The air was a thick haze like you used to see in a bar. The guy in front of me in line bought a good sized zip-loc bag filled with pure white powder. Was this some strange druggie hangout I had just walked in to? No, the haze in the air, and the contents of the bag were one and the same, climber's chalk. I found a nearby bouldering gym online. As it turns out it's located just behind the Wal-Mart that I went to for my school supplies. I bought a day pass to "The Front" which gave me access to the weight room, the tread mills, the yoga room, and of course the bouldering wall; all for $15.00. I did have to rent shoes for an additional $5.00, but I'd say it was money well spent.
The wall was about 15 feet high and a couple hundred feet long. There were enough people there to confirm that this wasn't some shady fly-by-night operation, but it was by no means overcrowded. there were no top-ropes like I was used to at the rock climbing gyms I had been to in Arizona, but those had 45 foot walls, and I preferred this. I didn't need anyone to belay me, and there were ample amounts of padding on the floor to save me even if I completely fell flat on my back.
It only took a few ascents for me to realize that I do not have the forearm strength required for this kind of climbing. there were only a few very small sections that were not inclined to some degree, and thus I needed to have a very strong grip to keep my body on the wall. On my first climb I got near the top and tried a dynamic move (where you swing to reach a handhold and aren't necessarily holding onto anything while you're moving) and scraped my arm. I had to keep caking chalk onto it to keep it from bleeding. I tried a few of the more difficult climbs, and kept going back again and again to the wall. Each attempt (even on the easy routes) took a huge toll on my wrists and forearms. After about an hour I couldn't support my own body weight from one hand, which made climbing nearly impossible. I guess I just need to keep going back frequently to strengthen my arms and get those muscle groups to wake up and get to work.
I had a blast though. There was a nice variety of people. A couple of kids (who must have barely started high school) were fairly proficient at kicking my butt on every route I tried. I guess I'm really not that good at climbing after all, but then again it has been more than a year since I've been to a climbing gym. There was also a cute toddler who was there climbing with his dad; he even had his own tiny chalk bag clipped to his belt. I wanna have one of those when I grow up (a kid who can climb that is).
I think I stayed at it for almost two hours,then determined that I had inhaled enough chalk dust and that my hands could no longer grip enough to make this fun. I'm looking forward to having more endurance so I can keep at it, and then I might be ready for some real climbs this summer in Moab, or Zion. But for now my hands won't do the simplest tasks I tell them to. Tying shoes, opening the car door, starting the car, and texting is all very challenging. Heck, I've been working at this pop-tart wrapper for five minutes now!
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Why I love Salt Lake City
Although the drive out to Utah was uneventful, living here has been an amazing eye opener. I enjoy living so close to Temple Square. It is a sight that is sacred to me. In the short amount of time that I have been here I have already had many interesting experiences there. It's awesome to see so many happy families strolling by, so many brides and grooms getting their photos taken in front of the massive doors. One thing I have noticed about being in Utah is how many more young couples are actually married. It's a different world out here. Apart from the spiritual moments I have centered around these religious areas, I have also greatly enjoyed being back up in the mountains. I think I'll have to start a hiking club at school or something because, although it's nice to get out on your own, it would be nice to have some company when I'm out on a mountain face. On Friday I had nothing to do between my morning class and the dance that was to be held that evening. I sat on my computer for a couple hours killing time and looking at places I'd like to see soon. I began by searching for nearby hikes. They all looked kinda lame. So then I searched for a topographical map and narrowed down the three highest peaks within a half hour drive. I plotted one a map and decided I would drive over to see what the hiking might be like for another day. By the time I was don writing down the directions I had decided to bring my hiking boots in case I wanted to get out and take some pictures. Then as I went in the closet to get the boots I figured I might as well bring along my ski poles to help if I decided to go for a little walk. By the time I got down to my car I had loaded up with boots, poles, backpack, two water bottles, trail mix, camera, sunglasses, GPS, and about 180' of rope. Clearly I am not one to sit back and daydream about doing something for too long. Spontaneously doing something today trumps planning on doing it someday every time in my book.
