The Next Climbing Zine, Two Tent Timmy, Snaggle Tooth and Castleton

Looking at the calendar and realizing I haven’t posted in a while, I figured in true blogging form I’d post something random. The fact that I haven’t posted in three weeks isn’t because I’m not writing, quite the opposite I’ve been working hard on the “The Climbing Zine, Volume 3”.

I’ll start there. “The Climbing Zine Volume 3” will be quite different than the previous editions. It will be at least twice as long. The writing is exclusively from yours truly, and we’re producing two different versions: a printed version with a color cover and a free online version accompanied by many photographs. I’m collaborating with fellow climber Mallory Logan, and she is doing all the graphic design work for the zine. She also had the idea to include some more photography from another climber, Zane Groves, so we’ll feature a bunch of his photos in the online version.

Fans of the Climbing Zine who enjoy other authors that contribute to the zine need not worry; “The Climbing Zine Volume 4” will be another collaborative effort. Be sure to contact me if you are interested in contributing stories or photos (or art).

I’ve just been producing so much writing lately that I decided to go ahead and write the thing myself. Look for another blog post in the near future with an excerpt from the feature piece of the zine called, “Go West Young Man, In the Freedom Mobile.”

Another piece will be about my best friend, Two Tent Timmy. Tim and I spent some time climbing together this winter, and it was reunion of sorts. Tim has been out of the climbing game for a while and returned with a vengeance after a four year hiatus.

We got to climb several days in the Durango area, and also made it out to Indian Creek for a bunch of winter climbing and camping. One of our most memorable climbs was a first ascent on the Broken Tooth wall.

I’d eyed the line on a previous trip, and took several photographs from afar to see if the route had any signs of anchors and previous travel. Back at home I zoomed in on the photos and sure enough there was no evidence of anchors.

Establishing the route went relatively well. I took a conservative approach for the beginning of the climb, hanging on pieces when necessary, and cleaning up loose holds. After a funky .75 (Camalot) section I reached a chimney off-width section that I couldn’t simply hangdog. I found it very difficult and loose and that part took everything I had in me (including placing all the off-width gear we had with us). Finally reaching the top after nearly two hour lead I felt exhausted and dreading the fact that I had to hand drill anchors in the route. It wasn’t the classic that I hoped it would be, but it was still fun.

I’d originally intended to name the route Gold Tooth Timmy, in honor of Tim (he has a gold tooth), but it was just too chossy. After a night of joking what we should call it, we eventually came up with Snaggle Tooth, and I think that’s appropriate. The route is on the far right side of the Broken Tooth buttress. At camp, over the days that followed we made a plaque that I plan to place at the base of the route. (That may have been the most enjoyable part of the new route experience.)

That desert trip ended with a lap up Castleton tower, in the Castle Valley. Tim and I had done the Kor-Ingalls route together ten years ago, and it was fun to revisit old memories. I remember being scared out of my mind on the tower previously, and it was interesting to compare how I feel about climbing now, compared to then.

I couldn’t help but think of these lines from the Pink Floyd song Dark Side of the Moon, “You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today. And then one day you find. Ten years have got behind you.” The way time passes is incredible, but up on that tower and chillin’ with Tim in camp I feel I’m spending my life exactly how I want to.

Hope ya’ll enjoy these photos with the piece, and stay tuned as “The Climbing Zine Volume 3” comes together. I’m more excited about this project than anything I’ve ever done.

When Does the Rock Climbing Season Begin and End? Or... Winter Rock Climbing, an Act of Desperation or Salvation?

“Once you set sail on the high crag, the long journey never ends.”
-Rock Jocks, Wall Rats and Hang Dogs by John Long

Climbing has a magnetic attraction to it. Many avid climbers, especially in their younger days base their entire lives around it. They work hard and save money, only to quit their jobs and spend all the money climbing. Some create their social circles around climbing, all their friends are climbers and all they talk about is climbing.

Obsession is one word that comes to mind when I think of the climbers who eat, drink and sleep for another day in the vertical. When one finds his or herself in the middle of this obsession, the question why? is often asked. This question is as old as the pursuit. George Mallory’s “because it’s there” is the shortest, most often referred to answer.

This winter, during what is the most reflective season, I found myself thinking about a much simpler question, “When does the rock climbing season begin and end?”

