The Dirtbag Diaries: My Short

The Dirtbag Diaries: My Shorts

I'm going to be submitting this to a climbing podcast who has listeners write in with stories they call "The Shorts". I'd love to get some feedback before I do so! Grammar, spelling, content, or any advice is appreciated.

I wonder sometimes what radically different path my life would be on if I wouldn’t have fallen in love with climbing. What if I wouldn’t have moved from the north woods of Michigan to Colorado? To paraphrase Lionel Terray, the great French Alpinist: I would no longer identify myself as a “conquistador of the useless.”

Rock climbing may seem useless through a shallow point of view. To scramble up a mountain, climb long committing trad routes, or claw at a boulder problem until days end. These activities certainly don’t make any money. In fact, hinder many from doing so. But for those involved in rock climbing and adventure sports alike must agree; some sort of mental gain is achieved through interacting with nature in such a profound way.

My passion for rock climbing has compelled me to travel extensively through Asia, live in the bed of my truck, and put myself in positions of desperation all for the name of adventure. On this journey I’ve been dedicated to for the last four years I’ve met some of the most interesting people and seen some of the wildest places on the planet.

On one occasion, my desire to explore the unknown brought me to a remote corner of Nepal with a man from England named Phillip Debejer, a very achieved mountaineer and international guide. We hired a porter by the name of Pasang Sherpa who would help us navigate the trade routes to the base of Bokta Peak, a seldom climbed 6000 meter peak near the infamous 8000 meter mountain, Kanchenjunga.

For the following two weeks we trekked through small villages, staying at local houses; every one of which was owned by someone who Pasang claimed to be brothers with. To bring us to the base of Bokta peak we were faced with passing over Mirgin La pass. At 4500 meters , the pass seemed to pose no threat.

Which held true, until the miles of waste deep post-holing were encountered and the bivvies in snow storms were endured while trying to ration our food supplies for the anticipated peak to climb. Our expected one day crossing of the pass turned into two, and two days turned into three. All the while we were very unsure whether each step was bringing us to safety or deeper into no man’s land. Our porter, and local guide who spoke little english resorted to pointing in general directions repeatedly instructing us to go “inside”. I am still unsure how “inside” translated in his head. I find it more likely that he was as lost as we were.

Fortunately we navigated our way to the top of the pass, then descended the other side to a village. Only to find it was a ghost town. It’s residents of which were seasonal nomads, who had brought their grazing yaks elsewhere.

At this point of despair I suggested we abandon Bokta Peak and pig out on the rations we had been carrying around. Phil, on the other hand was still up for enduring whatever stood before him and the summit.

Pasang had been sustaining himself for the last three days mostly on a bag of flour he would mix with snow. On top of malnourished exhaustion he had been sporting Nike sneakers wrapped in plastic bags, rather than mountaineering boots to combat the long days of deep post-holing in snow. As you can imagine Pasang was less than pleased by our current situation.

I would think around this time the $15 per day we were paying him was beginning to seem like rather meager compensation.  He insisted we continue to the next village that could possibly have inhabitants. With an empty stomach as well, I wholeheartedly agreed. After three more hours on the trail I came across a stand alone hut. My hunger grew ten fold when I saw smoke billowing from the chimney. With new found vigor from this glorious sight Pasang came sprinting passed me shouting, “Three days, no eating, no drinking, no good! Very lucky, very lucky!”

The ensuing meal was the most delicious feast of Nepali cuisine I had on that trip. With the comforts of a home before me, I decided that I had reached my summit. I had achieved that transcendent feeling of peace after everything you have has been devoted to a goal. Consequently I put my ego aside and resigned from pushing on to summit Bokta Peak. Phil and I parted ways as he went on to give the mountain a solo attempt.

I was under the impression that my stepping down from the summit meant my struggles were over. I thought I was on the downward slopes back to the city we had started walking from three long weeks ago. The Himalayan range had other plans.

I was under the impression the next day was going to be a casual 10 miles or so. The first unanticipated obstacle in those 10 miles, that had me cursing the mountains, was a particularly steep Himalayan foothill. As I grew nearer the next village, the trail cut through a farmer’s property.

