing for a bit, I started heading North on my chopper.  By chopper, I mean small, yet brave little scooter.  I found myself cruising through the wild combination which is Loas in the dry season.  Poverty and smiling people.  Long empty dirt roads that seem to go forever, yet don’t seem to connect anything. Epic limestone towers and dried out rice paddies.  Oh, and delicious looking roadside bbq’d meat on a stick.

In life there are subtle and disturbing points that are often incredibly difficult to discern between.  Love and hate.  Danger and safety.  A fart and a shit.

I came to a grinding halt on the side of the dirt road, cursed street meat for its devilish deliciousness, and dove for the ditch while pulling my pants down as quickly as possible.  Something more resembling a chocolate milkshake evacuated my body.  At the same moment I look up.  It appears that in my haste, someone didn’t manage to engage the kick stand.  For a moment, my motorbike looks like it will defy gravity and miraculously balance upon itself.  The moment seemed to last forever.  At this point my chopper decided to join me in the ditch.  As I scoot out of the way, it comes to a slow and heartbreaking stop in my chocolate milk shake.  Reality checks in.  How delightful.  Please, kill me now.

IMG_0801I do a quick assessment.  Well, Crap. On the bright side it could be worse, I could have been eviscerated by a pack of wild monkeys and left to die a slow painful death.  I decide, this is indeed slightly better.  I quickly consider suicide, but realise I lack the appropriate weaponry to proceed down that line of reasoning.  My undies are soiled, but I can shed them and my pants are clean enough.  I’ll wash them in the water of the ditch, and dry them off by riding my motorbike real fast.  Life isn’t so bad.  A tiny bit of dignity remains.  I’ll swap out my underwear, and ride on hanging free and easy.  Now this is a good plan.  I’ve got life by the balls again.

IMG_2920I switch out my undies and begin cleaning my pants.  It’s at this point, with my ass hanging out, scrubbing my pants clean, that a concerned Loas citizen, kindly pulls over to investigate what I’m doing in his ditch.  The Loas are a people who love to laugh and tells stories.  Well, based on his pointing, incredible laughter and sheer joy, the sight of my shit covered bike and white ass, will make a good story for him to tell. I consider laying down in the ditch to die.  It’s at this point, with all pretenses of dignity gone, my sense of humor kicks in.  In a disgusted self deprecating kind of way, I begin to share in his laughter and mirth.   A stranger in a foreign country, with no common language, helped me pull my shit covered bike out of the ditch.  We exchanged smiles, and laughs.  I did not escape me that we were both laughing at my expense, at the hilariousness of my pain.  But, if you can’t laugh at yourself, something has to be going a whole lot worse than merely shitting yourself.  I guess it’s just a taste of what I’ll be facing down the road when I call it quits on caring about wiping my own ass, and move into the old folks home.  If I can laugh at it now, I’m sure I’ll be able to laugh at it then.   Being a dirtbag and shitting your pants, it’s just a step in preparing yourself for the realities of life and learning to laugh about it.

IMG_0749Big Caves with rivers through them.

IMG_0800Big caves with flags through them.

IMG_0704I went through Bangkok… this is what’s happening there.

IMG_0705They park funny in Bangkok.

That’s right Petzl/Scarpa/Black Diamond.  I’m now wise as shit.  Get on the ground floor, you could be the sponsoring me right meow!  Now for the love of all that is merciful send me some new shoes!  Pretty please.

IMG_0726This is what 8,000 Kip will get you in Loas.  Or roughly $1.10… ok, perhaps the path to wisdom is an on going one.

 

76. It be hot.

IMG_2548Dank cave bouldering… it’s what you do when it’s too damn hot to live.  At least it’s not in the sun

IMG_2555Devil Monkeys.  Turned evil by the heat?!

IMG_2570Nessa gives a whirl on this 7a+.  DWS a good option when it’s too damn hot for anything else

IMG_2619Granite Bouldering in Koh Tao paradise… if by paradise you mean the hottest place on earth.