My old Subaru Outback chugged along the freeway as I made my way closer and closer to the mountains. Off in the distance the Wasatch mountains are a formidable sight. As I drew nearer and nearer to them I began to realize how insanely tall 10,000 feet really was. It's when you get right at the base of the mountain that you think you can actually climb it because: 1. at least you're starting to climb. and 2. your perspective is so thrown off at that point that it doesn't look all that bad.
The entrance tot he park was a little town catering to the needs of skiers and snowboarders. Every signpost and store facade seemed to have some allusion to being on the slopes. I liked it. I stopped at a 7eleven to pick up some new batteries for my GPS. (I still say that is one of the best $95 I've ever spent). After driving up the twisty road for about 3 miles I pulled off to the side in a snow bank and geared up. I had wisely chosen to wear my old hand-me-down Columbia jacket instead of my new pea coat this time around; it was light, it was warm, and I didn't really care if it got torn up.
It only took a few yards of hiking for me to notice the benefit of bringing the ski poles. It only took a few more yards to realize that my body was still not used to a brisk walk with such little oxygen available. I climbed along the gently zig-zagging path which was clearly intended to be at least bicycle (if not wheelchair) accessible. Too tame, I thought to myself. I looked down the narrow and inviting pathway, and then looked directly to my right at the boulders ascending high overhead. That's the route for me. I first tried to tuck my ski poles in between my pack and my coat; then I attempted to insert them vertically between the strap and my spine. In the end I left them dangling from my wrists while I climbed over the first boulder. Since the poles kept getting snagged on cracks and branches I deduced that their benefit on this particular outing was outweighed by their hindrance. I left them on top of my first boulder and trusted to my GPS that I would be able to recover them after I was done gallivanting.
I scrambled up over the next few boulders only to find that the way up from that point was impeded by several scrubby looking shrubs and juniper trees that were grown too tightly together for me to pass without a machete. I surveyed my surroundings and found the cliff on the opposite end of a small valley to be much taller, more interesting, and inevitably more fun. As I traipsed along the edge of this ravine I took note of the slippery, sharp shale that lay all about in varying different hues. There were some large chunks that were light green, like rusted copper; the majority, however, was a deep purple color.
I made my way to the bottom of the canyon and began again my ascent. The entire cliff face was comprised of multiple layers, and leaning several degrees towards the south. It looked kind of like giant ice cream sandwiches someone had set up like dominoes that were slowly tumbling down. Often I would have to do some legitimate rock climbing to get up to a ledge where I could rest and reevaluate. When I though I was on the right rock I could climb all the way to the top I realized that I had to switch to another one and jumped across. It was a bit disconcerting when something I took to be a very solid rock broke off in my hand. I let it fall and it seemed to hang in midair until it was obliterated on the other rocks below. A lot of the climb was along the tilted face of the rocks and so I didn't really need to cling on for dear life, but I definitely couldn't have stood up and hiked. It was a job for all fours.
One time I got as high as I could on a certain face and had to switch to another. the gap in between the two was about 12 feet, more than I wanted to jump, and less than I could span with my body. I had to back track a little and go at it again. I've found that I like down climbing much less that up climbing. When you're going up you can forget how far you've come and you don't really notice that you're 300 feet off the ground; you can also see the hand holds ahead of you. When climbing down you have to feel around with your feet for a secure hold while your hands are getting more and more tired from supporting your body weight, and the weight of all that stupid trail mix you brought along. Side note: Steel toed boots do not make good climbing shoes. If ever I got nervous, or started to freeze up I had to remind myself to just keep moving. The longer you wait, the more tired you get, and the more psychologically strenuous your activity becomes. Besides, I was out there alone. The only clue I had left was a vague facebook post about climbing another mountain. I don't know if you know this or not,but there are a freaking lot of mountains in Utah. If I slipped, fell, broke something, got mauled by a mountain lion, or got lost, there was no one coming to get me; such is the cost and risk of going off the beaten path. -Don't worry Mom, I'm really just trying to make this sound cooler than it actually was-
I rested at the top of the final cliff and took some video. The first set of boulders I had climbed seemed so remote. I hadn't covered that much ground horizontally, but from my Subaru (that I could still see) to my perch atop these rock was about a 750 foot climb. The winding road I pulled off of to park was more below me than it was beside me. It's a strange phenomenon that's hard to describe, and feelings of vertigo can set in pretty quickly if you're not careful. The whole mountain is tipped one way, gravity is pulling you another way, and the road that you know to be level, flat, and smooth is laid out in front of you. I found myself leaning further back than was probably necessary just to avoid an unintended front flip.
