Three Cool Things (Everesting, Icarus film, Cyclon shoe)

September 27, 2020

This post is part of a (potential) weekly series where I share just three things that I thought were interesting. Leave your thoughts in the comments section!

EVERESTING

There’s a good chance you’ve already heard of this. When Tom told me about it this week, he seemed surprised that I hadn’t. Everesting is a pretty simple concept with pretty simple rules: you ascend a single hill multiple times without stopping until you cumulatively have totaled 8,848m (29,029ft). As of September 2020 just shy of 12,000 people have accomplished this and have made it to the hall of fame on Everesting.cc. The first recorded attempt of this feat was by George Mallory’s grandson (of the same name) in 1994 when he rode eight laps on Mount Donna Buang. Afterward, rules started to form around it and it became more official. No surprise that there’s been renewed interest in the challenge from both pros and weekend warriors alike as they’ve looked for creative ways to push themselves during Covid.

I took a look around the map on the Everesting.cc map and found a few successful attempts within NYC, which is famously not hilly. Someone had biked the Williamsburg bridge for 37 hours straight to accumulate the required elevation gain! It’s not something for me, but I’m very impressed by the effort.

Icarus (2017 film)

I watched this film while on a spin bike, which felt appropriate. Initially the film seemed like it was going to tell a story about cycling and doping. We see filmmaker Bryan Fogel intentionally (but reluctantly) taking performance enhancing drugs under the supervision of Russian scientist Grigory Rodchenkov. It seemed like a bizarre, athletic version of the film Super Size Me where a guy ate nothing but McDonalds for a month as an experiment.

Icarus takes a turn mid-way through and becomes a film about Russian state-sponsored corruption, the dangers of telling the truth, and the lengths people will go to win. Grigory ends up being a whistle-blower and exposes what’s considered the largest scandal in sports history. He’s now in the US Federal Witness Protection Program and has left his family and financial stability in Russia. It’s so much more than a sports movie. Check it out on Netflix. It won an Oscar for Best Documentary in 2018.

Cyclon shoe

This came up on my Instagram feed and the clickbait title caught me: You will never own this shoe. That message was placed on top of a fairly boring-looking all-white sneaker. It was an ad from On Running. The idea is that these running sneakers are rented, not sold, via a subscription service of $29.99 a month. This shoe is partially made from castor beans and is recyclable. The value prop seems to be: instead of shelling out hundreds of dollars a year on running sneakers that you’ll toss, you get a fresh pair every month without the guilty conscience of your kicks ending up in a landfill. Check em out for yourself on their website.

There’s a lot of emotion in the comments section of their Facebook and Instagram posts to say the least. My point of view is that spending $360 on running sneakers every year is way too much, but perhaps this is targeted to more serious athletes. I also feel uncomfortable with subscribing to yet another service. I’m already paying for (or sharing) the Adobe suite, Spotify, video streaming services, Peloton, Amazon Prime, my iPhone etc. Do I really need another?

A bigger question is: how much more am I willing to pay to reduce my footprint? Unintentional pun.

Cycling to Bear Mountain and Croton Dam from NYC - 130 miles in a day

September 21, 2020

This post contains affiliate links. If you use these links to buy something I may earn a commission. Thanks for supporting me!

This ride was done on September 19th, 2020. If you’re looking for my GPS track and a link to the map pictured above, check it out on Gaia. If the link fails for whatever reason, shoot me a message and I’ll figure it out. If you follow the route above, note that there are some micro-optimizations I’d make in hindsight. I’ll try to cover any questions you may have about the ride below. Scroll to the bottom for a photo slideshow.

THE INSPIRATION

After my climbing gym closed for Covid and I didn’t have to schlep myself into the office, I found myself with more time for structured endurance training of my legs. Without a goal in mind, I decided to train exclusively in my Zone 1 and Zone 2 heart rate. Given how slowly I was moving, I wasn’t much of a fun running partner for Leah. Unlike high-intensity interval training, results were not immediate; fortunately, I knew what I was getting myself into after poring over Training for the New Alpinism and Training for the Uphill Athlete several times.

Prior to the NYC lockdown in March, I hadn’t used my mountain bike beyond commuting ten minutes to work. I would never have called myself a cyclist. I hadn’t even used my bike for dirt trails more than twice. My reluctance to use my bike for exploring the city was because of bike thefts, so I never saw it as a means of covering any mileage. I started to change my mind when I found the r/NYCbike community and what was possible.

MAKING IT HAPPEN

Throughout the summer I looked for new destinations to bike to, keeping a watchful eye on the mileage. When I felt comfortable with 20 miles, I bumped it up to 30, and so on. My longest ride was in Acadia National Park (see that story here) where I clocked in 100 miles over two days. Through some accident on the bike rental shop’s part I was given a brand new Specialized Tarmac road bike, which I’d later find out was $7,000! I hadn’t ridden a road bike before so it felt like I was on a rocket ship.

I floated the idea of doing a century ride to Bear Mountain with Ben and Greg. Only Greg had done a century ride before and he’d also be the only person with a road bike (although it was 30 years old).

While mapping out the route, I planned for us to return on the same path. Leah gave me the idea to cross the Hudson and cover new ground. I then realized how close I’d be to Croton Gorge Park and figured it was worth the additional miles. The estimated distance now totaled about 125 miles, and the most I had ever ridden in a single push was 60 miles on smooth national park road on a souped-up machine.

Leah suggested I rent a road bike for the attempt, but I refused. I wanted to prove to myself that my full-suspension mountain bike (weighing 30lbs) would be sufficient. I was willing to be stubborn, but I wasn’t willing to be an idiot. I planned out bail options along the Metro-North Railroad, plotted out water refuel stops and bike repair shops, and even refreshed myself on how to change my tube. I asked r/NYCbike for some optimizations on the route and even looked into some history of the area to amp up the enjoyment I’d get from cruising around upstate New York.

HOW I DID IT

I took a sleeping pill the evening before (reluctantly) to ensure I’d get a proper rest from an early bedtime. I drank half a liter of water at 5AM and made a simple protein shake for breakfast.

We met up at 6AM by the Tribeca bridge as it was convenient for the guys arriving from Brooklyn. The temps hovered around the low 50s and we pushed against 15mph headwinds. I could feel my body trying hard and I started to doubt myself, but when we finally made it past the George Washington Bridge and were protected from the brunt of the wind, I felt like I was dialed in.

After about 40 miles, I took off my softshell jacket and biked for the rest of the day in my sun hoody until about sunset. I did not pack a first aid kit beyond some Aleve (which I had planned to take at the halfway point), some wipes, and antibiotic. Some folks may not be a fan of this approach, but I was comfortable with the thin kit because of how close we were to civilization.

My strategy for food was a calorie drip of 150 calories per hour. At the top of every hour, I would eat about 100 calories of food and drink a third of a liter of water (which had calories from my drink mix).
🚴🏾‍♀️
In the early morning hours, I biased toward sugars and gels given that my body was low on carbs from sleep. I had my last caffeinated snack at about 2pm. At the summit of Bear Mountain (around lunch time) I intentionally broke my 150 cal/hr rule and ate about 600 calories (mostly protein).
🚴🏾‍♂️
By the end, I had burned about 10,000 calories that day. I carried all this in a hiking backpack (no panniers or cycling jersey to stuff this into).

