Category Archives: Traveling

Red Rocks

Going someplace good.

Simon and I slid together down our ropes into the blackness. Light from my headlamp faltered as the batteries strained and drained, our eyes squinting for the glint of bolts. We had already voiced our shared our fears of rappeling in full dark, but it didn’t change the necessity of doing it. There was a peace in the abyss though. The night air was still. We were looking for bolted anchors on a clean and obvious route. My companions were the kind of friends that make any “extra” adventure seem like legitimately more fun, rather than something scary or annoying. We had topped out the Ginger Cracks route on Rainbow Mountain in Red Rocks, and despite the fading light, our stoke was bright.

Simon gets us off the deck.

Ginger Cracks is an old school Red Rocks classic 5.9 that took us just a little longer than expected. It was a perfect day that started with looking at the line of people waiting for their turn on “Crimson Chrysalis” and making a fast decision to do something else.

All smiles on top of the crux pitch.

I would rate Ginger Cracks as one of my favorite 5.9s anywhere- long pitches of varied climbing with occasional runouts and awesome position. I still haven’t climbed the more popular classic next door, but I didn’t need to for a perfect day out.

Simon runs out the gear on pitch 6.

Summit?

Summit!

I’ve never been one to shirk the season and head for the sun, but when Ky floated the idea over Thanksgiving, there was no way I was going to miss out. The union of old and new friends in the winter desert was a perfect idea, and I dare say- perfectly executed. Ky and Joe flew in from Bellingham and Boulder respectively and got a few pitches on Thursday afternoon.

A long journey, in a very short time.

Bacon and coffee. I must be on vacation.

Bacon and coffee. This is living.

Simon and I took off after work Thursday night in the Jetta and swapped shifts to keep the car moving- an all nighter under full moon in the desert didn’t feel like much effort. We made it in time for a full but slightly groggy day of climbing “Birdland,” a perfect warmup.

Splitter headwall pitch on Birdland. Thin.

I would travel most anywhere to climb with Ky and Simon, and didn’t think much of it when Ky started pushing Red Rocks. I’ve been there before but with mixed success– despite it’s beauty the place hadn’t held my heart. This time was different. Meeting Ky and Joe, with Simon felt like a reunion of brothers. Perfect weather, a gorgeous landscape, and boisterous climbing set the backdrop for an unbelievably fun weekend. To some, driving so far for such a short time might not make sense- but it was a perfect chance to reconnect with the spirit of adventure that is commensurate with living fully.

The only limits are the ones in your own mind. Climbing with a steady head on Sheep Trail. John Bachar 5.10a.

The only limits are the ones in your own mind. Sparse gear and a steady head on Sheep Trail. John Bachar 5.10a. (Photo by Joe Stephenson)

My best friends have always been the people that inspire me to do the things I’m afraid of. To be more honest with myself and the world. They are people that I love and admire so much that giving my best doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, it’s simply the most obvious and essential course of action. They remind me how to serve others better, to dial my own needs in so I’ve got more left in the tank for others. It was a weekend with some of those people, and I never doubted it would be.

Summit stoke. (Photo: Joe S.)

Disproportionately, I find these friends through silent sports done in nature. Indeed it might be why I do them at all. This time, we got Red Rocks right and I look forward to the permanence of the memories.

Bliss

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The start to all good adventures.

I had about 12 hours between getting back from a full work week in Thompson Falls and getting into a car full of friends headed to the southern Bitterroot for a weekend of yurt skiing. It was my favorite kind of transition. More on Thompson Falls later, it’s about skiing now:

Bad habits from telemark skiing carry over. I'm still a back seat driver.

This weekend did not suck (Photo: Evan Smith)

Simon had texted me: “can you get next Friday off?” Knowing Simon, my reply was simple: “Whatever it is, count me in.” He had booked two nights at the State Line Yurt tucked just a mile or so behind our favorite ski resort, and had backcountry turns on his brain. Mel and Simon are an amazing adventure duo, and their friend Evan is a hard charging Jackson native. With a yurt and good snow, the stage was set. I felt damn lucky to be included.

