"Jack & Jill"
Definition: A contest where dancers are randomly paired up and asked to dance to randomly selected music. All the dancing is improvised. At its core, it's a contest of lead/follow skills and most importantly, music interpretation. Winners are selected by a panel of judges.
Westies sure love their Jack & Jills. In just a few months of West Coast Swing, I've watched more J&J contests than all of my 6+ years of salsa. Seems like most of the larger dance venues have some sort of contest lined up each week. One week one of these places was short guys, and I somehow got roped into a contest with my oh-so-impressive 5 pattern repertoire. The whole thing is kinda like how salsa clubs will soemtimes have a performance or two for whatever group or couple need a "live practice" before their big competition, except it happens a lot more frequently, and are generally loads more interesting to watch.
There's something about WCS and "WCS-able" music that makes it really well suited for this type of contest. I'm not gonna say that all salsa music is the same because it's not. Some songs definitely groove better than others, as some of you can attest to if you've ever heard me say, "Not this song" to a dance request. But for the most part, salsa can't compare to the huge variety of music to which you can dance WCS. Anything from hip hop and R&B to rock & roll to the blues. This is precisely the reason why WCS J&Js are so fun to watch. It's just really cool to see how couples interpret all these different types of music with no preparation at all. From the overall mood of the song to the breaks and the hits and even the lyrics... all come out in the dance. That's where the real talent lies. Most good dancers can lead and follow with no problem. But not every leader is equally good at pairing the dance to the music, and not every follow can react fast enough to play to, and even expand on, the leader's cues. When you watch WCS professionals do this, you're left with a sense of awe and wonderment. Often when I watch these vids on YouTube, there is a huge smile plastered on my face as I marvel at their talent.
How awesome would it be to be able to dance like *that*?
Watch the hat!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkcHzqr8a34
Perfect music interpretation. Ben, the lead in this vid, teaches in LA.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3toYxGlWxk
Deb used to teach at the Granada.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFNnjqqqjg4
Amazing follow here to match all that footwork. Doug teaches in LA. Tat is from SoCal too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCvP9fjXc8A
Monday, November 16, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Cheating
About a month ago, I decided to start seeing West Coast Swing again. Sure we've flirted before, but it never really turned into anything serious. For one thing, I've been with Salsa for so long that it kinda felt like cheating. So it wasn't her. It was me. I didn't give her the chance she deserved.
Truth be told, I actually *love* WCS. Always have. Maybe even more than salsa, but don't tell her that! While salsa can sometimes feel like a frenetic roller coaster ride, WCS is more like a flirty stroll in the park. Salsa is heart pumping hot. WCS is playfully sexy. Also, the smooth nature of WCS fits so nicely with my lead style. Rather than sometimes forcing me to be somebody I'm not, WCS actually embraces who I am, and brings out a part of me that I really like. It's a strange thing to say about a dance, but there it is. :)
Salsa es Caliente!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t76xT26sQ5w
West Coast Swing is SEXY (note: these dances are lead/follow, not choreographed)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTwsoAC7qDs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3toYxGlWxk
WCS makes it so hard to love her sometimes though. Salsa is everywhere in LA. I see her all the time. So do my friends. WCS makes me drive 40 minutes west on Wednesdays just for a 2 hour date, and 40 minutes south on Sundays for a 4 hour tryst. It really takes dedication to want to be with WCS.
WCS also tends to attract an older crowd for some reason. Maybe it's because she tends to hang out with the not as cool crowd like Texas Two Step, Nightclub Two Step, and that cougar, Hustle. Salsa keeps company with fun and ever classy ChaChaCha, "I'm easy anybody can dance me" Merengue, and of course naughty Bachata. That's why I tend to dance with lots of girls in salsa, and lots of girls' mothers and grandmothers in WCS. Sigh.
But I think I'm ready to take the plunge. It's time to go with my heart and not with my head. Salsa will always be there, and I'll keep seeing her occasionally... but WCS and I have an understanding. An unspoken connection. She gets who I am. Who am I to deny that?
Truth be told, I actually *love* WCS. Always have. Maybe even more than salsa, but don't tell her that! While salsa can sometimes feel like a frenetic roller coaster ride, WCS is more like a flirty stroll in the park. Salsa is heart pumping hot. WCS is playfully sexy. Also, the smooth nature of WCS fits so nicely with my lead style. Rather than sometimes forcing me to be somebody I'm not, WCS actually embraces who I am, and brings out a part of me that I really like. It's a strange thing to say about a dance, but there it is. :)
Salsa es Caliente!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t76xT26sQ5w
West Coast Swing is SEXY (note: these dances are lead/follow, not choreographed)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTwsoAC7qDs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3toYxGlWxk
WCS makes it so hard to love her sometimes though. Salsa is everywhere in LA. I see her all the time. So do my friends. WCS makes me drive 40 minutes west on Wednesdays just for a 2 hour date, and 40 minutes south on Sundays for a 4 hour tryst. It really takes dedication to want to be with WCS.
WCS also tends to attract an older crowd for some reason. Maybe it's because she tends to hang out with the not as cool crowd like Texas Two Step, Nightclub Two Step, and that cougar, Hustle. Salsa keeps company with fun and ever classy ChaChaCha, "I'm easy anybody can dance me" Merengue, and of course naughty Bachata. That's why I tend to dance with lots of girls in salsa, and lots of girls' mothers and grandmothers in WCS. Sigh.
But I think I'm ready to take the plunge. It's time to go with my heart and not with my head. Salsa will always be there, and I'll keep seeing her occasionally... but WCS and I have an understanding. An unspoken connection. She gets who I am. Who am I to deny that?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Filling in the Blanks
I was talking with a friend recently, comparing personal histories and whatnot... when I realized that there's still a few things I didn't know about myself. For example, I only had a vague idea of my life before the age of 4. Something about being sent to Taiwan a couple times... but I never really knew why, or for how long.