During a recent climbing session I posed this question to my best friend, Two Tent Timmy. Tim has stopped off in Durango to sample the climbing, and in the time he’s been here we’ve climbed several days locally, and we’ve also got seven days in at the nearby, crack Mecca of the world, Indian Creek.

Tim’s initial reply was that there is no beginning and end to the climbing season. I thought about it, and agreed in some sense. At the end of the year climbers are down in El Portrero Chico in Mexico in hordes to celebrate the holidays. Others are out in Joshua Tree in southern California, and some are out at Red Rocks in Las Vegas. I’ve heard climbing can be good in the south down at Red River Gorge in Kentucky that time of year as well. I know some climbers who are taking refuge in the tropical climate of Thailand.

So the reality is that the climbing season doesn’t ever really have to end. A blessing, because other outdoor adventure sports (for the lack of a better word), such as skiing depend heavily on weather conditions. If it doesn’t snow, skiing sucks. On that flip side of that many mountain town residents know skiers who will try to ski for every month of the year. Those who have passion for something will find a way to do what they need to, in order to pursue what they love.

Two Tent Timmy on a cold late afternoon ascent of Simians to the Sun (5.9+), East Animas, Durango

After this conversation with Tim I came up with my own definition for the climbing season, or at least an optimistic, idealistic definition. The climbing season begins and ends around the holidays. Specifically one season ends right around Christmas, and begins with New Years. Add that up and the rock climbing season amounts to 358 days for a year, or 51 weeks.

My reasoning here is I like to spend the holidays with my family back in the Midwest. That week is really the only time period I can guarantee that I’m not going to touch the rock. The rest of the year, God-willing, I hope to go rock climbing at least once a week.

It gets deeper. Most climbers don’t rock climb year round. They don’t need to, or they are involved with other pursuits, such as skiing or ice climbing, which are obviously more natural activities to pursue in the winter months. I’ve given both skiing and ice climbing a shot, and they just simply don’t do it for me. Nor does climbing plastic in the gym, I’ll put in a couple days a year in the gym, and it’s good for a pump, but it cannot replace real rock and the outdoor experience, just as masturbation cannot replace sex (or at least good sex).

Additionally, I also suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Winter is typically the time of year when I am most likely to be depressed and unhealthy. Memories of winters when I stopped climbing are filled with sugar products, alcohol, way too much of the ganja, and long hours in front of the television. I’ve found that the greatest cure for my SAD is exercise, and of all the outdoor activities I participate in, climbing makes me feel the best.

Now that I’ve outlined all of this, it’s time to get to the heart of it, winter climbing and its romance. Where I’m living now, in Durango, Colorado, the climate lends itself greatly to winter climbing. If it’s sunny and above freezing winter climbing is not an act of desperation, but rather a chance to experience climbing in all its glory. Many days this past January I’ve found myself at the Golf Wall, a local sport climbing area, where at just the right time of day one can bask in the sun, in the heat, and the temperatures are perfect, even begging one to take his shirt off. And, when all of these factors align, any feelings of depression melt away like the snow at the top of the Golf Wall on a sunny day.

The author climbing on the Golf Wall, photo by Dave Ahrens

Lindsey Schauer getting her yoga on, Golf Wall

Another blessing of Durango is its proximity to the crack climbing Mecca that is Indian Creek. Two and a half hours from Durango and you’re there, and the same rules seem to apply to the Creek, if it’s sunny and above freezing climbing is going to be comfortable, and dreamy.

Indian Creek is also free of crowds during the winter. Now one of America’s more popular crags, for good reason, the Creek gets a good amount of traffic during its so-called “on season”. During the off-season, the winter, a climbing party can have even the most classic of walls, all to their selves. I am a social person, and I love people, but something about climbing on some of the most classic, beautiful cracks, with only your partner and God (and the ravens) watching is just downright magical.

