1. Fuck leaf blowers.

    That is all.


  3. Climbing Red Dihedral on The Incredible Hulk, 11,040 feet. Sierra Nevada super classic.

  4. OZ (or, the Oh-Zee) on Drug Dome, Tuloumne Meadows. Did you know there’s a giant lump of rock named Drug Dome sitting in a national park and all the climbs on it are drug references? There is. 

  5. creating an account with UPS so I can get my stupid package

  7. beatonna:

    Look at these goofballs!  From the same Flickr owner of the bathing suit set I blogged earlier, there are lots of photos to go through.  And who doesn’t like old-time fun? Check out more!

  11. If you’re not planning for this…

    —How exactly do you plan for this?

  12. Esalen Institute


  14. 7/29/14 

    South Howser Tower, Bugaboo Spires, British Columbia 

    21 hours camp to camp

    After the climb, we spent an hour standing on the glacier soaking it all in. Talking about it later, I initially said that being out there made me feel how small I am, but we talked more and that wasn’t right. Before the climb when I was nervous about it, I felt small. On that glacier, on that mountain, I simply felt vastness, not separate from it or even apart of it, I simply felt it, felt what vastness in time, in space, in complexity really is. Those mountains are profound, and I felt extremely lucky and grateful to be there, to be able to experience that.

    The interesting thing is, vast and infinite are not the same. As much as you can feel how old and powerful the mountains and the glaciers are, you can also feel their fragility. The glaciers are so old, but also constantly cracking, grinding apart, melting. The mountains are massive, unfathomably heavy, and yet the tiniest plants and little rivulets of water are constantly tearing them apart. You climb cracks and flakes hundreds of feet long, feel granite crystals undulled by thousands of years, and then reach the summit and it’s a pile of rubble. It’s a jumble of stones, and any single person could spend a busy afternoon tearing the top off a mountain. It’s wild, that dichotomy.

    The mountain is not one thing, no single concept, no metaphor, it is a multifaceted phenomena. That is the mountain to take inside oneself, to become. Not The Mountain Immutable, but the many mountains that are every mountain. The fragile-strong mountain, the beautiful decay, the forever disappearing forever, the harsh, coarse, storm-hooded rock that shelters delicate Euphrasia flowers. Old climbers become rock-like over time, they take on the stone in countenance and manner. I want to age into an old climber.