So I decided to fill in the blanks last night with my mom. Apparently, she brought me to Taiwan when I was three months old, and left me there with my grandmother and aunt until I was two!
Whaaa?!!
I can't imagine what it must have been like to be a brand new mother, and basically sending your newborn away for two years. That means my mom didn't get to see her only child's first steps or hear him say his first words! That's mind boggling. I also wonder what it must have been like to be placed in the position of having to send me away in the first place. She explained that with the hours she had to work (she was a nurse), she couldn't bear to keep waking me up at 4am each morning to take me to the baby sitter and leave me there until 5pm every day. She decided she would feel more at ease if she knew that either my grandmother or my aunt would be watching me 24/7, even if it meant sending me half a world away. So that's what she did.
[I'm wondering if there's more to the story than that. I also briefly wondered where my father was in all this that he couldn't help out with the baby... then quickly realized that this was my father I was wondering about.]
By the time my second 1.5 year tour of Taiwan ended, I was already five and a half. When my mom finally brought me back to the States for good, I had spent less than two years with her total. My very first memories are actually from that second stint in Taiwan, and i still remember that my mom was only a vague theoretical idea at the point. That the two women taking care of me were my grandmother and my aunt, but there was a woman out there in "Mei Guo" ("Beautiful Country" = what the Chinese call "America") who was my actual mother.
It was a strange concept to grasp for a five year old.
So I decided to fill in the blanks last night with my mom. Apparently, she brought me to Taiwan when I was three months old, and left me there with my grandmother and aunt until I was two!
Whaaa?!!
I can't imagine what it must have been like to be a brand new mother, and basically sending your newborn away for two years. That means my mom didn't get to see her only child's first steps or hear him say his first words! That's mind boggling. I also wonder what it must have been like to be placed in the position of having to send me away in the first place. She explained that with the hours she had to work (she was a nurse), she couldn't bear to keep waking me up at 4am each morning to take me to the baby sitter and leave me there until 5pm every day. She decided she would feel more at ease if she knew that either my grandmother or my aunt would be watching me 24/7, even if it meant sending me half a world away. So that's what she did.
[I'm wondering if there's more to the story than that. I also briefly wondered where my father was in all this that he couldn't help out with the baby... then quickly realized that this was my father I was wondering about.]
By the time my second 1.5 year tour of Taiwan ended, I was already five and a half. When my mom finally brought me back to the States for good, I had spent less than two years with her total. My very first memories are actually from that second stint in Taiwan, and i still remember that my mom was only a vague theoretical idea at the point. That the two women taking care of me were my grandmother and my aunt, but there was a woman out there in "Mei Guo" ("Beautiful Country" = what the Chinese call "America") who was my actual mother.
It was a strange concept to grasp for a five year old.
My first passport, issued at 2 months old for my first stay in Taiwan.
Baby pic taken in Taiwan.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Living in a Tent
I was home one weekend in our old house in Syracuse cleaning out all my stuff. I found this essay and decided to digitize it for posterity. :)
(written in 6th grade)
I think living in a tent would be terrible. First of all, a tent does not have good bathroom faucilities. And a person would very likely feel cramped if he has to live in it for a whole year. Seconed of all, if your family ever go out, the tent is a perfect place for burglars to strike, or even animals too. Another bad thing about the tent is that no friends would live near you, the tent would also probrably be to far away to walk to school-- which I really like doing. There would be no room of my own and no room to do homework in . Some bad things about the tent itself is that the surface usually gets wet in the morning. It is very destructable also-- any strong wind can blow a tent down. These are some of the reasons I think living in a tent is terrible.
Living In a Tent
(written in 6th grade)
I think living in a tent would be terrible. First of all, a tent does not have good bathroom faucilities. And a person would very likely feel cramped if he has to live in it for a whole year. Seconed of all, if your family ever go out, the tent is a perfect place for burglars to strike, or even animals too. Another bad thing about the tent is that no friends would live near you, the tent would also probrably be to far away to walk to school-- which I really like doing. There would be no room of my own and no room to do homework in . Some bad things about the tent itself is that the surface usually gets wet in the morning. It is very destructable also-- any strong wind can blow a tent down. These are some of the reasons I think living in a tent is terrible.
Monday, August 24, 2009
The Modern Forager
So I drove around all over town for much of Sunday, looking for some Gruyere cheese for my Mac & Cheese recipe.
It was that kind of day.
Sixty miles and three hours later, I ended up visiting Whole Foods, Ralphs, CostCo, Gelsons, and a specialty cheese shop... before finally finding what I needed at the eventual winner, Bristol Farms. The CheeseStore in Silverlake prolly woulda won, but I couldn't get to the friggen store because half of Sunset was blocked off that day. Dumb art fair.
Before you can fully judge the extent of my disorder, let's get something straight. Most of these places actually had Gruyere cheese. That's right. Ralphs even had 3 different kinds! But by then it was too late. I was already tainted.
You see, I have a weird obsession when it comes to buying stuff, *especially* when it is something important-- like mountaineering gear... or trying out a new Mac & Cheese recipe! I HATE the feeling of spending good money on what, at the end of the day isn't "the right thing". So I overcompensate by spending hours upon hours researching whatever it is I want to buy. It just so happens that I am a big fan of Cooks Illustrated, and I knew that they have an entire section of equipment and ingredient reviews...
That's right. I read a review on Gruyere cheeses.
After that, I was done. Game over. Had to... absolutely HAD to get "the best" cheese. And here we are, three hours of my life I'll never get back. :) It doesn't just stop at cheese. I could go on...