Two Tent Timmy on Generic Crack (5.9+), Indian Creek

Tim Foulkes on Gingivitis, (5.10+), Indian Creek

Two Tent Timmy on Rock Lobster, (5.11), Indian Creek

And it’s this magic that we’re always trying to find in climbing right? The feeling that comes together with good friendship, physical activity, sunshine, fresh air, overcoming fear, and the beautiful struggle that is climbing…

We’re in a bit of a cold spell in Durango as I write this. Last night it was negative 16 degrees. But, the weather forecast is looking to get warmer in the upcoming days. Already after only a few days I’m itching to get out and climbing again. Some of you reading this have perhaps not tasted this majesty in longer than you would like. The longer the wait has been, the sweeter it will probably be when you finally touch rock again. Regardless, if you’re pining for rock climbing I hope your season begins sooner than later.

Peace,
Luke

Winter climbing 2010-11

To keep things fresh I'm posting some photos from the winter 2010-11 climbing season. I'm working on some prose about the season thus far, so that should be posted shortly. One Love, Luke

Jonathan Schaffer climbing on the Golf Wall, Durango

View from East Animas, Durango

Two Tent Timmy, showing that even in the winter in Durango, you can climb shirtless

Schaffer at East Animas

Dave Ahrens at the Golf Wall. Check the scar from the liver transplant surgery he had a couple years back, when he donated most of his liver to his Mother

Two Tent cookin' bacon at the Super Bowl campground, Indian Creek, Utah

The Bridger Jack towers on the left hand side, and the South and North Sixshooter towers

Yours truly on Scarface, usually a crowded climb, but in January you're likely to have it all to yourself

Two Tent at the Cat Wall

A view of the Supercrack Buttress with the Cowboy, Indian, and Bottle of Whiskey formation in the background

Below is a link to the Indian Creek guidebook. I'm hooked up through Amazon, so if you buy it from them I get hooked up! word.

Indian Creek: A Climbing Guide

Durango

It was the cold of Gunnison that sent him down south to Durango. Cold in different ways: the temperature, and the cold of heart. One too many times did he have his heart broken, and he broke one too many hearts.

He is without a past in Durango. He can walk the streets alone and be almost certain that he won’t be recognized. This won’t last long, so he takes it for what it is worth. He can sense the strong community; in the Post Office those in line chat like they are neighbors and best friends.

Durango in December, this year it has been warm, pleasant, the high temperature of the day rising up to 50 degrees; a pleasure to walk out into the afternoon Colorado sun.

He is a climber so naturally he seeks out the climbing areas. Durango is like Gunnison at first, no epic cliffs in sight when you roll into town. A little research and one finds there are cliffs all over, sandstone, limestone and granite.

The traditional area of East Animas has got his attention. The area’s most proud crag, the Watch Crystal is a rainbow of sandstone. The view from the crag is expansive, farmland just below, acres of it. Snowcapped mountains to the west, the La Platas, begging for more snow, but the days lately have been all sunshine, the blue bird sunshine that Colorado is famous for, an intoxicating sunshine.

More sandstone off in the distance, multiple areas, they stand as monuments to him that he is where he should be in life, with new cliffs for him to explore to climb, to grow older with.

He has a few friends to go climbing with; old Gunnison friends that now live in Durango, or nearby. A blessing to have a comfort like that in a new town; people that he knows to trust his life with on the other end of the rope.

He needs the climbing, climbing is who he is, where he found courage and adventure and the need to be free, that need to breathe clean air, and camp out in the dirt.

Climbing at East Animas is like anywhere else, with its own funkiness. It demands one works for the gear that he places, hanging on by your fingers trying to wiggle a piece of gear in the crack, and then trying to worm up the route with some grace. He aims to make deliberate movements, as if he knows where he is going, but he has never been there.

The climbing is less crowded than he expected. It’s so close to town, yet he only sees a handful of souls each day at the crags. But, maybe it’s because it’s December and the local climbers have switched to climbing ice or skiing. He’ll find out in the spring.

Just as he needs climbing he needs love. Finding love is not as simple as finding the climbing areas. He’s learned much about patience from climbing, and more than he wanted to about patience from love.

Walking the streets of Durango there is an abundance of beautiful women. The college girls seem too young now, how young the freshman are now is beyond him; they are just girls, he needs a woman.

The scene is set for love to take place here, the warmth, the opportunity to hike into the mountains, to soak in hot springs; Durango has all the elements for romance to ensue. A slow turning novel it is, beautiful and demanding of patience. He should savor every day, every sentence, every word, and every woman who strolls by.