With high hopes of the day coming to an end I heard the clanging of a cow bell behind me, and growing nearer. As I turned around I saw a bull in full charge after me. With the strength only found through fear of self-preservation my wobbly legs surged into action and carried me away from the bull as I jumped down a rice terrace step.

My escape had diverted me from the path I was following. In hopes of finding it on the other side of the bull’s territory, I followed the perimeter of the farm. After thirty minutes or so of searching for the trail I came to the edge of a steep valley. A river flowed through the bottom of the valley, with a clear cut trail on it’s other side! Desperate to get to that trail, I decided to search out a way down this valley off trail. The easy going terrain at the top did not last long. Steep hillside turned into straight up technical dirt and tree roots. At one point I had to drop my back pack down below to allow me to pull the moves on sapling trees, and roots while smearing my feet on dirt and loose rocks.

Miraculously I reached the bottom of the valley in one piece. Covered in dirt, I must have resembled Charlie Brown’s friend Pig Pen, surrounded by a perpetual dust cloud. Another hour or so of hiking finally brought me to a village where I could eat and rest.

After the trials I had been put through I rewarded myself with a warranted rest day. So I procrastinated whatever adventure may lie next on the trail and spent the day talking with locals, reading, and drinking Everest beer. Don’t get too excited, it’s just your typical lager.

As each day brought me closer to a bus station I felt more at peace with these obstacles I was being forced into. The days following my encounter with the bull, proved to be no more straight forward. I spent hours meandering the maze of trails, and back tracking in attempt to find the correct village on route. In my wanderings I stumbled upon a gorgeous waterfall pool. In the heat of the day I was nearly obligated to skinny dip in the icy water. Feeling refreshed and ready for more rambling in foreign lands, I pushed on and on and on, until I arrived in Taplejung, Nepal. From here I could jump on a bus bound for the city.

Back in Kathmandu I found Phil in an Internet Cafe with a smile under his thick bear. With a tone of content and pride he calmly declared, “I sent it”. The man is a modest, badass mountaineer who accomplishes something like this and walks away like nothing happened.

Experiences like this are held so dear to me. They are what makes all the effort I apply to venturing into the unknown worth it and prepare me to except bigger and more demanding attempts. My globe trotting and dirt bagging is about to reach yet another culmination this year. I’ve bought a one way ticket to South America to find my next summit, whether it be at the top of a mountain or the internal sense of accomplishment.

Summit achieved. I am no bear bait!

As time goes on I continue to enjoy the truck life. I anticipated a wear on spirits at the beginning of this journey, but quite the contrary has proven true. As the pages of the calendar turn more benefits of this life become apparent to me and I plan on pushing it further into the cold months than I had originally thought reasonable. Days such as follows motivate me to continue this life that results in uninterrupted outdoor endeavors.

After a day of rock climbing in an unfamiliar area I set up camp near a patch of ponderosa pine trees. After turning in early as the sunset I awoke at 11:30 p.m. to an ear piercing screech in the forest that backed my home on wheels. I recognized the noise as a bird darting from one tree overhead to another. Irritated, but patiently I waited for the noise to stop. However, 30 minutes of this spastic nocturnal creature hindered me from falling back asleep. So I switched positions to the driver's seat and drove off to find a new home for the night.

From my limited knowledge of the area the nearest patch of dirt to legally park my truck in solitude for the night was at the base of Mt. Sopris. Laying near to this mountain that dominates the skyline above Carbondale, Colorado I was recalling my previous attempt to tag the summit, consequently turning back due to wet, spring snow and a rain storm. I had no obligations the following day and an insatiable hunger for mountain adventures. So I decided to set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. and take another stab at climbing the mountain.

Bright and early I awoke, made coffee, packed my boots, crampons, ice axe, and water necessary for my planned route to the summit via a couloir of hard snow to the top. By 6:15 a.m. I was on the trail with a mission.

 Route of ascent shown in black.

About 2 miles into the hike as I was walking through a grassy clearing in an Aspen grove as I heard heavy thumps and breaking twigs in the forest. Mere seconds later the noises grew alarmingly near. Then I spotted a chocolate colored bear not running, but bounding through the grass. As it crossed my path I stood dumbstruck with no means of defense or plan of action if that force of nature was to change directions towards me. All I could muster with a shaky, unsure tone was, "ohh, h-h-hey buddy".