After my short recess I continued to climb. Hiking is a lot tougher for me than rock climbing. After a few feet I already missed my ski poles. My lungs ached, and each step got exponentially harder than the one before. I finally got up to about 6,100 feet before the same scrubby brush that had stood in my way before showed up. I couldn't go any further up the mountain, and I surely didn't want to go back the way I had come. I decided to go down the nice sunny side of the mountain. It still involved a lot of down climbing, and some leaping from rock to rock, but all in all it went favorably. Near the end of my descent I came across a few boulders that were inclined too far for me to down climb in my current skill level,and too high for me to jump down. I realized that I hadn't yet tested out my rope. I looped it around a rock and began to slide down to the ground below. It was about a 15 foot descent onto uneven ground. I still didn't fully trust the rope. It was cheap stuff I had picked up at a hardware store back in Wisconsin. My brothers, my nephews, and I had been using it to practice rappelling down the tree in my mom's back yard. It was only rated to 135 pounds, and I weigh 30 more than that without the backpack. I doubled it up, and lamented the fact that I didn't have thicker gloves as I let the rope slide through my hands. So far so good. Once safely back on the ground I attempted to unloop the rope, but to no avail. It had gotten stuck good and tight. I tried a couple times to climb the difficult incline. I would get up about 8 feet then run out of good hand holds. I dropped back down a few times, then took a swing at it without all my gear. Still no luck. I realized that: 1. I'm really not that good at rock climbing, 2. Steel toed boots are really not good for rock climbing shoes, and 3. I was tired out from all the other climbing I had already done that day. I left my stuff and walked around to find a more favorable way up. Such a way was found only about 50 feet away; guess I didn't need to use the rope after all.
After getting back on the trail at the base of the mountain I used my trusty GPS to get me back to the ski poles. I hiked down to my Subaru, and collapsed into the front seat. All in all it was a pretty good hike, and I still had time to get home and shower before the dance that night.
My old Subaru Outback chugged along the freeway as I made my way closer and closer to the mountains. Off in the distance the Wasatch mountains are a formidable sight. As I drew nearer and nearer to them I began to realize how insanely tall 10,000 feet really was. It's when you get right at the base of the mountain that you think you can actually climb it because: 1. at least you're starting to climb. and 2. your perspective is so thrown off at that point that it doesn't look all that bad.
The entrance tot he park was a little town catering to the needs of skiers and snowboarders. Every signpost and store facade seemed to have some allusion to being on the slopes. I liked it. I stopped at a 7eleven to pick up some new batteries for my GPS. (I still say that is one of the best $95 I've ever spent). After driving up the twisty road for about 3 miles I pulled off to the side in a snow bank and geared up. I had wisely chosen to wear my old hand-me-down Columbia jacket instead of my new pea coat this time around; it was light, it was warm, and I didn't really care if it got torn up.