Slowly the days will progress, and he will become more a part of the town. He will build a name for himself. The women of Durango are now just bystanders in the novel that is his life. As time goes by one may become the main character, that ‘one’ he believes in with faith. That time that is represented in his mind seems like an eternity; like the time that it took Mother Nature to build the rocks he climbs upon in the afternoon sun.

He has survived eternity before, and he will again. He has lived through those epic Gunnison winters, and he has lived through thunderstorms of crying and periods of guilt and doubt.

He is just reading the first page of the place that is called Durango.

Second volume of Climbing Zine released

Benighted Publications is proud to announce that the second volume of the “Climbing Zine” is finished, and ready to be consumed. The latest zine was compiled by former Gunnison Valley resident, Luke Mehall, who is now living in Durango, Colo.

Contributors and artists for the “The Climbing Zine Volume Two” include: Greg Pettys, Lindsey Schauer, Will Anglin, Brian Malone, Travis Kuester, Scott Borden, Cliff Cash, Al Smith III and Mallory Logan.

While rock climbing is the major focus of the zine, the writers also weave in other topics that are central to living the climbing life: the search for love, couch surfing, dumpster diving, marijuana consumption and travelling to exotic locations.

For a copy of The Climbing Zine Volume 2, contact Luke Mehall at lmehall@yahoo.com. To view the zine online click up to "links and such" on this site, where the zine can be read via Google docs.

The Dish Dog Goes to Joshua Tree (Written for the 3rd issue of Stokelab)

Reluctantly, this past summer, I returned back into the world of washing dishes in Crested Butte, Colorado. I thought I’d retired after a solid 15 years in the profession, one that was my first job, carried me through college and some experimental years after college, when all I wanted to do was rock climb and live in a tent.

The return was because of the downturn in the economy, and my public relations job in higher education was cut due to reduced funding, a problem that every college in the nation is grappling with now.

So, I was back in the pit, and 15 years of memories came flooding back. The first things I recalled were the worst: the reality of cleaning up people’s leftovers; the meager pay with no benefits; and coming to the realization that this was the very same position I had when I was 16.

In addition to the drawbacks, there are some positives to being a “dish-diver”. While the work doesn’t demand much cognitive thought, the mind is free to float and contemplate life. No one really messes with the dishwasher, (at least they shouldn’t) so you’re responsibilities are limited to making sure the dishes are clean. The greatest thing about being a diver though, at least in Crested Butte, is the off-season, when tourists are away, the whole economy of the town comes to a screeching halt, and if you’ve saved your pennies you can travel around.

While many of my friends were seeking opportunities in Northern California with the new Green Rush of marijuana harvesting, I opted for a month long trip around the west climbing at the places that tend to be warm in the late fall. One of the places I ended up at was Joshua Tree, California, where I once had a 100 day run of climbing and washing dishes, and it was a beautiful struggle.

Fresh out of college I was hungry for experience, and I was hungry. I’d packed everything I owned into my 1988 Mazda and hit the road. The town of Joshua Tree is just outside of the national park; it’s a place that defines small town America, and my employment options of washing dishes were limited to a joint called Crossroads, a place popular with climbers that serves the best food, the best coffee and the best beer in town. I walked in, met the owner, and told her I was the best dishwasher this side of the Mississippi. They needed a dishwasher, and soon. I offered I could start right away and they gave me a job right on the spot.

It was a glorious winter, and a personal revelation that I could camp out all winter and climb. Home was camp. I only needed to work three days a week to sustain my meager wants and needs. Plus, the cooks were supportive of my mission to be a climbing bum, and would give me abundant leftovers. (Earning the respect of cooks, as a newbie dishwasher, is something that does not come easily.)

The dish pit itself was a challenge though; there was no dishwashing machine, so all the dishes had to be hand washed. Every shift started with 15 – 30 bacon trays that were a slimy mess to clean up with. The dishwashing became more and more grueling as the night went on; washing dishes by hand is humble work. But, as soon as I’d really be about to lose my patience, it would be time for beer and the shift was almost over, and I’d have a couple days off to climb. I thought I was onto something there, the 20 hour work week, and I probably was.

Camp was a mixture of climbing bums and weekend warriors. The hard cores worked even less than I did, and had probably already saved their pennies in the previous season working in restaurants, construction, or marijuana farms. We would all have philosophical conversations about how to live more peacefully with nature, and how to consume less. I thought we were well on our way of doing that by camping out.