Unfazed by  the opportunity to pounce on a tasty, defenseless hiker the bear continued on it's mission to get whatever it was bolting towards. Leaving me with a new appreciation for life, I heard an animalistic screech in the woods nearby. Naturally, the bear won. It defeated whatever it was after, and had food for the day. That beast's raw power was displayed in perfection as it tore through the forest, in clear control of whatever was set before it. Humans are only at the top of the food chain because of their brain, not there brawn. If I hope to make it through this world in one piece I better use the intellect and good judgement available!

Spirits high from the outcome of my encounter with a bear in attack mode I continued up the mountain making noise to alert the bear I was in the area, as to not surprise him. After a couple hours of hustle through boulders, and scampering up a 40 degree snow slope I stood atop the summit, looking over the beautiful Elk Range. Now that the hard work was through it was time for the fun part! After climbing a snow slope such as this you are rewarded by the ability to glissade down the way you came up. Sliding down on ass, using the ice axe as a brake I descended about 1500 feet in a small 10 minute time frame. It beats the hiking trail! To follow that excitement I jumped in the icy alpine Thomas Lake. I couldn't spend too much enjoying the cool water and warm sun though; I still wanted to make it back to the trail head fast to achieve my 6 hour roundtrip goal.

Mt. Sopris summit view

Shirtless, ice axe in hand (A.K.A. now my bear weapon), I ran down the trail 4 miles back to my truck as fast as my legs allowed. Naturally, as I drew nearer the trailhead I ran into more novice hikers and families out for a mellow stroll. I resembled an image of William Wallace from Braveheart, bounding down the mountain, no shirt, holding what could appear to be a weapon of warfare in hand. You can imagine I received some odd looks by the unsuspecting hiker, as I bolted by as fast as the bear that had put the fear of god into my heart.

I approached a slow paced couple lacking fitness, but with high spirits to be in this incredible place. They stared at me, with their faces smeared with bright, white sunscreen, and asked in awe, "Did you run all the way up too!?" I stopped to chat for a brief moment, and had to share my bear story with them. Their response seemed be fear of what may lay on the trail ahead for them! Never the less, they continued up, and I continued down to my truck.

Upon arrival at the trailhead I achieved my 6 hour truck-to-truck goal and collapsed on the tailgate to refuel, relax, and prepare to meet a friend in a few hours to finish the marathon day with rock climbing until the sunset. At day's end I considered it a complete success, feeling full of life, and absolutely content.

The Canyon Called Itself the Black

Summer is here! It's time to shake off the cobwebs and get after whatever summertime fun you pursue. To start my season I returned to a climbing area that has been a perpetual intimidation for me, a place that I have gone to in the past to test myself in the realm of adventurous and committing rock climbs. However, this visit to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison was different. It was an attempt to rekindle the bold climbing habits prior to my injury in December of last year.

The Black Canyon is a forbidding geological anomoly. As one drives down the Black Canyon Road through sage brush covered hills you anticipate the change in landscape to come. Abruptly as you near the ranger station your eyes are immediately drawn to the 2200 foot drop in the earth. After parking you car in the campground surrounded by ponderosa pines you decide to take a closer look at this canyon that was spotted briefly on the way in. A five minute walk from camp deposits you at the rim of the canyon that drops into the depths below. The canyon lacks the common gradual descent, but rather sheer plummet of space that would send the faint hearted or ill balanced running home to the hobbit hole which they came. Small birds ride the air currents; swooping within inches of the dark, granite walls.

Those who have not satiated their curiosity at the rim may explore the inner canyon via steep gullies of loose rock with obligatory passages of thriving poison ivy bushes. At the lowest point in the Black rages powerful white water rapids that have been carving this splendor of the natural world for millions of years. If you would like to explore further down the rabbit hole: the path is upward bound. Now is the time to flake the rope, check your knots, and look well to each step up, into the unknown.