Beef? Not only do I know that beef comes in many different grades of deliciousness that is directly proportional to its ability to clog arteries, I can also rattle off at least 7 different places in LA where I can get the best tasting, most heart attack inducing variety, USDA Prime. Of course, there is Wagyu or Kobe, but that is so crazy expensive I haven't bothered to source it yet. :)
Giant sea scallops? At least two places near Pasadena. You want the "dry-packed", not the "wet-packed", which have been soaked in phosphates to increase juiciness, but will not sear properly because of all the extra liquid. Dry packed scallops will come in many colors, while wet-packed scallops will be uniformly white.
The list goes on. I love shopping for food. :)
Oh, the Mac & Cheese? Pretty damn good. Ironically though, I think the cheeses I used were a bit too strong! Sadly, the crab cakes I also tried that day didn't turn out so well. If anybody knows how to prevent mushy crab cakes, let me know!
It was that kind of day.
Sixty miles and three hours later, I ended up visiting Whole Foods, Ralphs, CostCo, Gelsons, and a specialty cheese shop... before finally finding what I needed at the eventual winner, Bristol Farms. The CheeseStore in Silverlake prolly woulda won, but I couldn't get to the friggen store because half of Sunset was blocked off that day. Dumb art fair.
Before you can fully judge the extent of my disorder, let's get something straight. Most of these places actually had Gruyere cheese. That's right. Ralphs even had 3 different kinds! But by then it was too late. I was already tainted.
You see, I have a weird obsession when it comes to buying stuff, *especially* when it is something important-- like mountaineering gear... or trying out a new Mac & Cheese recipe! I HATE the feeling of spending good money on what, at the end of the day isn't "the right thing". So I overcompensate by spending hours upon hours researching whatever it is I want to buy. It just so happens that I am a big fan of Cooks Illustrated, and I knew that they have an entire section of equipment and ingredient reviews...
That's right. I read a review on Gruyere cheeses.
After that, I was done. Game over. Had to... absolutely HAD to get "the best" cheese. And here we are, three hours of my life I'll never get back. :) It doesn't just stop at cheese. I could go on...
Beef? Not only do I know that beef comes in many different grades of deliciousness that is directly proportional to its ability to clog arteries, I can also rattle off at least 7 different places in LA where I can get the best tasting, most heart attack inducing variety, USDA Prime. Of course, there is Wagyu or Kobe, but that is so crazy expensive I haven't bothered to source it yet. :)
Giant sea scallops? At least two places near Pasadena. You want the "dry-packed", not the "wet-packed", which have been soaked in phosphates to increase juiciness, but will not sear properly because of all the extra liquid. Dry packed scallops will come in many colors, while wet-packed scallops will be uniformly white.
The list goes on. I love shopping for food. :)
Oh, the Mac & Cheese? Pretty damn good. Ironically though, I think the cheeses I used were a bit too strong! Sadly, the crab cakes I also tried that day didn't turn out so well. If anybody knows how to prevent mushy crab cakes, let me know!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Shasta. It's Harder Than It Seems.
"Lynette?", I yell out to our guide. "I Really hate to have to say this... I gotta go Number 2!"
This is not something I would blurt out lightly. Certainly not at 12,800 feet. And most definitely not while clinging to the 35 degree bare slope of a windy, freezing, snow and ice covered volcano. But when you gotta go...
Lesson #1
ALWAYS go Number 1 AND Number 2 on the morning of the big climb.
--------
It was an awesome weekend to climb Mt. Shasta, a majestic 14,162' volcano near Redding, CA that rises up out of the surrounding flat lands like a science fair project. There was fresh snowfall from a week earlier, sunny clear blue skies for all three days of our trip, and a full moon for our 2 AM start on the day of the climb. We could not have asked for better conditions.
I went with Anne, Gustavo, Hannah, and Ted, friends that I met while taking the Sierra Club's Wilderness Travel Course (WTC) a couple years ago. We flew up to Redding, and drove another 60 miles to the town of Mt. Shasta, a pretty little mountain town that seems to be a haven for hardcore skiers, climbers, and hippies. We saw lots of crystal shops and learned more than I wanted to about vortexes and imaginary underground civilizations. One cool thing about this town was that all their water comes directly from an underground spring untreated. The hotel tap water was some of the best damn water I've had anywhere.
On Friday morning, we met up with our guides Dane (total surfer dude / ski bum persona), Lynette (a little piston of a girl, Berkeley grad who's here to chase her dream of working in the outdoors), and Zeb (a new guide, used to work at Squaw Valley who was "shadowing" our group), as well as another climber, Mark from Kentucky. After gear check, we drove up to Bunny Flats (6,800') and began our climb up to high camp at Hidden Valley (9,300').
WHOOMP!
Think of a slamming car door on a nice solid Mercedes. That's NOT a sound you want to hear when you're on snow. It means that a slab of snow had just settled on the layer beneath it, which means it's not really “sticking” to the rest of the slope all that well. And if you were to have been standing on that slab, you would have felt the ground beneath you drop a few inches. These are warning signs of potential avalanche, and we heard and felt both as we were climbing up to high camp. As soon as it happened, Dane ordered us to quickly traverse across the open slope that we were on into an area that had more trees to help anchor the snow in place. Even though I never felt any sense of eminent danger, I also knew it was not a time to dilly dally. I hauled ass across that slope!
That one incident on the first day ended up changing the entire trip, with the guides making decisions on the fly to specifically to avoid threat of avalanche. Instead of camping at Hidden Valley, we ended camping on the ridge above it. Instead of walking out of Hidden Valley straight up the West Face on summit day, we ended up climbing part of Cascaval Ridge, then traversing over to the West Face. Several sightings of giant slabs that had cracked on some of the larger gullies only reinforced the potentially dangerous conditions.