The fun begins. I love the looks we get in a resort with big packs on.

The State Line Yurt is a revival of an old thing, and I had never had the pleasure of yurt supported skiing. After more than a few freezing nights in a tent, I can’t complain. A potbelly wood stove, ample mattresses, and a stellar kitchen setup made the living pretty plush.

New use for the Cilogear crampon pocket.

While we had packed a few party supplies, it was more fun to realize that my companions and I were all on the same page- we just wanted to tour. We skied hard all day, ate well, and slept immediately. We might be the first skiers in the history of yurting to carry beer back out with us. The touring was just too fun to miss.

Evan gets some.

We found quick turns on Friday afternoon just over the ridge and out of earshot from the resort. The north facing powder was deep and dry. Our excitement skyrocketed. None of us had really expected decent snow- friends and solitude were enough. With a little looking though, the mountains had treasure waiting for us.

The best of Saturday mornings.

Saturday we all agreed was for a longer tour, someplace we would never go without the yurt location. We headed south to Pt Hughes, and after some navigational arguments, found a spectacular burn with decent steeps. The views south into Idaho beckoned us on like sirens, but the snow held our attention and the turns were not to be missed.

If you don’t GoPro, don’t go… (or something). Photo: Evan Smith

We got back to the yurt just in time for a perfect sunset, and another epic meal. Mel and Simon prepped the whole trip at Costco, keeping things cheap, efficient, and tasty. Despite all the touring, I’m not sure I lost weight on this one.

Eager.

Somewhere in the course of skinning I remarked to my companions “I’ve hit a state beyond excitement, and I can only describe it as bliss.” It makes sense to me that the silent physical work of skinning, followed by the pure rush of downhill powder turns adds up to a singular, superlative experience.

The best kind of tired. (Photo: Evan Smith)

Sunday we skinned over to Saddle Mountain for incredible looks north at the Bitterroot valley, and hopefully more great snow. The views delivered, but the snow didn’t. It doesn’t have to be perfect to be perfect. Clouds rolled in, adding texture to the sky and snow to the Pintlers- topping our together felt like the perfect end to the trip. We got a few great turns on some south facing corn as we headed back to pack up, and caught the tow rope in the resort before it closed.

Snow not required for fun. (Photo: Evan Smith)

I’m gonna say it to set the bar (and cause it was true): I think this was the most fun I’ve ever had on skis. I cant wait to see what’s next.

2013 In Review

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Photo: Amy O’Toole.

I’m grateful to say that if nothing else, the sorrows and successes of 2013 have been real. A quick review of everything:

Went to Australia. Saw family. Deepened old friendships, made new ones. Climbed. Played. Smiled.

John, Otto, and Manly Beach, NSW.

Traveled back to Missoula, and liked that I came back here. Found love. Finished some great projects. Wrote a website. Loved winter.

Winter. Winter. Winter.

Climbed. Skied. Hurt. Worked until I couldn’t anymore. Fought for an engineering license and lost. Lost some clients. Lost love. Lost myself.

Get it… in a boot.

Had foot surgery. Learned about love, and myself. Waited.

We are enough.

Celebrated summer. Celebrated this place. Celebrated climbing again, and better. Celebrated my profession.

Getting back into it.

Found Wyoming. Found the roots, and the crown, of my experience in the wilderness. Found the perfection in imperfection.

Huge shout to Bryan and the Feather Buttress.

Got older. Got more honest. Got excited about winter. Got back to Chicago.

Also, can’t talk about this year without credit to the soundtrack for it. 2013- it’s been real. To 2014, I say “yes!”

2014 is the question. Yes is the answer.

Homegrown

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We’re not in Montana any more.