On my recent trip to the Black Canyon I was fortunate enough to team up with a local climber who has repeated the ascent over 40 times. The weekend would bring my count to the fourth and fifth climb out of the canyon. On Saturday we chose a route neither of us had done before. Of moderate difficulty but of committing, time consuming length the route is known as Moveable Stoned Voyage (5.10)

Rather than sticking to the standard way of passage, we chose to deviate from the path to a more difficult variation halfway up the wall. As I belayed my partner up this smooth vertical corner of stone I took my tight fitting climbing shoes off in attempt to find some comfort in this inhospitable place. I set one shoe securely next to my small backpack. While paying due attention to my partner's upward movement I naively tossed the other shoe into the corner of the ledge, which dropped into a deep fissure in the rock. My confidence was crushed as I heard the rubber shoe bounce off either side of the crack. After countless times of carefully removing my shoes on multi-pitch climbs, this was a very poor time to have a moment of negligence. "Son of a bitch" was my resonating thought. But no time to despair in this place, or it will surely win.

 Shortly after this unfortunate event my partner was forced to swallow some pride as well. Turned down by a featureless section of rock, void of a gear placements to aid his ascent he returned to the ledge I belayed him from. Luckily we were able to take an easier route up the remaining 1000 feet to the canyon rim. This easier route was not all that "easy" in the absence of my second climbing shoe. Nonetheless, I squirmed up chimneys and scrambled up gullies of loose, crystalline rock.

Once the struggle was over and we had returned to camp we began planning for tomorrow's descent and ascent of the canyon. After chatting with the park ranger, he offered me his climbing shoes for the day and recommended a less traveled, moderate route by the name of Power Lounger (5.11). The game was on! When dawn came we set off down the gully again, to climb Power Lounger's five pitches by 1:00 in the afternoon. Without incidence or much struggle we finished the day's climb drove away unscathed from the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.

The Black Canyon has a rich history of horrific tales that would make my weekend adventure look like dinner and a movie. The people that pioneered the canyon and those who continue to explore it's walls, that lack a single human finger print, posses courage (or stupidity depending on your perspective; it's a fine line) I cannot hold a candle to. That comparison must be taken into account when comparing another's to my own skill set to put themselves in  situations full of mystery and unpredictability. Whenever I put myself out there to explore the unknown I return with lessons that apply to overcoming the hurdles of other areas of my life. I view the ambition to wander into wild lands full of unforeseeable outcomes is that same curiosity that invented the lightbulb, sent explorers around the world and is the potential that drives the human race to new standards.

The Canyon Called Itself the Black

Dark, deceiving

The foolish won't be leaving

The Canyon called itself the BLACK

Roaring, tumbling

In that river don't go stumbling  

The Canyon called itself the BLACK

Deep, unnerving

Good judgement is well serving

The Canyon called itself the BLACK

Salvation will be found

If you avoid the BLACK'S hound

The Canyon called itself the BLACK

Two Weeks Deep and Loving It!

Maintaining a functional, organized life while living out of my truck has been a challenge requiring creativity and persistence. The truck-camping life has given me the opportunity to be in the outdoors for much longer periods than before. Consequently I've been enabled to wake up to hiking and climbing right out be back door (AKA my tailgate) and view daily sunsets over mountain peaks that would otherwise be hidden by drywall. 

This morning I woke up with no plans or obligations. As I sat in my camping chair eating breakfast and drinking coffee I gazed at the nearby Mt. Sopris that looms over the Roaring Fork Valley. Struck by a feeling of spontaneity I decided to set out on a hike up the mountain.

Mt. Sopris

After a morning session of yoga and casually collecting my camping and hiking gear I drove a couple of miles up the road from camp to the trail head. Rather than pursuing a goal oriented day of charging up the mountain I chose a process driven outing by savoring my time on the trail. Accepting the good and the bad, refuting discouragement as I post holed through soft springtime snow for miles. With dark rain clouds approaching I settled into camp below the summit slopes with hours of daylight remaining. As rain pattered against my tent's cover I found equanimity in the warmth of my tent, stuffed full of insulation bearing resemblance to a squirrel's nest. 

I awoke in the morning to rain water saturated snow, which would have been incapable of holding the weight of my ultra light ice axe, let alone my body weight. Gazing at the miles of trail to the summit socked in with loose, wet snow I wrote the trip off as a character building outing and set off down the trail in peace. 

Spring time on Mt.Sopris

I believe the type of life I have chosen to live for the past four years or so which encompasses living for the moment, accepting the vagabond mentality, and finding solace in the light at the end of the tunnel has showed me what I care about. I have found that the most important commodity in my life is time. By whatever means necessary time undoubtedly trumps money. Money is a vital resource in our society but the trick to happiness must be finding an intelligent strategy to spend, not spend, earn, and not earn money. Food consumption is an excellent analogy of money. We need food to survive, but eat too much of it and you'll find yourself unhappy and weighted down with problems you've acquired through over consumption. 