WHAT I’D DO DIFFERENTLY

I don’t think there’s much I’d do differently, so I’ll call out some of the things I did that made a huge difference.

Having a softshell jacket helped with the wind and kept my core body temperature reasonable.
I relied heavily on my GPS, so I made sure to carry a big external battery which was absolutely necessary.
I’m glad I did this with friends. I’m comfortable hiking big objectives solo (e.g., Pemi loop in a day) but I felt more psychologically safe biking near car traffic knowing that I was with others.
I wore a heart rate monitor belt and could see my effort on my watch. This was mostly psychological as it gave me more confidence on hills (e.g., while pedaling up a hill I was in Zone 4, which I knew I could sustain for several minutes).
Having a high quality phone mount on my bike was amazing for removing my phone quickly and using it while mounted. I had been using cheap ones before and finally got an expensive one. I heard the Quad Lock is good but I use the Rokform mount.

WHAT SURPRISED ME

This is going to sound strange, but I was surprised at how prepared we were. There was very little in terms of what was unexpected. I even watched crappy GoPro footage from some cyclists who had done similar loops.

I thought I’d pay more attention to taking better photos, but I couldn’t find the headspace to do that. My mind was occupied with enjoying the scenery or keeping momentum. Most of my photos were taken while on the move.

The biggest surprise to me was that there was zero soreness in my muscles the next day. I assumed everything from my quads to my neck would need serious rest for days, but that wasn’t the case at all. I give full credit to my simple but diligent and consistent routine of great sleep, heavy hydration, lots of protein, liberal use of a massage gun, recovery yoga, breathing exercises, and long low-intensity workouts.

WHAT’S NEXT

While the temps are still good, I’m wondering what else I can get done.

Can I do more mileage with a better bike and/or less elevation? If so, where would I go? How much of my cycling fitness can I keep during the winter when biking will freeze my fingers off?

If you have any ideas for big linkups, let me know!

THE FULL STORY

I put together and pinned a story on Instagram (see here) but I might take it down at some point. Here it is in case you want some visuals to get you stoked. If you decide to try this, let me know! I’ll be cheering for you.

Taken from near the summit of Borestone Mountain in central Maine. Sunrise Pond, Mid-day Pond, and Sunset Pond are framing the background. We had the mountain all to ourselves.

Summer in Maine - Sebec Lake and Acadia National Park

July 12, 2020

I stepped onto the platform, amazed at how empty and clean the train was. Leah was waiting for me outside the station, grateful that I hadn’t taken another crowded and smelly Greyhound bus, which I promised myself for the fourth time I’d never do regardless of how cheap tickets were. We embraced and headed over to Gloucester, where we’d stay with her parents for a few days before driving up to Maine for the week.

Her folks owned a cabin right on Sebec Lake, one of the state’s more spectacular lakes. We had talked about visiting together for years but never prioritized it; international trips and visits to blockbuster destinations would always get the first pick on a limited pool of vacation days. With travel restrictions this year, the cabin in Maine seemed like the perfect spot to hide out from the pandemic and disconnect from the world. We saw on a map that we’d be close to Acadia National Park, and realized it’d be an ideal time to visit: the Canadian border was closed and the lack of cruise ships unloading tourists into Bar Harbor presented a once in a lifetime opportunity. I was also eager to give Acadia another chance: my first visit left me feeling that it was the Disneyland of national parks given how car-friendly it was.

On the evening before we left, Leah tried out her new wetsuit in the ocean a short walk from home. She was excited for swimming in Sebec Lake, which apparently would remain cold til late August. She made sure I didn’t forget to ask Ben for his wetsuit, which he kindly let me borrow.

Sunrise over Sebec

It took some persuading the evening we arrived to convince Leah to get up for sunrise at 4:45am. To squeeze out a few extra minutes of sleep, she had me believe that it’d take a while before I’d see any light and that I might as well set my alarm for later. (None of that was actually true).
I woke up before my alarm, excited to put on my shoes and head out the door. I wasn’t sure if Leah would join, but she eventually rolled out of bed and we stepped out into the sweet piney air together. We followed a dirt trail til we found the last dock. The owners weren’t home so we sat out and watched the warm colors slowly drain from the sky.

Out for a swim

Leah was bummed that the boat on our dock wouldn’t start, but we donned our wetsuits and went for a dip in the lake. To our surprise the water was more refreshing than it was cold, even in the early morning hours.

The afternoon weather wasn’t looking too promising, so we decided to do just a short hike to the summit of Borestone Mountain. This trail might have been the most popular one in central Maine, but everyone we came across was heading down. Once we reached the top, the wind picked up and held on til the thick rain began pouring on us. Fortunately we were below treeline when the thunder was crackling into the open sky.

The following day we took out the canoe to Buck’s Cove, which Leah said was one of the more wilder parts of the lake. It hadn’t been inhabited by people since the Natives. The trees also grew thicker and darker on this edge of the lake . We even spotted a bald eagle perched on the edge of the water, watching us curiously from a distance.

Finding our way in the woods

Leah mentioned there was a locally-known trail behind the cabin leading to the “Ice Caves.” She was in middle school when she last saw the massive glacial erratic boulders that held cold air all year round.
We ended up on a wrong path and never found the ice caves. About a mile of hiking through thickly vegetated woods where the spongy dirt sank a little with each step led us to a deserted cabin. There were piles of odd, old metal bits and parts scattered around, junkyard-style. It was clear someone lived there, but it didn’t seem like anyone was home. We stayed for a minute or so and then quickly slipped away before the excited swarm of mosquitos chewed through our clothes.

After several days of relaxing and enjoying the lake views from the porch, we packed up and headed to the coast. On the drive we listened to a podcast about the 1947 fire in Maine that changed the ecology and population of Mount Desert Island. Shortly after we arrived to the park, we hiked up to the top of Acadia Mountain. Just as quickly as the fog lifted for us when we topped out, it enveloped us as we descended. We met a solo hiker named Chris who had grown up on the island before moving to settle in New York City. He asked if we wanted to hike and chat, which was a bit unusual given the pandemic. None of us had masks on and we didn’t make any intentional effort to keep a strict six feet of distance.

Sand Beach

We found the parking lot for Sand Beach to be nearly empty. I took in a deep breath of the cool, salty air as soon as we stepped out of the car. There weren’t many visitors. We sat on the edge of the water, listening to the rumble of the grey ocean crashing into the short. The sun finally cut through the overcast and the scene transformed. The waves took on a vibrant blue and the tops of pine trees above the cliffs were painted with an evening gold.

We drove along the park loop road a short distance to Thunder Hole. To get away from the few groups waiting to take photos at the main ‘splash zone’ vista, we kicked off our sandals and climbed down and up a steep chute to access a large rocky platform. We were just beyond eyeshot of the other visitors and certainly couldn’t hear them over the waves.

Otter Point at sunset

We made one last stop before calling it a night. Just as the sky became a cotton candy pink, we pulled into Otter Point. Not a single car or visitor was in sight; we had the entire sunset to ourselves. Out in the distance, we could see and hear a white buoy ringing a bell with every wave that rocked it, warning of a hidden rock formation just below the surface. From here, the waves sounded like a hushed whisper broken only by a clear ring every few seconds.