We ended up camping at around 9,500', on a ridge plateau overlooking Hidden Valley. Those of you who've never tried it might think snow camping is a bit crazy. And I wouldn't necessarily disagree. Obviously, it's cold. Very cold. That means you constantly have to worry about your stuff freezing at night. Like your boots. Or your water. Or your food. Or your camera. So how do we deal with that? Believe it or not, we put all of that crap in our nice warm sleeping bags and crawl in! You should have seen my bag on both nights of this trip. It looked like REI exploded in there. Not the most comfortable way to sleep, but quite necessary. We were all in our bags by 7 PM. The next day was the big climb.
We started the day with 6 climbers and 3 guides. By the way, it's usually not a good sign when someone starts a climbing story with, “We started the day with...” But don't worry, we're all safe and home now. :)
Anyways, we started the day with 6 climbers and 3 guides. The plan was to wake up at 1 AM, and be ready to roll by 2 AM. It's what's referred to as, and in this case is a rather extreme case of, an “Alpine Start”. Our turn-around time was to be 11 AM. This means that we would have about 9 hours to try to summit before we would have to turn around. The idea was to start heading back to camp before the sun started to really soften up the snow in the afternoon.
Soft snow is bad for many reasons. Given what we had experienced earlier on our hike up to high camp, avalanches were a concern on this trip. The fresh snowfall the week before, and the relatively high temperatures during the day creates melty, unstable snow pack. Soft snow also makes glacier travel more dangerous, and walking more difficult. Since we didn't have snow shoes, we preferred to walk on nice icy crusty frozen snow with our crampons rather than trudging through snow that sinks to our knees with every step.
We ended up rolling out at 2:40 AM, and started walking up Cascaval Ridge under a full moon. We all carried ice axes as sort of a walking stick, and to use in case we needed to stop ourselves from sliding off the mountain ("self arrest") if we ever slipped and fell. The guides also had us rope up in 4 person teams (1 guide + 3 climbers) for almost the entire climb, so we felt pretty safe. We also wore crampons, which are steel spikes that you attach to the bottom of your boot. They're pretty great for walking on icy surfaces.
There are some things that I could never describe adequately in a blog, and sound is one of them. As our crampons bit into the frozen snow, we dislodged thousands of tiny snow crystals. The sound they made as they tinkled down the mountain reminded me of those “rain sticks” you sometimes see in museum gift shops. For a good half hour as we were climbing that ridge, we were serenaded by the music of crystal shards tumbling down the mountain. It was lovely.
Both rope teams were making good progress at a steady, sustainable pace as we reached the West Face and started heading up. Gustavo, Mark, and I were on Dane's team. Ted, Anne, and Hannah were with Lynette. Zeb the shadow guide was not roped up.
Things were going pretty well with our team until Mark, who was a bit heavier, began to punch through the snow crust with his steps. It's one thing to walk on the surface of frozen snow. It's a whole 'nother thing to try to recover from one of these post holes at high elevation. As you try to lift yourself out of that hole with your other foot, the extra weight often causes that foot to punch through also. The next thing you know, your heart goes from steady to red lining in the span of a few seconds as you try to recover. It's incredibly draining. After a few of these, Mark's knees couldn't take much more. Dane, concerned about Mark, decided to start pounding in snow anchors every 50 feet to insure that he had enough backup to keep the team from sliding down the mountain in case Mark fell. It was insurance, but very costly. It was a very slow process to have to pull out and reset the anchor every 50 feet. Lynette's team found themselves way ahead of us, and Zeb eventually had to rope in me and Gustavo to catch her while Dane to took Mark down the mountain when his legs finally gave out.
We were down to 5 climbers (Anne, Hannah, Ted, Gustavo, me) and 2 guides (Lynette, Zeb).
Meanwhile, on Lynette's team, Ted had dropped his ice axe on a switchback maneuver early on the West Face. He ended up climbing another 800-1000' with no ice axe, which is just insane. He later told us that he was pretty freaked out the entire time, even though he was roped up. I don't blame him. When my team finally caught up with Lynette, they had been hanging out for 30-40 minutes just waiting for us. Ted decided to go down with Zeb, and Anne decided that she had had enough and went down with them.
We were now down to 3 climbers (Gustavo, Hannah, and me) and 1 guide (Lynette).
This entire time on the West Face, I felt a Number 2 coming, and I knew it wasn't going to turn out well. High elevations and expanding gasses do not a good combination make! As our last rope team made our way up the final stretch of the headwall, I ended up blurting out my fateful request to Lynette. And as she recalled later the next day at the Billy Goat Tavern, when I prefaced with "I hate to have to tell you this...", she was thinking, "Oh boy, what are you going to tell me Steve? ..... Ahh sh*t."
She convinced me to keep it in for the last 400' of the headwall, a grueling 20-30 minute climb up an incredibly steep 35-40 degree slope. I would have my relief at the top. The fact that I was able to survive those 30 minutes with unsoiled pants is a feat in and of itself... regardless if I ended up summitting later that day.
*graphic material start*
Y'all must be curious about how exactly someone goes about taking a dump at 13,240' on a snow covered mountain. If you aren't, feel free to skip to the next paragraph! It's about to get pretty graphic! :) It ain't pretty. Obviously, there's no outhouse. Normally, in the Sierras in the summer, I'd dig a hole. But you can't do that in snow. Gotta keep the mountain pristine, you know. So the guides gave us "Wag Bags" at the beginning of the trip. Each kit contained a zip lock bag, a brown paper bag with kitty litter inside, and a piece of paper with, get this, a bull's eye target. You weigh down the bull's eye with rocks or snow... and well, you should be able to figure out the rest. These things are unpleasant enough to use in camp, with everything situated exactly how you want it. But on a mountain face? With freezing winds whipping? Ugh. First of all, the bull's eye was out of the question. No way that thing was going to stay put with that wind. It had to go right in the bag. You ever tried taking a shit into a lunch bag? Ya. Neither had I. Now I had to do it while wearing heavy mountaineering boots with metal spikes attached. Not only that, I also had to keep the toilet paper from flying away. The squatting effort on my quads alone was almost as difficult as the climb itself. I would not be lying if I said that dump took a lot out of me, in more than just the literal sense!