 

 

75. I might be a zombie

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Ton Sai is pretty much climbers heaven (except with more filthy hippies).  I might have died and have yet to realize it…

IMG_2451Deep Water Soloing… 6c+ super roof

Example.  Today I sat down for my daily bowel clearing coffee.  It’s morning, thus I’m grumpy and don’t want to talk/listen/be near anyone/thing.  I’m in the kind of mood that permeates everything with a dank smear of discontent, this pleases me.  This all being the result of being a sleep deprived crusty asshole.   Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly happy in my quiet pre-coffee hate, from this vantage point I can truly see and judge the inadequacies of the world. 

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As I sit on the beach, sip my coffee, look out at the massive limestone towers, and observe that perhaps that in this part of the world, the ocean is less of a dark ominous blue and more of a bright smiley turquoise.  A beautiful blond Swedish girl sits next to me, in broken English proceeds to tell me how she just arrived, is in desperate need of a climbing partner, and is feeling lonely (I shit you not).  The coffee takes effect, my mood mildly improves.   Oh yeah, she proceeds to inform me, tonight there’s free live Thai kickboxing on the beach with fire dancing shows in between bouts, that and after the main kickboxing match, they get local kids to beat the snot out of each other for our entertainment?! This country is truly great.  The biggest challenges here are the monkeys that try to piss on you, and that sometime it gets too hot to climb, so instead you and all the scantily clad Swedish babes have to go swimming instead.  Life is rough…

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IMG_2469Topping out the 6b+

IMG_2490One of the best parts of DWSing is watching people bail hard… oh the joys

 

74. Type Ones have more Fun

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What type of climber are you? As I figure in the entire big bad ass world there are just types of climbers two (that’s right, dualism bitches!).  Now I know what you’re thinking, “I like Candy”.  Yes, candy is delicious, but come on let us stay on task here.

Ok, now the traditional divisions in the climbing world (you know the ones; skills, strength, gender, how incredibly handsome you are, and preferred style) don’t count for shit.  These just aren’t relevant factors in the real division between climbers, and don’t shed much light on finding the right partner for you.  Now I’m sure you’re just dying to know the two types of climbers the world breaks down into, and are further near death in your subsequent need to know which category you fit into.

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One of NZ top lady climbers…. Alice crushing Parallel Universe 7c+… also Type Two Climber

Ok, here’s the test.  Ready.  When you start bleeding (well you’re climbing, so you’ll invariably bleed soon enough), and your belayer/spotter/Search and rescue personel, ask you “that’s quite a lot blood, how you doing?”

If you look at you’re the small cut on your knuckle and scream in a shrill wail “What manner of abomination hath the cruel rock wrought upon my strikingly handsome body!”  (or some similar declaration).  Then you are what’s known as a Type 1 climber.

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Pete… Full on Type Two Climber

If you answer in the simple and further inquiry ending, “fine,” you are what we call a Type 2 climber.  Simple as that.

Now, who gives a shit… well, you should as this is all incredibly relevant,  as it is of utmost importance for Type 1 and Type 2 climbers to avoid climbing together at all costs.  Why you ask?  Here’s how the repugnant situation would surely play out.

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Now lets say a Type 1 climber is wounded, from say, a terrible harness rash.  Type 2 climber is reticent to ask, as she can tell it’s not a deadly injury, but out of a social decreed politeness she puts on a brave face.  Eventually puts forwards the seemingly innocuous inquiry. “How are you?” The answer Type 1 climbers gives, of course, will be a blunt pronouncement of dissatisfaction and dismay over this horrible new injury, punctuated by, let us say, the fine points of recent bowel troubles.   The speed in which Type 1 climbers are happy as shit to unload intimate details of this is just as disturbing as the details themselves.  “Yes, your harness does appear to be giving you a horrible oozing rash upon your arse, no, I in fact do not need a closer look.”

Type 2 climber is bleeding, let’s say from an ice axe in the thigh.

