Yosemite!

When I returned from Indian Creek, I came back to a new set of BD cams that I felt compelled to use at Smith. However, I didn’t feel compelled to climb at Smith after experiencing the euphoria of the Creek, the perfection of the cracks, the ease of placements… So Nina and I hopped on White Satin, a Smith classic. Two pitches of sport capped by a shortie dihedral (5.9) that would be a perfect initiation for my new gear.

The route was more of a reminder of why I’m moving to Yosemite. Crumbly rock, sharp nubbins, run-out exposed first bolts and a dirty crack at the top that did not take cams but ate up every nut I brought. I left disheartened, afraid my love for Smith (carefully cultivated over the last decade) was obsolete. I felt jaded, like the Morning Glory crew who use Smith like an outdoor climbing gym, who call the Gullies the Gutter, who’ve done all the routes under 5.12d over fifty times.

So I left Smith afraid I’d never want to come back, and for the next week I felt disloyal. I knew there was a place in my heart for this crumbly choss pile, but compared to what I’d been climbing…I didn’t climb for a week and a half. Didn’t really miss it either. My body was still recovering from the Creek, my mind taken up with packing, saying goodbye, logistics, boring travel stuff, exciting plan-making.

Then I went out for a last hurrah, down to the Gorge with Nathan and Marco - Corvallis crew. You gotta love the Gorge; it’s the closest thing Smith has to quality rock, the closest equivalent to Creek standards. At the Creek I sent a 5.10+ and a couple of .11-‘s. In the Gorge, the hardest I’ve sent is 5.10b. Seriously.

Driving out to Smith for the last time, it felt like last summer. My windows down, my music pumping, I was sweating until I dropped below the rim of the Gorge and the blessed shade took over. So few people climb there, it’s a different world, like the Land of the Lost. I descended into the lushness, listened to the startling sound of a waterfall, looked for the familiar red shorts of Nathan, for Marco’s smile, and I was home. I wasn’t feeling so sure of myself or my climbing, but Marco led Pet Cemetery, and I said to myself, “fuck it. It’s my last day at Smith and I want to climb, see where I stand. I know I’m placing good gear, I know I can climb these routes, I’ve got a good belayer, and I don’t want to leave with any regrets.”

Bloodclot, here I come.

For the first time at Smith, I preferred sticking my hands and feet into the crack. Obviously I’ve reached a new level with my crack climbing (this is said in a pompous air with a head waggle and raised eyebrows).

I was afraid I wouldn’t make it. The thought of falling on my gear spurred me to place more, where I could, to climb carefully, to breathe. I was scared. I breathed a lot. You could say I huffed. I wasn’t sure if I would make it, but I took it one move at a time and I don’t remember much of the route, just snatches where I had to pause and work out a sequence, or the place I was convinced I was coming off.

Two goals accomplished: I got scared and I redpointed Bloodclot. I’ve still got reasons to return to Smith – The Optimist not being the least. But I’ve got a lot of exploring to do, experience to gather, my heels to kick up, and Yosemite is one hell of a jumping off point.

Will I come back to Bend? It has a pull for me, an attraction I’m not willing to give in to. It feels like it could be permanent and I’m still branching out, my roots aren’t ready to go deep yet. I’m in the Ponderosa stage, not yet a Juniper.

Something I’d like to clear up before I go:

The relationship between me and E. It could be that I read too much into her behavior, because apparently in that first week she was annoyed with Beth being so close as well, so she acted standoffish to everyone. It was still a good lesson for me – on two counts. One, not to assume everything is about me, and two, how to give space and preserve a relationship. We had a fun time together, and I’ll have to admit, we meshed well considering the tight quarters. But, both E and I learned about our road trip styles, and I don’t know that E will choose to have a road trip buddy in the near future. I can’t say I blame her. It’s so much easier to do exactly what you want, when you want, when it’s just you. Compromise…it’s overrated.