Happy enforced rest day

– it rained last night, and I woke up to wet this morning and snow dusting on the tops of the walls. I walked down the road behind the Bridger Jacks while I awaited the campground’s awakening.

On one hand, waking so early is a blessing; I get so much more time than other people to get ready for the day. I walk, I write, I revel in the quietude of a wild place before the interference of radios, of camp-to-camp calls, of breakfast and bathroom sounds (Jeff…), of the conglomeration of life that starts up late and ends late.

Today I woke up hungry. As part of my new ‘good partner’ policy, I don’t start coffee until E’s up and dressed. And since I’m not Little Miss Sunshine in the mornings, making friends in other campsites who might give me coffee in the mornings is out of the question. As if cracking a smile that early is an option.

Lately I’ve been thinking of what’s next. Really, all that time I had to spend in Moab (2 cabin-feverish days) made me think of what I’ve got coming up, all the uncertainty I’ve set myself up for, what with quitting Deschutes and moving to…Zion? Yosemite? The Grand Canyon? Bishop? The more I think about it, the less sure I feel about it. I want to explore Zion, but already it’s tourist season and I’m afraid of all the people, and the heat. I don’t want that to destroy the magical feeling I get from the place, so I may preserve that for the winter…

I have too many options, not enough decision making power. What’s worse (and my present dilemma) is that my body is betraying me – I don’t feel stronger for all the climbing I’ve done, I just feel tired, achy, sore, and wonder what’s wrong and why my body won’t do what I want. I feel like I’m learning all the climbing skills here; hand and fist jams, finger locks, thin hands, foot jamming, laybacking, how to gun it, when to rest. I’m modifying my climbing style and taking lead falls but my body is giving out on me. On Soul Fire, I just couldn’t climb anymore, and the same thing happened yesterday on The Inhabitants, a 5.11 thin hands (granted, not all thin hand cracks are created equal, as E will attest to as well) that started with an overhang. I simply couldn’t. I pulled or hung on every piece I placed, which was good for my head, but wrought havoc on my body. Urgh. Halfway up my right leg shook like I was singing “Blue Suede Shoes” and I had the wrong size cams for everything. After today I’m wondering where I’ll be with the cracks, what I’ll be capable of. It’s never happened that my body’s capabilities have deserted me so utterly.

I have two days of Indian Creek cracks left to me. What’s next, how to spend it?

E’s jonesing to finish a route – she’s set on the Cave Route. I guess I am too - jonesing to finish something. I think of the wealth of cracks here, the projects I’m coming back to, all the beautiful routes I’ve tried, and what kind of satisfaction I want. I would be happy with visiting new cliffs; I’d also be happy sending Soul Fire and revisiting Battle of the Bulge buttress to try the namesake route that I was too chicken to touch before. I’m understanding that ratings don’t apply the same way here.

My head has gotten stronger on this trip – I’ve taken my first trad lead falls, I’ve pushed myself on some .11s, and I practiced my aiding on a route that was above my head, and I got to the end of it. I have a lot to be proud of, a lot to come back for, and a lot to train for next time, next year.

It’s not technically the end of my trip, but I’m wrapping things up in my mind, not staying in the present. I keep reminding myself to focus and be present, don’t think too much, relax and enjoy the now. I’m doing more reminding myself than any of the above, but I’ve still got two days to change that.

Jeff’s friend of a friend, Zak from Germany, has joined us, and Beth is gone. I met the author of newclimber.com, who’s a photographer in Boulder, CO, and you should check out the photos of his whirlwind weekend trip here. http://www.newclimber.com/gallery/indiancreek/index.html

You can see me climbing a dihedral with a yellow chalk bag on – pretty much the only pic there is of me climbing, which I’m working on changing. I got a Swiss guy, Tomas, to take pics of me on the .11 I flailed on. Very generously, he didn’t document the ‘French Free’ technique I employed to get to the top.

To distract ourselves from the disintegrating weather, the boys brought out the entertainment, and I noticed something -

There are two lives at Indian Creek – Crag life and Camp life. At the crag, you talk about the rest of life and repeat soundbites; yesterday at the Way Rambo wall, Jeff and Jackson, a climber with a group we met before, did impressions of Borat and Da Ali G Show, and when that ran out, told raunchy jokes (what’s the difference between a band of pygmies and a woman’s running team? One’s a bunch of cunning runts, the other’s a bunch of…ah, alliteration).

In Camp, you live life and talk about the crag. Last night we watched Da Ali G Show and Jeff picked up more material for our next day’s entertainment, and we talked about the lines we’d climbed. How does one climb the .75 top of Way Rambo? What do you do? Finger stacking? Is this how you do it? Jeff demonstrated and E copied him, questioning him as if she were beta-caching a route, making sure she had the technique right, because hell, that is the beta. It’s all about the technique.

I’m feeling melancholy despite the beauty and energy surrounding me. It all seems like a good dream about to end and I’m not ready. E told me to make friends with the van with Oregon plates down the way, which is enticing...And with the weather acting the way it is, it seems like I could be holed up in my tent or Jeff's truck watching City of God or more Borat.

So I'm telling myself: Appreciate the beauty around you. Focus on the present, be open and honest, and take advantage of your opportunities. That last lesson's from Cedar Wright, his philosophy he explained to me my first day climbing at the Creek. He's paid to climb, can't argue with that!