“How you doing?” The answer Type 2 climber gives of course is “fine”.  But when Type 1 climbers hears this they think one of two things;  1) Holy Hell! You’ve been granted a heavenly reprieve from the wearisome grind that all but defines the human condition and as a result are experiencing a rare and sublime moment of “fine-ness” most likely the result of extreme and soon to be lethal bodily trauma and the subsequent shock, or 2) you are liar.  This will end in petty arguments resulting in a failure to continue climbing, trust issues, and/or a failure for a timely non-ending in death rescue.  All results considerably less than ideal.

Now Type 1 and 2’s are both climbers, thus they invariably love to suffer.  The soul division amongst both climbers comes into the subtleties of their passion for discussing said suffering.

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Type 1’s climbers deal with their suffering and injuries the same way a crazy cat lady deals with her numerous cats; she’ll show you pictures, describe finer points no one could conceivably want to hear, and prattle for hours with no regard for your level of increasing disgust.  Type 1 climbers seem almost congenitally unable to fake “fine-ness”, often the result of being coddled as a child and/or not bullied enough.

Type 2’s climbers deal with suffering like, they would deal with a red headed child;  they just ignore it, keep it quiet, and hope it goes away.  They are often incredibly tough climbers, often the result of having no soul.

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Ok… this photo is really old.  But I just saw it for the first time yesterday.  I think this is Johnny Appleweed V5 in ol’ Nova Scotia.

There it is.  The only relevant division of climbers is into these two very different categories… now let us not let this division destroy our community, as we can always bring it back to our shared love.  Dostoyevsky once said “The most basic, most rudimentary spiritual need of [climbers] is the need for suffering, ever-present and unquenchable, everywhere and in everything”… ok, he may have actually been describing the Russian people, but it applies equally as well.

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Anyways… I left Turkey, so no more happy Sundays that look like this…

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73. Carb loading to success

All dreams of insurmountable avarice have yet to be squashed.

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The Nassim the Iranian Invasion crushing Melting Souls at Sarkit  12c

It seems that besides general uncleanliness and homelessness, living out of a tent for extended periods of times seems too lead to certain cravings different from those of the average house dwelling folk.  For the most part, they lie in the realm of the desire for warm spaces beyond the cocoon of ones sleeping bag, or the comfort one finds in personal indoor space (the best part of having personal space indoors is indubitably the joy found in roaming around ones house naked…. This I think I miss most).  Anyways, the latest craving has been an insatiable avarice for all things delicious.  The urge to eat excessive amounts of all that is delectable has been unmanageable.   This wouldn’t be bad, except when ones arbitrary goals have to do with activities where ones success is completely dependent on strength to weight ratio, the goal achievement becomes more difficult.  Anyway, this is a series of fat kids excuses for the slow progress towards 5.13, though I remain confident the goal will be achieved… soon?

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God those glasses offer some solid sun protection…

Fellow dirtsquirrel Nassim asked for some photoshoot help to rep her sponsors gear… ie sweet  ass wrap around sunnies, check out Rudy sunglasses.  This is the result.

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IMG_2193Just to further tap into why this is probably one of the best places to climb…in the world, rest days can be  spent out shredding the Turkish Pow.  Less then an hour from Geyikbayiri… how amazing is that

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72. Turkish things…

 

 

Life updates run like this… my computer breaks, I get fleas, have wild adventures, completely disconnect with the outside world, get rid of fleas.  Alas I guess this is how it should be when you’re living the Turkish dream.

IMG_1945If you were to point out that this is not Turkey, but Greece you would be correct.  This is Kalymnos… Aegalis 13a

960241_10151821072435773_1634458741_nUpping the anti on the regular Christmas turkey.  This year we had to catch ours.
Hanging out with Matilda the turkey in a sound systems store.

IMG_0360This route is Ivi… the wildest 12a in the world

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Yes, I think this is the best beta for this route….

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Juan and his beautiful German hair crushing Bad Karma 12b

photoIn Turkey they call me “the dog whisperer”… everybody gets a free stray in Turkey!