A very lucky accident

Leah suggested we get some major miles in on bikes around Mount Desert Island. The most I had ever ridden was a little over 20 miles, and I had never been on a road bike before. The rental shop accidentally sold the bike I booked and was entirely out of stock. They instead had to take a brand new $7,000 road bike from their sales floor and slapped a rental sticker on it, meaning I’d be the first to give it a spin.

I was impressed at how much faster I could bike without exerting any effort. We certainly slowed down to enjoy any views, walking our bikes along gravel paths that led to the edge of the water. Our loop today would 42 miles on what was called the “quieter side” of the island. Our path took is in and out of the national park and residential streets. It was fun to see the homes and imagine what it might be like to live in such a scenic place. None of the houses were too gaudy; all seemed to prioritize being secluded, which wasn’t surprising: the park had over 3 million visitors in 2019. For context, the entire island has a population of 10,000.

Bubble rock

We still felt fresh after the ride and the sun was still high in the sky. After some popovers at the Jordan Pond House, we put away the bikes and hiked up to South Bubble for a view of Bubble Rock, a glacial erratic precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff. The most popular photo pose is of someone trying to push it over. Eventually it will topple (geologic time includes now), and I wondered who that lucky and surprised soul would be.
We planned to get takeout at a restaurant and sit by the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse. The restaurant we had in mind announced that it’d be closing its doors for good in two days given the pandemic. When we showed up, to our surprise they asked if we wanted a table for two. Apparently Maine had just allowed indoor dining to resume, which was quite convenient because it started raining hard. Sitting in a restaurant was quite an odd experience to say the least.

I woke up the next day feeling pretty great in my legs, which didn’t surprise me. My recipe for recovery has a simple but strict regimen of aggressive hydrating (without alcohol), lots of protein, relaxing stretching, good sleep, and my favorite: blasting away any soreness with a massage gun (I use the Hypervolt). Today we’d be tackling a bigger loop of about 60 miles through the more populated side of Mount Desert Island. It was also Friday, July 3rd, so there’d be more car traffic to deal with. Fortunately we had clear skies and a nice breeze from the ocean to cool us off whenever we needed to catch our breath.

I was even more grateful today to be on two wheels, which allowed us stop wherever and whenever we wanted. There were random short paths that led out to amazing, secluded vistas just off the side of the road, some of which didn’t have a convenient spot to park a car. We were able to roll up and get a lesser-seen perspective on Acadia because of the freedom of being on a bike. I’m sure that earning our views with each pedal stroke also made the moments feel all the more special.

Daydreaming

In addition to the added mileage exposing us to more scenery, we also coasted through more residential parts of the island. Leah and I fantasized out loud about living here when we retired, going back and forth on whether we thought our friends would visit us. I assumed they would, but mostly to see the park and use the extra bedroom. I quietly wondered which national park would be the best one to live near. I’ve got my money on Yosemite.

At the high point

Whatever comfort in my riding strength I had evaporated when we started the climb up Cadillac Mountain, the island’s high point at 1,529 ft. It’s not particularly high, but I hadn’t ever biked up anything more than a small hill prior to this. The slope was also never very steep, it just seemed to go on forever. Halfway up I began to quietly damn all the cars that gliding up the road. I wanted to give up for a short breather at each minute, but I knew I’d be prouder of myself I stayed in the saddle and pushed on.

Happy and sore

Despite my padded bike shorts, my butt was so sore at the top. Leah and I laid down on a clearing of flat rock and didn’t move for several minutes. When we finally made our way down, which I’d been looking forward to the entire ride up, I felt like a missile hurtling down to earth. The views at every turn were incredible and the roar of the cold wind was deafening. I had to keep myself in check from going too fast and accidentally biking off the road on the hairpin turns.

We closed out the evening by eating a spread of ice cream, pizza, curly fries, chips, and lobster rolls. It felt great to get real food in us after a diet of sucking down energy gels and chugging electrolyte water for the entirety of the day. We pulled up to Echo Lake, and ate our food on a small beach. We didn’t go in for a swim, but the freshwater here is some of the warmest on the island for taking a dip.

On our last day out in the park we had just enough time for a hike to the top of Mansell Mountain, overlooking Long Pond. As we drove through the island, we noticed that some parts of the island were shrouded in thick fog whereas driving two minutes away would open us up to a perfect summer morning with blue skies. The trail we took up was the Perpendicular Trail, a steep staircase of a path that was appropriately named. We happened to be on the foggy side of the island, so there wasn’t much for views, but any day on the trail is better than a day off trail.

We had a phenomenal week in Maine. Even on the days that it rained up in the cabin, we made the most of it by sitting on the porch watching the weather roll in and out, even swimming in the lake when it rained (you can’t get any more wet after all). It was both a relaxing and stimulating week. I changed my views on Acadia and got to experience it in a different way. I wouldn’t ever come again on the fourth of July, but if I did, I’d definitely be on two wheels and would avoid any of the popular, blockbuster trails unless I were to do them at odd hours (sunrise or very late in the day).

I hope you get a chance to experience some Acadia magic yourself. However you do it, be safe and be responsible! 😊

Last days in Red Rock

March 21, 2020

I had just two more days to explore Red Rock Canyon and the weather was ripe for climbing. Unfortunately, I saw a message from the person I was scheduled to partner with: she had to bail, leaving me on my own. It was too late to reliably find a partner online, so I decided to just wander around the most popular cliff with a guidebook. In the best case scenario, I’d find a an odd-numbered group willing to rope up with me. In the worst case scenario, I’d become more familiar with the crag.

I barely parked my car before a couple came over to me and enthusiastically asked what I was climbing. I told them my plan and they invited me to tag along and climb Physical Graffiti (5.6). As we walked over to the route, I tried to gauge their experience level, cautious about what I was getting myself into. I was thrown off by how warmly they pulled me in, given my personal conservative approach to climbing partners. I knew the route would be well below my abilities (Red Rock grading is soft and crack climbing is my jam), so I relaxed and played along.

We were moving slowly as a party of three, which was expected, but it was clear to me that I was vastly more experienced than they were combined. Despite them noting they had over a decade of climbing experience, I was very doubtful and assumed they included gym climbing and top-roping outside.

I switched into ‘guide mode’ and tried to control as much of the risk as possible without being overt or obnoxious. Most of this meant efficient rope management, but not entirely. At one point, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest at the top of the first pitch. The husband was well on his way leading the second pitch, while the wife and I stayed behind to belay while tethered to a quad anchor I built. I knew we would rappel off the top, and I wanted to keep the sling configured as a quad intact for the sake of convenience later. I asked the wife if she could not undo the knots when she cleaned the anchor when it was her turn to climb, explaining my logic. Eager to help and not understanding the obvious benefit of being anchored and equalized to two bolts, she said “You can take it now!” and began to unscrew the locking carabiner on the quad, which was tethering her to the wall. I instinctively yelled for her to stop. She was perplexed and said, “It’s no problem, I’ll just transfer my PAS to that bolt here!” I was stunned that it hadn’t dawned on her yet that the locking carabiner she was a second from opening was what was keeping her from plummeting to the ground. I tried to explain that we were standing on a thin, crowded ledge, wide enough for only our toes, but she replied that she felt safe making the move. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, since the she had spoken earlier about how risk averse she was after becoming a mother of two. I ended the conversation and just insisted she stay tethered in.