It only took a few yards of hiking for me to notice the benefit of bringing the ski poles. It only took a few more yards to realize that my body was still not used to a brisk walk with such little oxygen available. I climbed along the gently zig-zagging path which was clearly intended to be at least bicycle (if not wheelchair) accessible. Too tame, I thought to myself. I looked down the narrow and inviting pathway, and then looked directly to my right at the boulders ascending high overhead. That's the route for me. I first tried to tuck my ski poles in between my pack and my coat; then I attempted to insert them vertically between the strap and my spine. In the end I left them dangling from my wrists while I climbed over the first boulder. Since the poles kept getting snagged on cracks and branches I deduced that their benefit on this particular outing was outweighed by their hindrance. I left them on top of my first boulder and trusted to my GPS that I would be able to recover them after I was done gallivanting.
I scrambled up over the next few boulders only to find that the way up from that point was impeded by several scrubby looking shrubs and juniper trees that were grown too tightly together for me to pass without a machete. I surveyed my surroundings and found the cliff on the opposite end of a small valley to be much taller, more interesting, and inevitably more fun. As I traipsed along the edge of this ravine I took note of the slippery, sharp shale that lay all about in varying different hues. There were some large chunks that were light green, like rusted copper; the majority, however, was a deep purple color.
I made my way to the bottom of the canyon and began again my ascent. The entire cliff face was comprised of multiple layers, and leaning several degrees towards the south. It looked kind of like giant ice cream sandwiches someone had set up like dominoes that were slowly tumbling down. Often I would have to do some legitimate rock climbing to get up to a ledge where I could rest and reevaluate. When I though I was on the right rock I could climb all the way to the top I realized that I had to switch to another one and jumped across. It was a bit disconcerting when something I took to be a very solid rock broke off in my hand. I let it fall and it seemed to hang in midair until it was obliterated on the other rocks below. A lot of the climb was along the tilted face of the rocks and so I didn't really need to cling on for dear life, but I definitely couldn't have stood up and hiked. It was a job for all fours.
One time I got as high as I could on a certain face and had to switch to another. the gap in between the two was about 12 feet, more than I wanted to jump, and less than I could span with my body. I had to back track a little and go at it again. I've found that I like down climbing much less that up climbing. When you're going up you can forget how far you've come and you don't really notice that you're 300 feet off the ground; you can also see the hand holds ahead of you. When climbing down you have to feel around with your feet for a secure hold while your hands are getting more and more tired from supporting your body weight, and the weight of all that stupid trail mix you brought along. Side note: Steel toed boots do not make good climbing shoes. If ever I got nervous, or started to freeze up I had to remind myself to just keep moving. The longer you wait, the more tired you get, and the more psychologically strenuous your activity becomes. Besides, I was out there alone. The only clue I had left was a vague facebook post about climbing another mountain. I don't know if you know this or not,but there are a freaking lot of mountains in Utah. If I slipped, fell, broke something, got mauled by a mountain lion, or got lost, there was no one coming to get me; such is the cost and risk of going off the beaten path. -Don't worry Mom, I'm really just trying to make this sound cooler than it actually was-
I rested at the top of the final cliff and took some video. The first set of boulders I had climbed seemed so remote. I hadn't covered that much ground horizontally, but from my Subaru (that I could still see) to my perch atop these rock was about a 750 foot climb. The winding road I pulled off of to park was more below me than it was beside me. It's a strange phenomenon that's hard to describe, and feelings of vertigo can set in pretty quickly if you're not careful. The whole mountain is tipped one way, gravity is pulling you another way, and the road that you know to be level, flat, and smooth is laid out in front of you. I found myself leaning further back than was probably necessary just to avoid an unintended front flip.