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Hey Petzl,  Yup, I could rep yous good.  Check out my latest interview in Climberism Magazine.  Boo yah! I’m getting bigger then the American deficit.

 

 

71. A how to guide;

IMG_1222How to make something fun, into something miserable…

There’s a time in every mans life (and I can’t really confirm this, because as a group they generally seem much more sensible… but also quite possibly, a time in every womens life) when he/she feels the need to test his/her mettle.  You know how it works, find some awful arbitrary goal.  One that will be challenging to the point of fully unpleasant, and go after it with a unreasonable vigor.  Type two fun in best case scenario, type three if things go awry.  The kind of goal, that once complete doesn’t lead to a joyous moment of arm raising glory, but something more a kin to a dejected triumph with the only sense of pleasure deriving from the fact that now you can stop, lay down, and hopefully die.

Thus the Marathon day was conceived, a sprint of a day in which the goal is 20 routes, maxing out at 5.11a but non easier then 5.10a.  No hang dogging, all on-sight, pain be damned.  Now for the climbing superstars of today, this would be a mere romp in the locals children’s play park.  However, for yours truly, an out of shape hack with a beer storage device I like to call “the gut”, the mere concept led to a feeling that I may just very well have a quick vomit upon my shoes.  Thus, enlisting a fellow lover of all things suffering, we set out.

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So, with a 5am wake up, chugging a pot of coffee, enough food to feed a rhino for breakfast, a list of routes, and an uneasy sense of impending self induced torture, we began.  We calculated best we could the order of routes to dodge the blazin 26C degree temps.  As always with these kind of things, it started out easy, and confidence abounds.  The first half went well, and the pain and suffering was moderate and enjoyable, we had a good flow.  We were at the status of two young men, happy to have a day out playing on the rocks.  The day continued, the sun came out in full force, we began viciously bleeding sweat into our eyes.

I’m sure by now, you know where this is going.  Well, nearing the end, all flow was lost, pain abounded.  Fingers bled, feet ached, resolve softened.  We begin to have doubts, and reflect that perhaps this quite possibly was not in fact the wisest of decision we had ever made, and that we were possibly in fact, retarded.  The climbing was torturous, what started out as fun physical activity was now highly indistinguishable from repeatedly slamming ones nuts in a drawer.  Fact; all climbers know this feeling, and oddly enough, love it.  Yes, it’s time to face the reality, we climbers, are all fucked.

IMG_1257As we neared completion, the speed of climbing also decreased, the result being that we were in fact, prolonging the agony.  By the time we were two routes away, all jovial banter was long since gone, and we were reduced to a series of low grunts and pointing.  We had reverted to angry cave man status.  Strapping on a headlamp, having jammed our feet into our climbing shoes for the past 12 hours, we repeated the process one last time, and began a dark climb to completion.  When we both finished the pitch, down safely, pulling the rope, there wasn’t a triumphant shout of joy or any words of work well done.  Just some low grunts, and the words of urgency, “Beers… we now need many beers… now!”

The completed list looks like this…. 6-10a’s, 4-10b’s, 5-10c’s, 3-10d’s, 2-11a’s.  It’s disconcerting to know that with all this climbing we would only be about half way up El cap, something super folks can knock off in about two hours.   Like most knowledge of this nature, it’s best not to consider these things too much.   So we went to the beach… now that’s how to have fun

IMG_0616 Akarlyar Beach…
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The hardest most polished 6a+ in the world… THE WORLD!!
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Yes, my life is awesome.  Sponsors take note…
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70. Spreading great things around the world

There are certain things that can change one’s life.  Things that once experienced will leave you inexorably changed; falling in love, the loss of a loved one, the birth of a child, your first snort of cocaine.  You know the ones, the sort of things that stay with you for life.  Well, let me introduce to you what Turkey brings to the table.  Dumm Dumm Dummmmm… (pause for effect)  The Tuktu!

photo-2I can’t stress this enough – and I’ll be frank here – this shit is delish.