*graphic material end*
After that little unfortunate episode, we skirted around the southern tip of Whitney Glacier as we made our way to the base of Misery Hill, the last big push of the day.
You know how all the chewing gum and breath freshener companies have some sort of “blue ice” flavor? Believe it or not, that's no exaggeration. There was an icy blue crevasse up there in that glacier that made me think of an open wound on the skin of a snow giant. Unfortunately at that point, I was already running on fumes. There was no way I had enough presence of mind to remove my gloves in freezing winds, unzip three different layers to get my camera out to snap pictures, all the while holding onto my ice axe and keeping pace with the rope team as we walked along the glacier. I also saw a bunch of spectacular ice formations that I was just too tired to take pictures of. Smooth blobs of wavy ice covering the entire slope. Beautiful. So my friends, if you want to see what this stuff looks like, there's always National Geographic... or you can go climb your own mountain!
The site of Misery Hill was quite simply, soul crushing. Standing at its base, you look up and see a giant 600' high pyramid that you're going to have to climb before you can even see Shasta summit. I've climbed higher elevations in my life, but those 600' were the hardest 600' I've ever climbed. At the bottom of the hill, Lynette released us from the rope, and let the three of us make our way up at our own pace. By that time, we had already been climbing for over 8 hours at high elevation. I was close to empty. Combine that with the lack of oxygen up there, it literally took me 3 seconds for every step up. It was grueling.
By the time we reached the top, we were only 400 vertical feet away from the summit. We could see it! But that was as far as we would go. :( Hannah had absolutely nothing left. I was close behind her. We needed to be roped up to get to the summit, but we weren't about to leave anybody behind on Misery Hill to get punished by the cold. It was 11:45 AM. We had been climbing for 9 straight hours in conditions none of us, aside from Anne, have ever faced. The summit was another hour away. We decided to call it a day.
In the end, it's hard to say why none of us summitted in almost perfect climbing weather. I can't fault the guides. They certainly gave everybody on the trip who wanted to, a chance to summit, but I think it also indirectly led to our failed bid.
First, the avalanche threat made us camp and climb a bit further than we had to.
Then we started 40 minutes later than planned.
Then Ted dropped his ice axe, which freaked him out and ultimately led to his downfall.
Then Lynette's team had to wait for 30-40 minutes on the side of a freezing mountain as Dane's team carried out a series of 5 or 6 belays to help Mark up several hundred extra feet before Mark's knees finally gave out.
Then Zeb took me and Gustavo from Dane's team and amped up the pace to try to catch Lynette's team that was still freezing on the mountain. That took a lot out of me. You know how your car is less fuel efficient when you drive 90mph vs 40mph? I only had so much fuel in my tank, and even going the equivalent of 70mph was drawing me down quickly.
When we finally caught Lynette's team, the long, cold wait had drained a lot of energy out of Hannah. Anne, the good teammate that she was, went back down with Zeb and Ted, who had by now dropped a glove in addition to his axe.
Lynette then took Gustavo, Hannah, and me up the rest of the West Face. But she had to increase the pace because by this time, we were getting close to our turn around time. Add to that my little problem, and I was almost at empty by the time we got to the top of the West Face. Then Misery Hill finished off Hannah, which made the decision to turn around at that point easier for me and Gustavo.
With the exception of Ted dropping his axe, I believe none of these things on its own would have prevented us from summitting that day. But the combination of them all ultimately did us in. I have no regrets though. I had a blast, and learned a ton. Sometimes, you just have to take what the mountain gives you. There will be other climbs.
Shasta will still be there. I have a score to settle.
This is not something I would blurt out lightly. Certainly not at 12,800 feet. And most definitely not while clinging to the 35 degree bare slope of a windy, freezing, snow and ice covered volcano. But when you gotta go...
Lesson #1
ALWAYS go Number 1 AND Number 2 on the morning of the big climb.
--------
It was an awesome weekend to climb Mt. Shasta, a majestic 14,162' volcano near Redding, CA that rises up out of the surrounding flat lands like a science fair project. There was fresh snowfall from a week earlier, sunny clear blue skies for all three days of our trip, and a full moon for our 2 AM start on the day of the climb. We could not have asked for better conditions.
Mt. Shasta is in Northern Northern California. It may as well be Oregon.
You can see how Shasta is its own little cone of a volcano rising up in the middle of nowhere.
I went with Anne, Gustavo, Hannah, and Ted, friends that I met while taking the Sierra Club's Wilderness Travel Course (WTC) a couple years ago. We flew up to Redding, and drove another 60 miles to the town of Mt. Shasta, a pretty little mountain town that seems to be a haven for hardcore skiers, climbers, and hippies. We saw lots of crystal shops and learned more than I wanted to about vortexes and imaginary underground civilizations. One cool thing about this town was that all their water comes directly from an underground spring untreated. The hotel tap water was some of the best damn water I've had anywhere.
On Friday morning, we met up with our guides Dane (total surfer dude / ski bum persona), Lynette (a little piston of a girl, Berkeley grad who's here to chase her dream of working in the outdoors), and Zeb (a new guide, used to work at Squaw Valley who was "shadowing" our group), as well as another climber, Mark from Kentucky. After gear check, we drove up to Bunny Flats (6,800') and began our climb up to high camp at Hidden Valley (9,300').
Bunny Flats, the start of our hike in.