Smiles from the top of the pitch one

This was the stance where the story above took place.

I’m eager to get on the long crack of pitch two.

I was a bit jealous that I didn’t lead that next pitch :)

I had fun on the climb and I was grateful for them including me into their day. Both of them were delightful and extremely nice, but I was a bit fatigued with the idea of playing guide. I suggested we take a look at some problems in the Kraft boulders area, staying lower to the ground.

We went to the famous Plumbers Crack, an easy chimney that ascends 40 feet. We met Matt and Matthew, two boulderers on the road. After making it to the top, Matthew ended up falling the last 5 feet of the descent after a foothold broke. He was fine, just a bit bruised.

We moved on to another famous rock, the Monkey Bar. It was nearing sunset so we got in as many laps as we could.

Matthew was living out of a '87 Toyota Shasta, enjoying the freedom of the road.

Just before my trip came to a close, I messaged him asking if he wanted my extra food that went uneaten during my two weeks on the road. I liked that he was living out his dream after saving up for years working random jobs.
A few days after we met, he fell on his ankle and needed to take 6 weeks off of climbing. Reasons I don’t boulder ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Matt getting the last send in before dark

I made plans to climb with another person the next day. I politely turned down the couple’s offer to join them on a 6 pitch route.

Today’s partner hadn’t trad climbed before, so we climbed a sport route to keep it simple. After leading the first pitch, I set him up on a belay and he began to climb pitch two. He was within eyeshot of me at the top of the belay, and I could tell immediately that he was sloppy and unsure how to manage a simple lap coil. Once he called for me to climb and noted that I was on belay, I double checked, asking “I’m good to climb? You got me on the correct side of the belay device?” He was quiet, and then said, “Uh, do you mind if I use my gri-gri instead? I’m more comfortable that way.” I told him he should use whatever he was most comfortable with, and quietly wondered why I should ever need to say something so obvious.

Once I was on belay again, I confirmed once more and got an affirmative answer. I broke down the anchor and began climbing. I was at about the second bolt when he yelled, “Wait, wait, can you not climb for just a sec?” I cursed to myself, wondering if I was solo-ing unintentionally. I grabbed two opposing quickdraws and went in direct to the nearest bolt. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but after a few quiet minutes, we resumed climbing. I was careful and on edge, but treating this climb as if I was actually solo-ing. A similar scenario played out as I led the third pitch. “Wait, can you not climb for just a sec?” He made a rat’s nest of the rope again. I went in direct to a bolt and sent a quick text and photo to Leah, explaining the absurdity of my situation.

When we made it down to the ground, I turned down his offer for another climb, noting that I needed to head out. We didn’t acknowledge the sketchiness on the route, and began chatting with the with the climbing party nearby. He exchanged contact information in the hopes of partnering up with them on a future date. I later tipped them off that they should steer clear of him. With the next few hours, I decided to wander around the Kraft boulders, talking to the boulderers there.

Approaching people to take photos was extremely awkward for me, and something I wasn’t used to doing. I felt like I was the weird guy interrupting their focus and trying to force my way into a conversation. I knew I’d be more comfortable without my camera, but I saw an opportunity to work on something different.

All the climbers I chatted with were open to the idea of being photographed and were excited to have me share my photos of them later.

Chris cutting feet on the Potato Chip boulder.

Colin (below) and I chatted, talking about the poor etiquette of climbers who didn’t respect the rule of waiting days after a rain storm to climb again. On long routes, this could be dangerous and fatal. On boulders, it more likely meant that essential holds on classic routes could be pulled off. Colin told me that a group of locals would come by and super-glue the pieces back, which both made sense and also seemed weird. Colin asked if I had a place to shower and offered his place, which was quite generous of him. I didn’t need it, but I was reminded of how lucky I am to be a part of a welcoming community of climbers.

I had about a full day to reflect on my trip before I boarded a flight back home. A few days of poor weather drastically changed the course of my plans for the entire two weeks. I was bummed that I needed to pivot and adapt, but I’m proud of myself for finding a meaningful experience each day despite it all. I’m also grateful for the new friends I made and I hope we cross paths again. Although I was on my own throughout the two weeks, I’m glad I had Leah on the phone whenever I needed her to help me find perspective and make the most of the beautiful places I was in.

Thanksgiving in Joshua Tree

March 17, 2020

Once I was on the Mojave Desert road, I lost service.

It had been an hour since I left Eyal and Max at a pullout in Red Rock. We spent the early morning hours climbing, getting a few routes in before the winter storm inevitably descended onto the canyon. We pulled our ropes as the first flakes touched the sandstone.

Getting disconnected from Leah on my phone call was also inevitable. Earlier, I had passed signs warning of no gas stations for the next hundred or so miles. The road ahead was familiar, layered into memory from past drives. The scenery was both fascinating and monotonous.

My earliest memory was being alone on the road,

struggling to stay awake and swiftly cutting through the night with my headlights. I was behind schedule because of an impromptu detour into the desert, hoping to catch the sunset from behind a Joshua tree.

A more recent memory was with Leah.

The cloudless, afternoon sky had the sun drawing sharp, elongated shadows into the sand. I remember us struggling to put up the tent that night, working together to fight the wind sweeping fast across the desert. I questioned whether it would all blow away if at least one of us wasn’t inside.

This time, I was leaving Red Rock. It was by luck and advanced planning that I snagged a campsite for an entire week there. My luck only carried me so far: the storm building in my rearview would render the sandstone unsafe to climb, and I was hell-bent on climbing. Joshua Tree was the best option I had, and so I headed south.

Late in the afternoon, I arrived to Twentynine Palms on the northern edge of Joshua Tree and called Leah again. At this point I had hit a low and let my frustrations flow honestly and openly. I felt ungrounded and lost as I moved from one destination to another, chasing weather. I didn’t mind being alone, but the loneliness this time sat heavier than usual. Saying it aloud helped pull me out of the hole I dug myself into. I knew I had I made the right choice to come, but the uncertainty of what I’d be doing here bred more anxiety than excitement.

My first stop was to the local gear shop to pick up a guidebook on routes in the park. I told the shop owner I didn’t have a partner to climb with, and if I couldn’t find one online I’d take a recommendation on a boulder problem (ideally with a crack to practice jamming). He gave me a suggestion and I checked into an empty campsite, grateful for a hot shower. I settled into the back of my car for a deep sleep.

In the morning, I saw snow in the forecast. I wasn’t in a rush today though. Joshua Tree’s monzonite granite rock didn’t lose its integrity when wet, unlike porous sandstone. I made my way over to the boulder recommended to me the day before. I was told there was a good chance I’d find other climbers there with crash pads working on Big Bob’s Big Wedge (v5).

Sure enough, there were three climbers who welcomed me to huddle under the imposing roof, split by a crack slightly narrower than a fist, my favorite size. They invited me to have a go and didn’t need to ask twice. I was over the moon with the first hand jam, and euphoric again with the second move. I relaxed, allowing my body to sag and enjoy the horizontal sensation, hanging with the easy pressure of squeezing my hands and feet, torquing both just right. Crack climbing had become an obsession of mine but I didn’t practice beyond the never-changing routes at my local gym.