It’s a bite size heavenly cookie (which is marvelous and life changing in itself) but then they fill it full of Nutella!  Bam!  How North America did not think of this first, I do not know.  But these things are mind blowingly delicious and a life changer for sure.  Besides the epic rock climbing, I’d argue this is more then enough reason to book a flight to Turkey today.  They offer a full satisfying crunch and then BAM! a mouth load of Nutella slammed into your face, it’s like a roundhouse kick to your taste buds…. but then, but then, you dip that shit in coffee, and it all melts into a satisfying goo.  Enough too make a grown man cry, and make all the folks in the vicinity shift their chairs away a little bit, and eye you with a worried look.

Anyway, I’ll probably start up a import company soon and be a millionaire.  You wait and see… or get fat and suffer a mean case of diabetes.  Either or.

Oh yeah, there was climbing.  Which is also delicious…

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Adyn lost in a sea of tufas.  Aquaplane the best 11a in the world… THE WORLD!

IMG_1065Jamie making his way up Diplomabeit 7b

IMG_1206Crux Crushing

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aquaI made a sweet headband out of an old pair of underwear.  How sweet is that.  I legitimately put underwear on my head to help me climb better.  Oh yes, Petzl will take notice.

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69. In stores now

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It’s done, and now in stores! The new Ice Climbing guide to Nova Scotia. This pleases me, in case you are unawares, it should please you too.

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I’d like to say some nonsense, like it’s been a lot of hard work and a journey to create this wonderful product…. but that would be a lie, and lying is bad.  It’s mostly been a pretty lame journey of sitting at a computer, watching cat videos, and trying to decipher illegible notes.  I have long since given up on perfection and am happy on settling to just getting it done.

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Anyway, the guide will help you find the ice in Nova Scotia.  This should give you an opportunity to get in over your head, fall off some terrible piece of ice, break multiple bones, just so you can feel something other than the soul-crushing sadness of your life.  Subsequently, you will have you some fabled legends of your incredible exploits to tell attractive members of the opposite sex (or same sex, depending on your digs), they will be suitably impressed, offer themselves to you body and soul, and you will live a happy and fulfilled life full of sex and happiness.  Anyways, the guide offers all that and more.  Fuck Yeah!

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Thanks to our friends at Climberism for a sweet back cover…

The guide is also in English.  This is good.  I can read this language, hopefully you can too.  If not, don’t worry, the guide has lots pictures.  It’s also for sale at Mountain Equipment Co-op in Halifax.  I have no idea how much they’re charging for the guide, but it will surely be less then $10.

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NB Pillar WI5 – Where is this incredible piece of ice located you might ask?  Well, go buy the ice guide and I’ll tell you.  Ok Ok… Moose River NS… but I’m sure you’ll probably want more details.

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Anyways, I’m in Turkey, I’m totally sold on climbing here. It’s beautiful, seemingly remote, and best of all, the guidebooks are wholly and completely indecipherable.  That is not to say that they are of poor quality, and don’t contain the appropriate information to find an opportune piece of rock.  The problem stems from the entirely relevant and bothersome fact that they are largely in Turkish, written in a language unintelligible to yours truly.  This pleases me. I like to sit at the bottom of the cliff whilst examining the guide book, and issue small profound “Hmmm’s” and nod my head gravely without having the faintest idea why.  This impresses nearby climbers and fools them into thinking I have intimate knowledge as to where I am, and what the hell is going on.  This is misleading, but important when seeking out partners who quite appropriately, question my competence and sobriety.

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Celebrating Kurban Bayrami!  The Holiday in which you kill a goat on your front lawn, cut er’ up into chunks, and give away said chunks.  Now how great is that.

The beard continues to grow.  The glory of climbing 5.13 will soon be mine, as well as the subsequent sponsorship. Which will also be mine.  Petzl… for the love of god, please send me money… or project draws.  I’d settle for project draws.