Gustavo, Mark, Anne, Hannah, Ted
View of Shasta on the hike in
Breaking trail on the hike in
WHOOMP!
Think of a slamming car door on a nice solid Mercedes. That's NOT a sound you want to hear when you're on snow. It means that a slab of snow had just settled on the layer beneath it, which means it's not really “sticking” to the rest of the slope all that well. And if you were to have been standing on that slab, you would have felt the ground beneath you drop a few inches. These are warning signs of potential avalanche, and we heard and felt both as we were climbing up to high camp. As soon as it happened, Dane ordered us to quickly traverse across the open slope that we were on into an area that had more trees to help anchor the snow in place. Even though I never felt any sense of eminent danger, I also knew it was not a time to dilly dally. I hauled ass across that slope!
That one incident on the first day ended up changing the entire trip, with the guides making decisions on the fly to specifically to avoid threat of avalanche. Instead of camping at Hidden Valley, we ended camping on the ridge above it. Instead of walking out of Hidden Valley straight up the West Face on summit day, we ended up climbing part of Cascaval Ridge, then traversing over to the West Face. Several sightings of giant slabs that had cracked on some of the larger gullies only reinforced the potentially dangerous conditions.
See that dark ridge line pointing directly SW up to the summit? We climbed the West Face, which is to the left of that.
We ended up camping at around 9,500', on a ridge plateau overlooking Hidden Valley. Those of you who've never tried it might think snow camping is a bit crazy. And I wouldn't necessarily disagree. Obviously, it's cold. Very cold. That means you constantly have to worry about your stuff freezing at night. Like your boots. Or your water. Or your food. Or your camera. So how do we deal with that? Believe it or not, we put all of that crap in our nice warm sleeping bags and crawl in! You should have seen my bag on both nights of this trip. It looked like REI exploded in there. Not the most comfortable way to sleep, but quite necessary. We were all in our bags by 7 PM. The next day was the big climb.
Me, Gustavo, and Ted at high camp
Issac from the Love Boat, styling "The Bonnet". We started our climb the next day up the ridge on the right side of the picture.
We started the day with 6 climbers and 3 guides. By the way, it's usually not a good sign when someone starts a climbing story with, “We started the day with...” But don't worry, we're all safe and home now. :)
Anyways, we started the day with 6 climbers and 3 guides. The plan was to wake up at 1 AM, and be ready to roll by 2 AM. It's what's referred to as, and in this case is a rather extreme case of, an “Alpine Start”. Our turn-around time was to be 11 AM. This means that we would have about 9 hours to try to summit before we would have to turn around. The idea was to start heading back to camp before the sun started to really soften up the snow in the afternoon.
Soft snow is bad for many reasons. Given what we had experienced earlier on our hike up to high camp, avalanches were a concern on this trip. The fresh snowfall the week before, and the relatively high temperatures during the day creates melty, unstable snow pack. Soft snow also makes glacier travel more dangerous, and walking more difficult. Since we didn't have snow shoes, we preferred to walk on nice icy crusty frozen snow with our crampons rather than trudging through snow that sinks to our knees with every step.
We ended up rolling out at 2:40 AM, and started walking up Cascaval Ridge under a full moon. We all carried ice axes as sort of a walking stick, and to use in case we needed to stop ourselves from sliding off the mountain ("self arrest") if we ever slipped and fell. The guides also had us rope up in 4 person teams (1 guide + 3 climbers) for almost the entire climb, so we felt pretty safe. We also wore crampons, which are steel spikes that you attach to the bottom of your boot. They're pretty great for walking on icy surfaces.
Crampons
There are some things that I could never describe adequately in a blog, and sound is one of them. As our crampons bit into the frozen snow, we dislodged thousands of tiny snow crystals. The sound they made as they tinkled down the mountain reminded me of those “rain sticks” you sometimes see in museum gift shops. For a good half hour as we were climbing that ridge, we were serenaded by the music of crystal shards tumbling down the mountain. It was lovely.
Both rope teams were making good progress at a steady, sustainable pace as we reached the West Face and started heading up. Gustavo, Mark, and I were on Dane's team. Ted, Anne, and Hannah were with Lynette. Zeb the shadow guide was not roped up.
Things were going pretty well with our team until Mark, who was a bit heavier, began to punch through the snow crust with his steps. It's one thing to walk on the surface of frozen snow. It's a whole 'nother thing to try to recover from one of these post holes at high elevation. As you try to lift yourself out of that hole with your other foot, the extra weight often causes that foot to punch through also. The next thing you know, your heart goes from steady to red lining in the span of a few seconds as you try to recover. It's incredibly draining. After a few of these, Mark's knees couldn't take much more. Dane, concerned about Mark, decided to start pounding in snow anchors every 50 feet to insure that he had enough backup to keep the team from sliding down the mountain in case Mark fell. It was insurance, but very costly. It was a very slow process to have to pull out and reset the anchor every 50 feet. Lynette's team found themselves way ahead of us, and Zeb eventually had to rope in me and Gustavo to catch her while Dane to took Mark down the mountain when his legs finally gave out.
We were down to 5 climbers (Anne, Hannah, Ted, Gustavo, me) and 2 guides (Lynette, Zeb).
Meanwhile, on Lynette's team, Ted had dropped his ice axe on a switchback maneuver early on the West Face. He ended up climbing another 800-1000' with no ice axe, which is just insane. He later told us that he was pretty freaked out the entire time, even though he was roped up. I don't blame him. When my team finally caught up with Lynette, they had been hanging out for 30-40 minutes just waiting for us. Ted decided to go down with Zeb, and Anne decided that she had had enough and went down with them.
We were now down to 3 climbers (Gustavo, Hannah, and me) and 1 guide (Lynette).