After about an hour, snow started to fall. This snow was thick and wet, and the group decided to break and head back. They invited me to sit in their camper van with them. I could’ve spent another few hours under that rock, but I politely accepted. While we sat, the conversation felt forced on my part and I suspected the group wasn’t sure how to tell me they had other plans. I was grateful for their company, but I had the feeling I should get going. I happily said goodbye and drove out of the park.

Not long after, I found myself in a gas station parking lot with a 6-inch sub on my lap. It was Thanksgiving Day, and after calling about ten restaurants, Subway was the only place open. On the other side of my windows, rain was pouring hard. I entertained myself with social media, and ultimately decided that the most fun thing to do would be to get another sandwich. I put on my jacket and ran inside to put in another order, only to find that Subway had closed early.

My boredom eventually led me to browse Mountain Project’s online forum. I noticed a post from a few minutes ago asking if anyone wanted to hang out at Joshua Tree Saloon. I was the first to arrive and met Kassia. We talked and I learned that she was a strong sport climber living on the road, making a full-time salary working ~6hrs a week pitching stem cell therapy to prospective clients in different cities. We got along great and before long, I noticed across the bar sat a familiar face. It was Will. He and I messaged each other earlier on Mountain Project, agreeing to climb together the following day.

I invited Will over to join us. As we chatted, a guy next to us turned around and said he couldn’t help but ask a question about stem cell therapy. This was Jack, and very quickly I picked up on how funny and friendly he was. I couldn’t figure out his story because of how often he’d go on tangents, always half-revealing another interesting side of his life. I couldn’t tell if he was dirt-bagging on vacation or if he had been transient for a while. His dinner was a bag of goldfish crackers and Budweiser. I did gather he had a CBD skin salve for climbers, and I think he had been pot-farming since he was 16 years old.

On my drive to the campsite, I called Leah again, telling her about how my day had played out, all the friends I made, and how excited I was to finally climb and get my feet off the ground tomorrow.

I had a great feeling about partnering up with Will.

He climbed at the same trad level I did, shared my risk tolerance, was also from NYC, and mirrored my stoke for getting on rock.
He was an engineer working remotely 3 days a week, just beginning to experiment with trying to do his job while being entirely on the road. His plan was to camp and climb for 4 days, and then get an Airbnb for the rest of the week while he telecommuted.

I regrettably didn’t capture any photos of our first day. I was focusing on trying to show Will that I was paying attention, proving I was a capable partner and also gauging whether my instincts were right about him. The first route I had chosen was Dilly Bar, a 5.6 that followed a chimney. He gave me the first lead and I racked up. The wall I chose for us was in the shade all day this time of the year. The temperature hovered just below freezing and the wind stabbed me to my core. My fingers were fully numb halfway up the route; I stopped for a few minutes on a ledge to return some feeling by pocketing them in my armpits. I looked down and saw Will shivering in his puffy. I wasn’t sure who had it worse: him standing still or me touching cold rock that could best be be described as climbing in a deep freezer.

I came to the crux of the route and noted that the jug (deep depression in the rock) above was filled with water and frozen solid, like a miniature ice rink. At this point, my fingers were useless and my arms felt like blunt instruments. I reminded myself to place gear and move on. When I topped out, the full force of the wind was realized and it almost sent me off my balance. At the very least I was in the sun now. When Will climbed up to me, we looked at each other and agreed finding a different wall was a great idea.

The next route was in the sun, but was miserable in a different way. Bat Crack (5.5) felt more like a 5.7. Will led the first pitch and I got the second. Although the climbing was fairly secure, the entire route was characterized by a lot of groveling and inelegant movement. The low-angle slot I was shimmying up scraped against my skin and clothes, even removing several pieces of gear off my harness somehow.

The gang regrouped at the Saloon and traded stories. Jack and Kassia, both strong climbers talked about how stunned they were to struggle and fail a v1 boulder problem. Joshua Tree’s reputation for stiff grading was felt by all.

The following day, I arranged to climb with Annie, a local of the area. She was eager to show me some of the classics, so we started off on The Swift (5.7). Annie suggested I take the harder pitches of the climb, and I hid my nervousness well by moving gracefully over the rock. After we completed route, I walked into a cactus bush, sending about a hundred sharp “hairs” into my leg. Using some of Annie’s tape, I was able to get most of it out, but to I felt the odd prick here and there throughout the day.

We moved on to another part of the park, hoping to get to Mental Physics (5.7). This was one of more popular routes in the park, but involved a ~1hr hike and some simple route-finding to get to. Walking through the quiet wilderness was a lot of fun. Hopping over rocks and crawling under pinches between large boulders made me feel like a kid. When we arrived to the route, there were about three parties ahead of us. I was happy to wait since we had travelled all this way, but I could tell Annie hated the idea of waiting. She suggested we go to another route 20 minutes away. As soon as we were under the new route, we found a pair of climbers there, lost, looking for the same route we had come to climb.

In a last ditch effort to get a climb in, we hiked over to The Last Angry Arab (5.6). Annie gave me the lead. When I was about 15 feet off the ground, I decided the climbing wasn’t secure enough. The slab my feet rested on was actively peeling layers off. Rather than continue, I decided to downclimb and remove the protection I placed in the rock. When I was halfway down, my foot slipped and I fell. I landed in a perfectly seated position on the ground, amazed I didn’t hurt myself. It was an hour til sunset and we had a decent hike over boulders before we would return to the car, so it was a relief to walk away from the fall without an injury.

It was Kassia’s birthday

and she invited us all to join her for dinner. It would be our last time as a group. We goofed off by suggesting absurd responses for her to the guy she was texting with, each of us trying to come up with a more inane response.

The next day, Will and I met up to climb with each other again. Although I had fun exploring with Annie yesterday, I didn’t want to hike far only to be met with a queue of climbers. I suggested we climb The Swift, the same route I had done yesterday with Annie. This time, I would follow the pitches I previously led.

While climbing, we made friendly conversation with the party nearby. They were on Dappled Mare (5.8). It was another classic, and just a level more difficult than what we were climbing. After asking them for beta on the route, we decided to go for it next.

Will and I had a blast on the route, ending just as the sun ducked behind the ridge.

I was grateful for the climb. It was the hardest route either of us had done and we both cooly climbed it safely and smoothly.

Will and I closed out the evening over some Thai food. We said goodbye and promised to keep in touch.

I stepped into my car and headed back into the Mojave Desert toward Red Rock, where the conditions were finally dry. I was just as alone on this drive as I was on the way in, but I carried with me the memories of new friends and shared stories, which made all the difference.

Making the most of COVID-19

March 15, 2020

It’s March 15th, and all signs point to the Coronavirus accelerating in its spread in the United States. A colleague told me that we’re just weeks behind East Asia and Europe, a fairly grim outlook. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. The immediate question I ask myself is what I’d do differently if I anticipated 4 more months of this. 6 more months? 8 months? What habits would I try to form in order to better weather the storm?