Some may say my perspective of simple living is made possible by my young age and lack of obligations. Which is true to a degree. I don't have a family, overwhelming debt, or a business. However, I have made the conscious decision to live out of my truck to free my already independent life, and simplify my already uncluttered life. I foresee my life becoming increasingly complicated with age. However, in comparison to the average joe my life will still be one rooted in basic clarity. 

The crash pad on wheels

-watch for a youtube video I'm going to post soon touring my humble abode

Feel free to comment, dispute, argue, praise, or worship my socially unacceptable life below.

Background and foresight

The only other period in my life that I found thought provoking enough to warrant writing a blog was over one and half years ago. At this time I had quit my job, and set out on a trip to Asia. After burning through all my savings I came back to the United States eager for the next chapter in my life. I attended my first college semester, while working as a handy man in boulder. I was planning on going to Colorado University for Environmental Engineering. I was also planning on the continuation of my climbing habits day in and day out.

However, on December 15th, 2013 I had a life changing event. I rappelled off the end of my climbing rope into 25 feet of open air beneath me. After suffering serious head trauma I was lowered out of Eldorado Canyon by the Rocky Mountain Rescue Team. The following week of intensive care and continuous family distress has completely escaped my memory bank. My reintroduction to the world, as memory serves, was my first day in rehab. I have a clear depiction thinking,"Woah, what the hell happened?"

Rescue in Eldorado Canyon

This surreal experience was, ironically, to me a very inspiring, positive experience. It forced me to re-evaluate my life and introduced new trains of thought into my perpetually evolving mind. After much consideration and research I've decided to abandon my pre-accident goals of living in Boulder and obtaining a degree in Environmental Engineering. It turns out this field is for those happy behind the walls of an office building. A respectable career, suited well for others, but not myself. I would prefer field work and exploration.

A school in Carbondale, Colorado called the Colorado Mountain College seems to fit my requirements much better. They offer degrees in Environmental Science and Sustainability which could take me to those far corners of the world I crave to see. As a long term event this is obvious to me as the right choice. But also as a short term, it's going to be a life suited to me much better. Rather than paying obscene amounts of money for apartments in Boulder I can simply live in my truck in the peaceful Roaring Fork Valley while attending college.

The roaring for valley. Home to Colorado Mountain College.

CMC or Hogwarts?...Obviously CMC!

I haven't been this excited for a change in my life since I went to Asia. I've allowed the idea to consume me with anticipation. I've spent  hours and hours re-modeling the bed of my truck to live out of. This move will undoubtedly silence the noise in my life and reign in a new era of adventure.


MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN

"There is a race of men that don't fit in
A race that can't stay still
So they break the hearts of kith and kin
And roam the world at will
They rove the fields and range the floods
And climb the mountains crest
Theirs is the curse of gypsy blood
And they don't know how to rest."

-Robert Service


That passage from Robert Service's poem describes me quite well. However, he goes on in this poem to explain how the type of man he describes comes to realize what a sad, hollow, mistake his type of life was. I can certainly understand the very basic reasons why Robert Service would make this accusation of men who have more experiences with the physical world and less with relationships. However, I have to argue that my way of life has brought me an abundance of happiness that could not have been found in a rooted life of lasting relationships.

Some people find their kicks in life out of the people they interact with and loving memories they cherish. Which of course hold weight with me as well. But when I look back and remember the happiest, fullest times of my life I was almost completely introverted, in the moment of strange and wild lands.

Each of us has to find a source of joy in the world, but I have undoubtedly find mine.

May 8th, 2014 I'll be setting out on another venture into the unknown to camp for an indefinite period; living simply with the land. This is the introduction to a new chain of events that will show how clarity is achieved through simplicity. A lifestyle to this extreme is not for everyone. If we all lived the simple life it would cause an economic disaster and in reality does not suit today's developed society. I'm not trying to preach to the audience or give direct examples. Rather, I'm showing what makes me happy. How you use and interpret my point of view is up to you. It's your vehicle of consciousness :)