I walked casually through the Depaul University campus. The evening was mild for December in Chicago, and it felt good to take a little extra time to notice the classic architecture and urban vitality of the campus. Exploring the northside on foot with friends was standard entertainment throughout high school and college. I love the trees in the city, oddball shops, and ethnic restaurants that are best discovered on foot and over deep conversations. It’s fun to feel the parts of myself that are homegrown.

“The Local Option” has one of the best selections of craft beer on the north-side, and has been a fun place to meet old friends. I spent last Friday night there with a few characters from various parts of my life- including two friends that I have known for over 20 years now (check them out, here and here). If I lived in Chicago now, I would still want to hang out with them just as much as I did when we were growing up.

It’s not Christmas unless there is bowling.

My 8 day trip to the midwest was challenging and affirming. Seeing my family for the first time in two years felt essential. My grandmother recently moved into a new facility in Columbus, OH that offers full service care for her advancing years. Her new digs are essential for providing peace for everyone in our family. Spending Christmas in a nursing home wasn’t ideal, but I couldn’t imagine a better or more important place to be.

My older uncle is developmentally disabled, and I’ve never felt comfortable taking the lead in providing the support he needs during family gatherings– until now. With my mom and younger uncle supporting my grandmother, stepping up was necessary. Funny that when you do it, it’s suddenly a lot easier and a lot more fun than you thought it might be.

Uncle Steve, I love you.

There are more than a few parts of my life that I’ve avoided and concealed from sharing with my family, and in particular my parents. It hasn’t been fun, but I’ve felt it necessary as I’ve defined my own adulthood. It finally felt safe to take down some of the boundaries over this trip, and I think everyone was able to breathe a little easier when I did. Describing this trip to friends in Missoula I keep coming back to the same important point: it was the most authentic time I’ve shared with my parents in 10 years. My mom has always said- “family are the people that God wants you to have in your life that you might not choose for yourself.” Mom is right, and God is wise.

Happy holidays from the Carlson/Spies family!

Triple Header

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Marko shows us how it’s done in the dark.

Montana is a special place, and there is a reason that the autumn is one of my favorite seasons. I wasn’t expecting it, but taking the opportunities at hand landed me a triple header of my favorite adventure sports- all in the same week.

I was in Bozeman all week for work. I had hoped to find a ride on craigslist so I could stay the weekend while my co-worker Mark headed home on Friday afternoon. The rides didn’t work out, but I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Wednesday night we picked up some awesome fried chicken and headed up to Genesis I for a night-time session getting back into ice climbing. With a full set of borrowed gear from Ari and Marko (thanks!), Mark came along to swing tools for his very first time. Getting my first leads, and sharing the experience with fine friends made for a perfect night despite some cold temps (6F when we left the car).

Getting ready for my first sticks of the season.

Beginner stoke. Props to Mark for braving the cold to come check it out.

After 20+ meetings in Bozeman, I was ready to head home Friday night, but my new friend Molly was eager to ski on Saturday. I was pretty eager too, and Anna was from Bozeman and feeling behind on her season already. We headed for St. Mary’s at 830am, got the car stuck around 10, and topped out around 2pm. The snow was fun, but there still wasn’t very much of it so I was glad to be on my older telemark skis (the new dynafit setup is waiting for a few more storm cycles).

Molly and Izzie making short work of the skinning.

Anna on top of her first Bitterroot winter summit.

With another day of splitter weather in the forecast, there was no reason not to try for all three sports. Even with the cold temps, there were about a dozen people headed to Mill Creek and I was happy to join in the fun.

Just “a little” hoarfrost on the hike in. Chilly mornings in the Bitterroot.

Molly and I ended up teaming up again, and I was psyched to nail my hardest on-sight yet: “No Drama Obama” (5.11b, 30m). Many thanks to Michael Moore for the photos, and Molly for the stellar belay. I raced the sun out of the canyon, and made it home in time for some non-profit work, laundry, and a solid meal.

Somehow, I was firing hot in the chilly temps.