Rather than settle into a depressing slump of cabin fever, I considered this as an opportunity for growth. I did notice that my co-workers and friends seemed anxious and didn’t share my optimistic outlook. I thought it’d be worthwhile to break down my thoughts in writing to see if it could be helpful to others, and if not, at the very least to hold myself accountable by publicly sharing. My thoughts aren’t universally applicable of course. My life circumstances will be different than yours. Below are some ways I’m taking advantage of this new environment.

Sleep - Since I don’t need to commute into the office anymore, it’s easy to give myself an extra dose of sleep but also stay up later the night before. At first the extra time in bed seemed like a great win for my health, but it threw off my sleep schedule. When it was time for bed, I’d convince myself I could sleep in, justifying the extra hour or two burned unproductively online.
- Instead of committing to going to sleep at a set time, I turn off all screens and notifications at a pre-determined time. Afterward, I’m free to do anything apart from my gadget for as long as I’d like. Oftentimes I’ll have a book in bed, and when it feels right, I call it a night.
- The point here is to try and stick to your normal sleep cycle, but also slip in a good habit or two: disconnecting + catching up on reading.
Exercise - If you can’t go to a gym, you can still exercise. For centuries, Ancient Roman armies had phenomenal fitness without all the fancy equipment we pay for today. If they could figure it out, why couldn’t I? I had this obvious realization years ago when paying for an Equinox gym membership. I assumed that the bite of paying more would pressure me to exercise more. That assumption held true for a bit, but the sticker shock wears off. What I was missing was self-motivation.
- The only gym membership I pay for today is a climbing gym membership, which I froze temporarily. It’s hard to replicate that at home, but that doesn’t mean I can’t train to emerge stronger than when I started. I won’t give specific fitness advice since that’s dependent on your goals, but here are some ways I’ve incorporated exercise easily:
  - Pushups and planks during meetings. When I’m on a video call, I’ll turn off my video for a minute and crank out a few of these.
  - Pullups and hang-boarding whenever I leave my room. Above the door frame, I already had a hangboard for climbing training. If I step out to go to the bathroom or get a snack, I’ll do some reps here.
  - Going outside and running. It’s getting warmer outside and thanks to Daylight Savings Time, the sun sets later. Just as I would if I was in the office, I put a hard stop on my calendar to shut off my laptop and enjoy some evening sun while I’ve got it.
  - Physical therapy. If you have a stubborn injury (e.g., a tweaked shoulder rotator cuff, a stiff IT band, sharp knee pain when running), find out the best way to attack it with some dedicated PT at home. Before reading a single email in the morning, put some time in and invest in your future self. Think of it as your “warm-up” to starting work.
- The point here is to find small ways to do something, anything. The more momentum you lose in fitness, the harder it will be to bounce back.
Finances - I saw a joke recently: “Everyone’s telling me not to look at my 401k because of the market drop…I don’t even know how to look at my 401k.” It’s an unfortunate reality that most people aren’t financially literate. Access to information isn’t the issue anymore, with tons of YouTubers and bloggers breaking down complex problems in easy-to-understand language.
- The first step is to know yourself. Keep a log of where your expenses are going, and then ask yourself whether it was worth it. Do that for at least a month. Whatever you do, avoid retail therapy.
- The point here is that learning how to invest responsibly and developing good saving habits will never be a regret.
Cooking - Eating out these days seems irresponsible on several levels. In addition to potentially catching and spreading COVID-19 from any number of people at a restaurant, eating out is a huge expense. I’ve always stressed myself out when cooking, holding myself to a high standard that could never be met. I finally decided I’d cook without using written recipes. I relied on simple YouTube videos that I’d watch a few times, and then execute from memory. I screwed up a few times, but never resulting in anything so bad that it was inedible. I’m far more competent in a kitchen than I was a month ago, and my intuitive sense of how to put a meal together is improving with every meal.
- The point here is that cooking is a lifelong skill that you’ll employ over and over again. You don’t get better without putting in the time and openly embracing that you’ll make mistakes.
Learning - In the same vein as cooking, there are so many resources for expanding your knowledge base available for free. Again, the first step is to start somewhere. If you’re eager to level up in your career, think about what skills you’re weak in. If you want to feed your curiosity, check out a new subject. If you want to improve your writing, like I do, set aside time to write!
We’re extremely fortunate to have access to information. Imagine if COVID-19 happened 30 years ago before the Internet was available to the public. That would suck. Here’s a fraction of what you could do:
- Online college courses at sites like edX or Khan Academy
- Read a random Wikipedia article: https://www.wikiwand.com/random/en
- Get an audiobook, listen while you clean your house. Check out Obama’s favorites from 2019.
- Watch some general interest Youtube channels with fun animations. My favorites: Crash Course, Wendover Productions, Half as Interesting.
Connecting - If you’re on social media, that can be a great tool or it can be a waste of time. If you’re mindlessly scrolling your feed, it’s probably the latter. Just because you’re at home and missing out on your monthly boozy brunch, that doesn’t mean you can’t reach out and talk to friends. In fact, I’m willing to bet that the person you decide to reach out to will probably feel more connected to you for getting on a call with them because of how unusual it is to do that these days.
- At my job, I’ve incorporated this by randomly asking a colleague if they’re available for a quick call. We spend about 15 minutes talking about some work, but mostly personal lives. These unscheduled chats serve as a substitute for the office hallway collisions. This simple gesture goes a long way in both re-balancing my mood with a little bit of socializing, making the other person feel like a human rather than a work-machine, and also building trust with a co-worker (an essential ingredient for me to be successful on a team).
Gratitude - It’s easy to look at the current situation and feel down about it all, but there’s a lot to be grateful for. If you aren’t sick and your family has still got their health, be mindful of that. I’m personally grateful that despite working in an industry that has been hit hard by the pandemic, my colleagues are supportive of each other and my work can be done remotely.
- The point here is to take stock of what’s going well in your life. There’s always someone out there affected more severely by COVID-19 than you.

“A crisis is a terrible thing to waste” is one of my favorite quotes. There’s no better time to invest in yourself if you have the means to do it.

A random side note: I do have friends who aren't taking the pandemic seriously. I’m not sure why they think it's over-hyped. These are the same folks who wouldn't question the scientific community about climate change, but they for some reason think they know better on this subject. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Climbing in Red Rock with Eyal and Max

March 01, 2020

After exiting the Subway in Zion, I headed west back toward Las Vegas. All around me were mesas layered onto the horizon with the furthest having a purplish tint. The sun was low and the walls to the north were cast in an orange glow. A lot of this trip had been driving alone, which I didn’t mind. I savored moments like this: between the tail end of an adventure and at the cusp of a new one to look forward to.

I was on my way to Red Rock Canyon, where I had booked a campsite for nearly a week. I pored over the nearly 400-page Jerry Handren guidebook in the weeks leading up to this trip, studying approaches, memorizing the names of the walls, and making backup plans in case popular routes were taken. Going into this trip, I was looking forward to this section leveling me up as a trad climber. For the first two days, I’d have my friend Eyal sharing the campsite with me. He invited Max as well, who I hadn’t yet met but was apparently a bold and strong Gunks climber.