The hard cores would throw dance parties atop 150 foot rock formations, run around the desert naked, and generally kept themselves entertained. I followed them around, as much for the sake of friendship and common interests, as possible story ideas for the future.

When it came to leave Joshua Tree that season I was burned out on the wind and living outdoors in the desert, so I headed back to Colorado. Most climbers do this; Joshua Tree has only a handful of locals that live there year-round. Plus, back at my dish gig in Crested Butte there was a dish machine, and I could camp out in my friend’s front yard.

This year when I went back I stopped back in to Crossroads I saw a couple familiar faces. It had only been three years, but no one remembered my name. They did remember that I was, “the dishwasher/writer guy” though, so there’s some consolation in that.

I won’t be headed back to my dishwashing gig in Crested Butte this winter, I’m moved down south to Durango to see if I can get myself out of the cycle of washing dishes to stay afloat. However, some of my employment contacts thus far have been in restaurants, so we’ll see if I can avoid the pit. One of these employers even asked for a resume, the first time I’ve had that request in 16 years of diving.

So I probably haven’t seen the last of my days as a dish dog. To all you other divers out there, keep up with the safety meetings, and don’t let the dishes be on top of you, be on top of your dishes.

Leaving and Friends (The following is a piece I wrote just before leaving the Gunnison Valley in late October)

This morning I’m waking up and thinking about writing. It’s what I do most mornings. However, this morning is different, I’m moving from the Gunnison Valley today.

I thought I might write something about leaving, but I didn’t know what. Thoughts and ideas passed through my head of last 11 years and how epic life in Gunnison is. Do I write about the cold nights in Gunny, the time it was negative 40? Or do I write about the experiences I’ve had climbing in the Black Canyon on the wild 2,000 foot walls that are literally almost in our backyard? Or do I recall when I first moved to Gunnison, and didn’t know anyone and thought that I’d made a big mistake and wanted to leave? Or about the struggles of college, and finally graduating after three different schools and many semesters off, and many times that I doubted I could finish? Or about the struggles of wanting to become a writer, but not knowing where to start, and then submitting to the pull of the wilderness and inspiration and guidance of my professors and anyone else that would take a look at my stuff?

From this perch of my little apartment in Gunnison on my last morning before I venture off I have a view of these last 11 years. Many things have happened and I’ve grown and matured in ways that would be difficult to quantify. I’m sure if you’re reading this you’ve experienced a similar growth, many of us are united by our time spent together in Colorado.

What I’m realizing though, as I sit here, is that there is no need to try to record all that has happened here in the Gunnison Valley, over the last decade-plus. It would be impossible anyways. The adventures and growth that occur here are the stuff that novels are made of, and Jah-willing I’ll write my book someday.

What really matters for me right now is that in a little while I’ll be having breakfast with a handful of friends at the Firebrand shortly. It won’t be a dramatic goodbye; anyone who has lived here in the Gunnison Valley realizes that the time comes when we have to leave this incredible majestic mountain place. For yours truly it is time to escape the cold, and to find more opportunities in my career.

As I sit here and contemplate I’m not worried about the upcoming change in my life. I think this is because of my friends. I’m leaving Gunnison to move to Durango where one of my best friends, Tim Foulkes is also moving to. Before that I’m taking a month to travel and find stuff to write about, with my friend Dave Marcinowski. Today I’ll drive to Telluride to meet Dave and then we’ll travel to Yosemite, California together. There we’ll couch surf and hang out with two old friends we met in Gunny, Mark Grundon and Scott Borden. Then finally at the end of the month I’ll be with countless friends in the desert in Indian Creek to celebrate Thanksgiving together.

All of these connections were made in the Gunnison Valley. These are good people, who value adventure, exploration, self-discovery and friendship.

And, that is what I value the most in my 11 years I’ve spent here, the friendships that I have made; anything that I have done on my own pales in comparison to the power of friendship.

In a few hours I’ll drive my beat-up old car west, and the view of the Gunnison Valley will fade from my rear view mirror. I’ll be gone and I don’t know when I’m coming back again. But, what I’ll take with me, and what is all over the country is love and friendship, and that’s what I’m thinking about this morning, and what I am the most grateful for in my life.