I can’t think of many places to combine sports like this. With the long weekend coming up, I’m sure there is more trouble on the way. These are the kinds of adventures I want to make sure I have more often this winter.

Flooding

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Where am I going?

Wednesday morning I met my boss for coffee at our favorite place, halfway between our respective houses and the office. We talked about our profession, our decisions in life, the men’s work we’ve been doing, and everything else under the sun. My boss has become a close friend, and one of the men I admire most. I left thinking that for whatever reasons I ended up in Missoula, some time with him is probably the most important outcome of all. At some point in our conversation, I remember saying “for now, this is it. Everything that my values tell me is right, tells me to do what I’m doing right here, right now.” By many of my own definitions, this is success.

Thursday afternoon I stepped on a plane and the doubt about it all came flooding back in. “What am I doing in this little town that doesn’t mean anything?” The magazine article about the quality of life in Portland, the energy of stepping into the Seattle airport. En route to help my brother for the weekend- moving houses, and moving forward with the next big step of his life- being a dad. I feel fear that my life isn’t really moving forwards at all. It is easy to tell myself there is precious little to show for the time I’ve spent so far. I remember making this same flight on a beautiful spring evening in 2008 to stand by my brother as he committed to spending his time with an amazing woman. I fear I’ll never find that person, be able to buy a house, never save enough to travel or retire the way I’d like. That I’m spending the most important moment of my life- right the fuck now- in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing. Why every time I go back to Portland, or hang out in Seattle, or fly into the Bay, there’s a piece of me that says “it’s HERE. Be here, not there, now. You’re missing it.”

Perfect San Francisco sunset.

More and more my time in Portland seems like a distant fantasy. I was young and excited. I didn’t waste time sleeping properly, I lived in the gym, and I breathed the future of professional innovation. Money was easy, friends were close, and any real responsibility was distant.

Totes from Good Food Store- my brother knows what I’m after.

I’m not sure why this trip makes me think that in Missoula I work 90% as hard, for triple the responsibility and half the money. I think about work all the time, and even on a fun afternoon away from my desk, I can’t stay away from the next professional task. The people that matter the most are further away than ever, that my impact is constrained by the very mountains I admire on the edge of town. I’m not sure why the tech entrepreneur in the seat next to me seems lightyears ahead of me, or the vibrant foodie culture in Portland makes me doubt the importance of the CSA share I picked up on Tuesday in Missoula. I’m humbled at how infrequently I take time away from work to do things that really make me come alive. Maybe under all these fears and complaints, I’m facing the feeling that I’m not putting my time in Missoula to good use.

Things have come together this fall. Running, climbing, working, growing, and friends. Even a little more money and some new fun toys. There is always doubting the face of success. The struggle of finding the balance may be the most human part of it all.

Palm tree nightfall.

Lander, WY

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Part III of III

Back at the car, another perfect moment.

Sipping good coffee at my friend Sylvia’s house in Lander, the Monday morning bustle started slowly around me. I wasn’t due back at work in Missoula for a few more days, and I had some time to transition from the wilderness back into normal life. I smelled diesel fumes mix with wispy grey clouds against the Wind River range as the sun burned off the night chill. Lander is a gateway to the Winds- I ordered my first set of maps from Wild Iris in 2002 and is home to NOLS, the organization that formalized my wilderness knowledge. That morning, the calm remoteness of this small Wyoming town settled on me like a magic spell.

The Wind River Mountains are the best place. Just the best. All of my practice in writing about mountains comes up short against describing this place. The vast golden meadows, dark evergreen groves, and striking granite walls leave nothing for want. It is simply perfect here.

Back in Missoula the mornings start later. Days are still hot, but cool nights tell of the impending autumn. I’ve climbed in the Bitterroot the past two weekends, and the lessons from my trip continue to enrich the experience here. My trip to the Winds shows me how much of my own backyard is incredible. How much is possible, without getting that far from home. How much more I can learn and do, without the carbon footprint of international travel. I could drink the Winds for the rest of the my life and never miss a drop of anything else. I am there, and I am fulfilled.