I arrived late to the campground and listened to Eyal and Max talk about the routes they had done. They were exhausted from an attempt at the uber-classic 700ft, 9-pitch route Levitation 29 (5.11b/c IV). Despite being the first to the entrance of the park at 6am, by the time they arrived to the base of the route, two parties were ahead of them and one was lining up behind them. Even though the route was below their limit, they weren’t able to complete it and bailed off halfway through.

Fortunately for me, they needed a rest day and were eager to get on easy climbs, routes that were more my speed.

Since we were a group of three, it made the most sense to do single-pitch sport routes. This would be the first climbing of the trip for me. When it was my turn to climb, I was a hot bundle of nerves desperately trying to move gracefully on what was essentially warm-up terrain. I overgripped and my heart rate peaked. I knew the guys could tell I was a sloppy mess based on their quiet “nice work, dude” and lack of eye contact when I lowered down after making it to the chains. At the second route, I shook off the awkwardness and focused my mind. Eyal wasn’t subtle about noticing this: “Good, you’re back!” That acknowledgement sealed it for me and made it official.

While climbing, I heard a familiar voice below and realized it was my friend Cody who was guiding a few routes over.

I met Cody in Red Rock when as a client a few years ago and we’ve stayed in touch. If you’re interested in learning how to be more efficient and safe while roped in, check out his tips on IG @thecodybradford.

Eyal’s excitement was hard to describe. This was his last climbing trip in the US for a while.

Eyal and I met in the Gunks and I loved his attitude, friendliness, and boldness, although I also did see him take a non-critical ground fall when a piece of gear popped that day. The week after this photo was taken he would be heading back to Chile after completing course-work at Columbia University.
There are very few people I’ve met who shared my enthusiasm for climbing history, training, movement, and exploring the alpine. Eyal was one of them.

“I want you to send me all of the photos. Even the shitty ones! *Especially* the shitty photos.
Those are actually even better you know.”

When either Max or Eyal were climbing, I avoided belaying duty by taking photos of them.
While grocery shopping that evening, Eyal repeatedly kept asking me to send him the photos, which wasn’t possible until I returned home after my trip. He eagerly wanted to show his girlfriend, Cami, back in Chile the climbs he had done and what a good time he was having.

At the campground, it was still fairly windy, but we used our cars as a makeshift barrier. We were committed to making a fire and sitting around it that night. Both Max and Eyal were leaving the following day. Thanksgiving was around the corner and they had loved ones to be with. Eyal invited me to join him and his uncle’s family in Phoenix for the holiday, but warned me there would be “loud, happy Latinos” and I would need to keep up. There was snow in the forecast starting just before noon and they considered themselves lucky for the timing. Even though I had the campground for several more days, I decided to head south to Joshua Tree the following day, where the integrity of the granite rock wouldn’t be affected by precipitation. All those daydreams from studying the Red Rock climbing guidebook would amount to nothing, at least for now. I did feel proud of myself for adapting to a new plan though.

That night we talked about our families’ work-hard ethic that got us to a point where we can climb on rocks for fun. We talked about whether the next generation of climbers would lead the next leap forward in performance or if there’d be a plateau in ability. We talked about not understanding the hate that fueled some people to make judgments about others who looked or seemed different. We joked about how the cloudy night sky was ink-black except for the permanent, bright glow above Las Vegas a few miles to the east that resembled an alien invasion about to pierce through the clouds. I was too distracted to notice the fire starting to melt the edges of my shoes.

The following morning we decided to climb ahead of the storm.

Most of the routes on our wall were at or above my limit, but I gave them a try anyway. From where we stood, we could see the mountains and valleys far to the west slowly become obscured by clouds that carried a heavy dose of snow. We were climbing on a timer.

While climbing, we could see Yaak Crack (5.11c) with quickdraws hanging off the steep face out of the corners of our eyes. Max and Eyal were exhausted, but remarked at how cool it would be to try it someday. It was far above my pay grade so I didn’t even bother entertaining the idea. Just as we were slated to leave, Eyal decided to go for it: “It’s my last time climbing in the US! How can I not at least try?” It was a joy watching him work the route; I could tell he was fully locked in, focused, and was leaving nothing on the table. With a good fight, he made it to the top just as the first pellets of snow started to coat the ground.

We pulled the ropes and headed back to the parking lot. It was my final goodbye to Eyal. He had been entertaining the idea of going completely off of social media and disconnecting, and I asked him how we’d ever find out if he was still alive or if he was ignoring us. “That’s a good point. Maybe I will check in once a year!”

It was still early in the day. The brunt of the snow storm was yet to come. I had a long drive south through the Mojave Desert ahead of me. I parted ways with the guys and before long I was on the road to Joshua Tree. Rain or snow, I was sure to climb there.

Not Canyoneering the Subway in Zion

February 27, 2020

When I first learned about canyoneering, it seemed like the perfect way to get away from the crowds and a more exciting way of experiencing the most popular trails in Zion. To me it was exactly like hiking, except at certain points I would use basic climbing gear to rappel anywhere between 10-100+ foot cliffs throughout the day. Experienced canyoneers would scoff at my reductionist view on their sport, but it made sense to me.

I did my homework in advance by memorizing the each leg of the trip, how much rope I would need for each rappel, and applied for a permit which I’d pick up the day before. I read countless trip reports and pored over YouTube videos, pausing them to take notes on any nuances in the trail.

The ranger assigning permits quizzed me on my knowledge and asked if I had been canyoneering before. I answered honestly, noting I had experience climbing and mountaineering, and was more than comfortable with rappels. He didn’t seem overly concerned with me being alone, but reminded me that no one else had applied for a permit. I was on my own. Before I left, he noted that there’d be an 18-foot swim in near-freezing water.

I picked up a drysuit rental from a local gear shop and tried to gather more intel about the trail. No one had been there in over a week since the rain had been so heavy. It was my first time wearing a drysuit and I tried to ignore the body odor from the previous renter. The drysuit came with a thick set of overalls that I was required to wear for protecting the suit from abrasions in the canyon. Besides making me look like a rodeo clown, it all weighed me down heavily. I started to feel less stoked about lugging my new suit around for miles.

That night, I sat in the back of my car cramming “just the essentials” into a pack. The essentials in this case included a 200ft climbing rope, harness, and other gear for descending. I reluctantly removed my camera to reduce more weight. When I lifted my pack, it felt like a lead ball. I unpacked and re-packed, trying to think of what else I could shave off. I went to bed feeling uneasy about my plan.

I woke up before sunrise, just before my alarm. Throughout the night I had dreams of the 18ft swim, and sinking like a stone with my heavy pack. Over and over, my mind played out the scenario of me entering that cold, still water and helplessly fighting to stay above the water as my backpack dragged me under. I took that as a sign that I should cancel my plan. Before sunrise the next morning, I went back to the gear shop and returned the equipment that I never used. I didn’t bother explaining why.

I still had the full day ahead of me, so I figured I’d try the normal hike bottom-up to Subway, ending just before the final technical section of the top-down canyoneering route.

When I hit the trail, I was in my comfort zone. The forecast called for a late afternoon rain storm and I was early to show up. I followed the gurgling creek for miles, lost in my thoughts in the quiet wilderness without another person in sight for hours.