This entire time on the West Face, I felt a Number 2 coming, and I knew it wasn't going to turn out well. High elevations and expanding gasses do not a good combination make! As our last rope team made our way up the final stretch of the headwall, I ended up blurting out my fateful request to Lynette. And as she recalled later the next day at the Billy Goat Tavern, when I prefaced with "I hate to have to tell you this...", she was thinking, "Oh boy, what are you going to tell me Steve? ..... Ahh sh*t."
She convinced me to keep it in for the last 400' of the headwall, a grueling 20-30 minute climb up an incredibly steep 35-40 degree slope. I would have my relief at the top. The fact that I was able to survive those 30 minutes with unsoiled pants is a feat in and of itself... regardless if I ended up summitting later that day.
*graphic material start*
Y'all must be curious about how exactly someone goes about taking a dump at 13,240' on a snow covered mountain. If you aren't, feel free to skip to the next paragraph! It's about to get pretty graphic! :) It ain't pretty. Obviously, there's no outhouse. Normally, in the Sierras in the summer, I'd dig a hole. But you can't do that in snow. Gotta keep the mountain pristine, you know. So the guides gave us "Wag Bags" at the beginning of the trip. Each kit contained a zip lock bag, a brown paper bag with kitty litter inside, and a piece of paper with, get this, a bull's eye target. You weigh down the bull's eye with rocks or snow... and well, you should be able to figure out the rest. These things are unpleasant enough to use in camp, with everything situated exactly how you want it. But on a mountain face? With freezing winds whipping? Ugh. First of all, the bull's eye was out of the question. No way that thing was going to stay put with that wind. It had to go right in the bag. You ever tried taking a shit into a lunch bag? Ya. Neither had I. Now I had to do it while wearing heavy mountaineering boots with metal spikes attached. Not only that, I also had to keep the toilet paper from flying away. The squatting effort on my quads alone was almost as difficult as the climb itself. I would not be lying if I said that dump took a lot out of me, in more than just the literal sense!
*graphic material end*
After that little unfortunate episode, we skirted around the southern tip of Whitney Glacier as we made our way to the base of Misery Hill, the last big push of the day.
You know how all the chewing gum and breath freshener companies have some sort of “blue ice” flavor? Believe it or not, that's no exaggeration. There was an icy blue crevasse up there in that glacier that made me think of an open wound on the skin of a snow giant. Unfortunately at that point, I was already running on fumes. There was no way I had enough presence of mind to remove my gloves in freezing winds, unzip three different layers to get my camera out to snap pictures, all the while holding onto my ice axe and keeping pace with the rope team as we walked along the glacier. I also saw a bunch of spectacular ice formations that I was just too tired to take pictures of. Smooth blobs of wavy ice covering the entire slope. Beautiful. So my friends, if you want to see what this stuff looks like, there's always National Geographic... or you can go climb your own mountain!
The site of Misery Hill was quite simply, soul crushing. Standing at its base, you look up and see a giant 600' high pyramid that you're going to have to climb before you can even see Shasta summit. I've climbed higher elevations in my life, but those 600' were the hardest 600' I've ever climbed. At the bottom of the hill, Lynette released us from the rope, and let the three of us make our way up at our own pace. By that time, we had already been climbing for over 8 hours at high elevation. I was close to empty. Combine that with the lack of oxygen up there, it literally took me 3 seconds for every step up. It was grueling.
By the time we reached the top, we were only 400 vertical feet away from the summit. We could see it! But that was as far as we would go. :( Hannah had absolutely nothing left. I was close behind her. We needed to be roped up to get to the summit, but we weren't about to leave anybody behind on Misery Hill to get punished by the cold. It was 11:45 AM. We had been climbing for 9 straight hours in conditions none of us, aside from Anne, have ever faced. The summit was another hour away. We decided to call it a day.
In the end, it's hard to say why none of us summitted in almost perfect climbing weather. I can't fault the guides. They certainly gave everybody on the trip who wanted to, a chance to summit, but I think it also indirectly led to our failed bid.
First, the avalanche threat made us camp and climb a bit further than we had to.
Then we started 40 minutes later than planned.
Then Ted dropped his ice axe, which freaked him out and ultimately led to his downfall.
Then Lynette's team had to wait for 30-40 minutes on the side of a freezing mountain as Dane's team carried out a series of 5 or 6 belays to help Mark up several hundred extra feet before Mark's knees finally gave out.
Then Zeb took me and Gustavo from Dane's team and amped up the pace to try to catch Lynette's team that was still freezing on the mountain. That took a lot out of me. You know how your car is less fuel efficient when you drive 90mph vs 40mph? I only had so much fuel in my tank, and even going the equivalent of 70mph was drawing me down quickly.
When we finally caught Lynette's team, the long, cold wait had drained a lot of energy out of Hannah. Anne, the good teammate that she was, went back down with Zeb and Ted, who had by now dropped a glove in addition to his axe.
Lynette then took Gustavo, Hannah, and me up the rest of the West Face. But she had to increase the pace because by this time, we were getting close to our turn around time. Add to that my little problem, and I was almost at empty by the time we got to the top of the West Face. Then Misery Hill finished off Hannah, which made the decision to turn around at that point easier for me and Gustavo.
With the exception of Ted dropping his axe, I believe none of these things on its own would have prevented us from summitting that day. But the combination of them all ultimately did us in. I have no regrets though. I had a blast, and learned a ton. Sometimes, you just have to take what the mountain gives you. There will be other climbs.
Shasta will still be there. I have a score to settle.
Our rough route in red. Misery Hill pyramid of pain in blue.