After my short recess I continued to climb. Hiking is a lot tougher for me than rock climbing. After a few feet I already missed my ski poles. My lungs ached, and each step got exponentially harder than the one before. I finally got up to about 6,100 feet before the same scrubby brush that had stood in my way before showed up. I couldn't go any further up the mountain, and I surely didn't want to go back the way I had come. I decided to go down the nice sunny side of the mountain. It still involved a lot of down climbing, and some leaping from rock to rock, but all in all it went favorably. Near the end of my descent I came across a few boulders that were inclined too far for me to down climb in my current skill level,and too high for me to jump down. I realized that I hadn't yet tested out my rope. I looped it around a rock and began to slide down to the ground below. It was about a 15 foot descent onto uneven ground. I still didn't fully trust the rope. It was cheap stuff I had picked up at a hardware store back in Wisconsin. My brothers, my nephews, and I had been using it to practice rappelling down the tree in my mom's back yard. It was only rated to 135 pounds, and I weigh 30 more than that without the backpack. I doubled it up, and lamented the fact that I didn't have thicker gloves as I let the rope slide through my hands. So far so good. Once safely back on the ground I attempted to unloop the rope, but to no avail. It had gotten stuck good and tight. I tried a couple times to climb the difficult incline. I would get up about 8 feet then run out of good hand holds. I dropped back down a few times, then took a swing at it without all my gear. Still no luck. I realized that: 1. I'm really not that good at rock climbing, 2. Steel toed boots are really not good for rock climbing shoes, and 3. I was tired out from all the other climbing I had already done that day. I left my stuff and walked around to find a more favorable way up. Such a way was found only about 50 feet away; guess I didn't need to use the rope after all.
After getting back on the trail at the base of the mountain I used my trusty GPS to get me back to the ski poles. I hiked down to my Subaru, and collapsed into the front seat. All in all it was a pretty good hike, and I still had time to get home and shower before the dance that night.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Salt Lake City
This is such a beautiful city. I live a block away from Temple Square which is amazing! I can look out my window and see a handful of historical church sites.
Today I wanted to get out and explore, so I got in my car to head to a nearby rock climbing gym, but almost as soon as I started driving I decided I'd rather go climb a mountain instead. I had no idea where I was going, but I figured I would just drive up the steepest roads I could find until I got to a trail head or something. I'm still surprised at how well my Subaru is holding up after 217,000 miles on it. True, I haven't had it for too long, but there's no denying they are great cars. There seem to be a lot more Subarus out west as well.
Anyway, I drove in circles for a bit until I saw a promising looking mountain. I pulled over in a rather affluent neighborhood and hopped out. As soon as I started scrambling up over the rocks I noticed how much thinner the air was, and how out of shape I was for such endeavors. After I had climbed up abut 300 feet I set my GPS and started my hike. I climbed up one ridge, and saw some cliffs off in the distance. It looked too far to get to, especially for how mad my lungs already were at me; it looked like a good goal though. We had just gotten a few inches of snow.
I felt like every vertical foot I climbed was harder than 20 feet going forward. Eventually I made my way around the mountains until I came to the cliffs. It was difficult with the wind whipping my face and my body not deciding if it was cold or hot. Often I would open up my jacket to cool down because of how hard it was to climb, but at other times I had to put my hood up and button up all the way to protect against the frigid mountain air.
As I got nearer to the cliffs I noticed that they were not just smooth sandstone, as I had supposed, but they were a strange pile of rocks of various sizes and colors all held together by a natural concrete. It was very dangerous climbing because every time I thought I had a good solid handhold or foothold it would break away and the stone would go tumbling hundreds of feet into the valley below. I tried to take pictures and get video, but they never seem to do it justice.
The trek back to the car was every bit as exhausting as my hike out. I did see a few deer hiding in the dogwood thickets. They would wait and stare at me until I attempted to get closer, then they would go bounding off. I was amazing how easy they made it look. Here I was sliding and scrambling not knowing what kind of surface was under the snow cover, and they could practically run down the mountain and think nothing of it.
All in all it was about a 3 mile hike with a vertical change of 1,066 feet.
I drove back into town and grabbed a Gyro from a local burger place. It's the closest version of a kebab I've had since I was in England. When I got out of my car I noticed that I had left my camera on the roof of the car for the whole ride home. I'm just glad I stuck it into the pile of snow on top; if it had slid off at any point I'm sure I would have never found it again.
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