There weren’t any signs to follow. The only instruction I knew of was to continue following the creek. After hours of pushing forward, just before I became suspicious I might have missed a turn, I saw a couple ahead. I came up to them and started to see the cavernous features of the Subway begin to reveal themselves around me. I entered the mouth of the tunnel and tried to walk as far in as I could carefully.

The floor of the tunnel was slick from the water smoothing out any rough edges. I needed to be careful with my steps.
The pools of green around me were deceptively over eight feet deep. It was too cold for a swim.

I could see clouds moving in, and I wanted to get out before the weather worsened. Once I was back on dry ground, I sprinted the several miles back to the trailhead, happily enjoying the solitude and comfort that came with being able to move swiftly.

I thought about how I avoided this trail initially, opting for a more technical and committing route that would guarantee my isolation. I listened to my instinct that morning by bailing, and still got exactly what I wanted. I hopped into my car just as the rain started and drove off to spend the next few days in Red Rock.

Not Climbing the Namaste Wall in Zion's Kolob Canyon

February 27, 2020

Update: I was finally able to climb the route the following year! Here’s some route info that you may find helpful. https://www.rajahamid.com/journal/2020/12/6/climbing-zions-namaste-wall

I was more excited about climbing on the Namaste Wall than for any other day of my trip. The photos I had seen showed a slightly overhanging wall with gorgeously carved huecos, some large enough to even crawl into. There were lots of routes within my ability and the legend Conrad Anker noted it was one of his favorite walls. I had my doubts about whether the rock would be dry enough for safely climbing, but I figured I at least owed it to myself to pay homage to such a special place by going out to take a look. Besides, I didn’t have a climbing partner and going there would be the only way to find someone.

I drove for almost an hour to the far side of Zion NP. As soon as I arrived to the parking lot, I saw a group of three guys who were getting ready to head out with gear. I was so ecstatic that I had to tell myself to try and play it cool when I pulled up to them. I asked if I could join and they agreed. I hooted and told em I’d catch up to them. I quickly parked my car and set up my pack and ran the 45 minute hike to the wall in 20 minutes.

When I arrived, the guys were sitting down eating a late breakfast. As we got to talking, I realized that this was the first time in a while I was speaking to anyone in person for any meaningful amount of time. My exchanges so far had all been with cashiers, waiters, and park rangers. I got along with the guys well, which was great because talking would be all that we’d do all morning. We concluded the rock just wasn’t dry enough to feel safe. These guys were on the road indefinitely, and had been climbing for months. They said they’d come back in a week. For a visitor like me though, it was different.

After hanging on some of the holds lower down and thinking about how incredible it would be to climb some day, we hauled our packs and returned to the parking lot. The guys were headed west to San Diego for some surfing. Climbing around here was going to be unreliable and they had spent the last two weeks tearing their hands in Indian Creek’s splitter cracks already. We parted ways and I left with a full heart. Connecting with my community made me feel less alone, even if it was just for a few hours and all we did was stare up at a wall together dreaming about the send.

Hopelessly Off-trail in Zion

February 26, 2020

Although I managed to get a pleasant day of mountain biking yesterday despite past week’s rain, climbing was still out of the question. However, hiking was still feasible. I found a trail that looked long, exciting, and remote. I set off early in the day and messaged Leah where I’d be.

Within two minutes of starting the trail, I came across a still pool of water. I was at the start of a slot canyon that had collected rainwater from the past few days. Using my poles I found the depth to be greater than my chest height. I looked around. The canyon was too wide for me to shimmy across by stretching my body over the pool. I couldn’t see any way to pass so I turned around.

I felt let down but quickly realized that I wasn’t too far from the hike I bailed from a few days ago, Mountain of the Sun.

I still had the route information fresh in my mind and ran the first few miles. The trail was dry and the sky was clear. I quickly reached my high point from before.
I continued to follow the GPS track on my watch and recalled the route beta from before until I came to a large basin. I saw a couple hiking down carrying a rope. I chatted briefly with them and found out they were locals. We talked about what it was like living in the area. They were canyoneering and packed the ropes as a precaution for exploring new slot canyons. They pointed me toward the direction I should go. It didn’t seem intuitive to me, so I re-confirmed their advice. I took their word and started up the easy chimney climbing, pulling on a thick tree for leverage. Once I topped out from the chimney, I could see a long slab in front of me. It looked fairly easy so I started to hike up. Only a few times did I need to be precise with my footwork on sandstone edges and I was having fun with it.

After about 50 feet, the angle increased gradually and foot placements became more sparse. I couldn’t just head up in a straight line; I found myself looking around to find the path of least resistance up the slope. It almost felt like climbing. I did read that there was some 4th class movement on this trail, and I told myself I wouldn’t go up anything that I couldn’t down-climb. With that assurance, I kept moving up. Besides, the trail looked like it would flatten out within about 200 feet.

After some time, I began to feel stressed that I was making a mistake. My boots were hard, stiff-soled hiking boots that were nowhere near appropriate for the terrain I was on. The small edges I rested the tips of my boots on were coated in loose grains of sand. With a sigh of relief, I found a flat platform large enough for just one foot. I was now nearly 200 feet up and I knew looking down that a slip here would send me sliding down until I was tossed over the cliff edge and into the valley below. I hadn’t hydrated in the last hour and I was feeling hungry. There was water and snacks in my backpack, but I was too nervous about compromising the precariously balanced position I stood in. I pulled out my phone and checked where I was on my offline map. A second wave of stress swept over me when I realized I wasn’t even remotely close to being on route.

I pondered whether to hit the SOS on the rescue beacon I carried with me. I decided I would descend on my own. I knew the moves I had made and made sure that I could reverse each of them when I went up. However, for all the down-climbing practice I do, this was something different. For a short moment before I put my phone away, I had a bar of cell signal and used it to call Leah. I was only able to get one ring in before the connection was lost. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve said.

I crawled my way down the slope, focusing every muscle of my body to the small ripples in the rock. I thought about the consequence of each move before committing to it. I looked ahead to draw a line connecting the small ridges that would get me down safely. I wondered if that couple could see me in the distance. It was slow moving, but I made it down that 200ft slope in over a half hour. When I was back on the trail, I decided to just head back to the car; I had enough for today.

I made it back to my car and kicked myself for blindly taking the advice of a stranger at face value. There was still plenty of sunlight left, and I didn’t want my recent experience to define my day. I picked another remote, but easy, route and decided to carefully wander around with no agenda for a summit. The walk relaxed me and gave me the time I needed to unpack what had just happened.

As the sun fell lower into the sky, I found a viewpoint by the road. I stepped out of my car and sat, counting the layers of rock painting the cliff walls.

I was near the ever-popular Zion Canyon Overlook Trail. At sunset it’s nearly impossible to get a parking spot near the trailhead. I drove past and managed to get lucky. I had little time to make it before all the light of the day was gone, so I ran up the trail, politely waiting for opportunities to smoke past slower hikers. There were nearly a hundred people at the top, some wielding selfie sticks, boyfriends taking photos of their girlfriends doing yoga poses on rocks, and kids pouting about wanting to go home. I carefully scrambled over some rocks to get as far away from them as possible. A few easy climbing moves sheltered me from the crowds and let me focus on the valley quietly slipping away into darkness. I was grateful that I had the basic skills and confidence to get away, but I also realized it was the same confidence and skills that got me into trouble today.