Friday, February 27, 2009
To Read 金庸
However hard it is to learn Chinese, and whatever bad memories I have of my time struggling with it, there is still one reason why I’d ever consider going back to “finish” my Chinese studies. To read the novels of Jin Yong (金庸).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinyong
Jin Yong authored some of the most popular Wu Xia novels in history. What is Wu Xia? Think “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon”. In fact, that movie was adapted from a series of Wu Xia novels written by Wang Dulu. These are tales of bandits, monks, heroes, generals, emperors, and of course, kung fu masters. In many ways, if you substitute kung fu with socery or magic, and change the setting a little, you get Western fantasy. So you can think of Jin Yong as the Chinese Tolkien. But while not everybody in America has heard of Tolkien (at least, not before the movies came out), *everybody* in the Chinese speaking world has heard of Jin Yong. His books are incredibly popular, permeating through all levels of society. Even if people have never actually read his books, they’ve at least been exposed to the multitude of comics, video games, movies, and TV serial adaptations. It seems like every 7-8 years, they remake each of Jin Yong’s series with the newest generation of actors.
As I understand it, most of Jin Yong’s stories are set in the same “universe”, across a large span of time that also happens to coincide with actual Chinese history. In many ways, they are historical novels with a fantastical kung fu bent. Characters often meet and interact with actual historical people, or are motivated by historical events. Sadly, that's also one of the reasons why I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully appreciate these novels.
Imagine reading a book where a main character meets and interacts with Richard and Saladin during the time of the Crusades. How much more interesting would that book be if you have at least more than a passing knowledge of these two men? It's one of the reasons why a book like The DaVinci Code has captured so many people's imaginations. The author cleverly took what we already knew about Da Vinci, the Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and the Catholic Church, and wove a nice story around it to the point where in the end, it was difficult to distinguish fact from fiction. I can’t imagine how long it would take me to similarly infuse myself with a lifetime’s worth of Chinese culture and history in the same way I can draw upon Western history.
From a literary standpoint, I’ve been told many times that Jin Yong novels have plots compelling enough to attract the masses, yet are written in a style sophisticated enough to please literary critics. It’s in this respect that I wish I could read Chinese well enough to appreciate Jin Yong beyond just his storylines. But again, it is a hugely daunting task to become that good in Chinese… for all the reasons mentioned here.
It’s not just Jin Yong’s novels that I want to read. Themes from classics such as “Journey to the West” (if you’ve ever heard of the Monkey King, you too have been touched by this book), or “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” are so woven into the Chinese cultural fabric that you almost have to read these books, or at least know the main characters and stories before you can completely grasp all the subtleties of communicating at a high level with a Chinese person. For example, you or I might easily toss out a passing reference to Romeo and Juliet to describe forbidden love, or see the phrase “opening Pandora’s box” and know it’s about unleashing troubles never to be contained again. By the same token, talking heads on political talk shows in Taiwan might draw parallels to Romance of the Three Kingdoms (a book that’s practically a manual for political intrigue, military strategy/tactics, and general skullduggery) that would otherwise go completely over your head if you had not read the book. What chance do I have of ever getting to that level of mastery?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinyong
Jin Yong authored some of the most popular Wu Xia novels in history. What is Wu Xia? Think “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon”. In fact, that movie was adapted from a series of Wu Xia novels written by Wang Dulu. These are tales of bandits, monks, heroes, generals, emperors, and of course, kung fu masters. In many ways, if you substitute kung fu with socery or magic, and change the setting a little, you get Western fantasy. So you can think of Jin Yong as the Chinese Tolkien. But while not everybody in America has heard of Tolkien (at least, not before the movies came out), *everybody* in the Chinese speaking world has heard of Jin Yong. His books are incredibly popular, permeating through all levels of society. Even if people have never actually read his books, they’ve at least been exposed to the multitude of comics, video games, movies, and TV serial adaptations. It seems like every 7-8 years, they remake each of Jin Yong’s series with the newest generation of actors.
As I understand it, most of Jin Yong’s stories are set in the same “universe”, across a large span of time that also happens to coincide with actual Chinese history. In many ways, they are historical novels with a fantastical kung fu bent. Characters often meet and interact with actual historical people, or are motivated by historical events. Sadly, that's also one of the reasons why I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully appreciate these novels.
Imagine reading a book where a main character meets and interacts with Richard and Saladin during the time of the Crusades. How much more interesting would that book be if you have at least more than a passing knowledge of these two men? It's one of the reasons why a book like The DaVinci Code has captured so many people's imaginations. The author cleverly took what we already knew about Da Vinci, the Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and the Catholic Church, and wove a nice story around it to the point where in the end, it was difficult to distinguish fact from fiction. I can’t imagine how long it would take me to similarly infuse myself with a lifetime’s worth of Chinese culture and history in the same way I can draw upon Western history.
From a literary standpoint, I’ve been told many times that Jin Yong novels have plots compelling enough to attract the masses, yet are written in a style sophisticated enough to please literary critics. It’s in this respect that I wish I could read Chinese well enough to appreciate Jin Yong beyond just his storylines. But again, it is a hugely daunting task to become that good in Chinese… for all the reasons mentioned here.
It’s not just Jin Yong’s novels that I want to read. Themes from classics such as “Journey to the West” (if you’ve ever heard of the Monkey King, you too have been touched by this book), or “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” are so woven into the Chinese cultural fabric that you almost have to read these books, or at least know the main characters and stories before you can completely grasp all the subtleties of communicating at a high level with a Chinese person. For example, you or I might easily toss out a passing reference to Romeo and Juliet to describe forbidden love, or see the phrase “opening Pandora’s box” and know it’s about unleashing troubles never to be contained again. By the same token, talking heads on political talk shows in Taiwan might draw parallels to Romance of the Three Kingdoms (a book that’s practically a manual for political intrigue, military strategy/tactics, and general skullduggery) that would otherwise go completely over your head if you had not read the book. What chance do I have of ever getting to that level of mastery?
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