I’ve been chewing on the idea of perfection lately. To call my time in the Winds perfect seems to evoke hubris, but not to acknowledge these best days as anything less feels ungrateful. To think that my life is perfect seems boastful, but it’s fun to think that it might be. The lesson is in realizing the perfection of moments, amidst the imperfect reality of daily life. It is the imperfections that make this all beautiful- that add the character and perception to know the flawless bits.

Sunset over the Tetons. My backyard is big.

The Cirque

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Part II of III

I didn’t make it into the Cirque of the Towers on my 2002 Wind River trip. There was a forest fire in the southern range and most of our route headed north. I’m glad I didn’t see it then, because I would not have recognized it for the amazing alpine rock playground that it is.

Rock candy. Warbonnet (l) and Warrior 2 (r)

Short approaches, classic routes, and fun friends, all set in spectacular deep wilderness scenery. It doesn’t get better than this. Bryan was supposed to meet me in the Cirque on Tuesday night, so I found a great spot right under the pass and tried to get his attention.

How did this not work?

It didn’t work because Bryan took “the climbers trail” directly into the best part of the Cirque, rather than the hiking trail to the Lake. We didn’t line up Tuesday, and I figured I would go on a scrambling mission Wednesday morning. I ended up meeting Dallon and Rich from SLC on the hike to the base of the classic route on Wolf’s Head, and they offered me a spot on their rope. I led out simul-climbing on the sidewalk pitch and about 80m later I heard them talking to someone. A soloist was climbing fast behind us, and talking about a partner that didn’t arrive the previous night. It took about 3 seconds to realize I had just found my intended partner.

Straight in hands on the ridge. (Photo: Bryan Feinstein)

Bryan, ridin’ the rails.

Splitter exposure. (Photo: BF)

The four of us found a good ledge, Bryan tied into my extra rope, and he and I simulclimbed the rest of the route. Per it’s inclusion in “50 Classic Climbs of North America” it is hilariously fun climbing. Route description is “climb the crest of the ridge, weaving between towers.” You might add- “follow sinker hand cracks and large chimneys, along with everyone else in the Cirque.” The route wasn’t crowded per se, but there were two parties that finished before us, and at least two more that finished after us. I was glad to move fast with Bryan. Not exactly solitude for a Wednesday afternoon. We met Liz and Ryan rapping off, and enjoyed a dip in the lake on the way down.

Summit #1 for Bryan+Skander

Bryan in wonderland on the walk down.

Bryan and I met on my first Denali trip in 2009, and he’s always been a lot stronger and more experienced than me. I knew climbing with him would bring up my game, and his preference for routes didn’t disappoint. We were both drawn to the natural line on the northwest face of Warbonnet. My thought was “damn, I wish I could climb that.” Bryan’s thought was “damn, we should go climb that!” The Feather Buttress is advertised as a grade IV 6-8 pitch 1,000′ 5.10c. We fired the route on Thursday. Goerge Lowe & co. were strong kids- we felt our version was a grade IV 10 pitch 1,300′ 5.11a. I later learned that the guidebook description had been submitted by email, from memory, 30 years after the first ascent. Props to Bryan for powering through the crux lead, as well as the super burly squeeze chimney.

Ready to fire. (Photo: BF)

Bryan, about to fire the crux. (Photo: BF)

The route is named for “the feather,” a 1′ wide sliver of rock at the very top of the route with zero protection and maximum exposure. We were more impressed at the route as a whole rather than this single feature, and it might be the hardest thing I’ve ever climbed. The quality of rock, position, and commitment factors all combine into a superb route that for some reason seems rarely done. There wasn’t a pitch by pitch description in the guidebook and I’m happy to leave it that way. Suffice to say there were a few pitches of 5.8-5.9, and the rest was solid 5.10 or better. I lost my lead head after the 4th pitch, and was grateful for Bryan’s clear vision and steady nerves to punch the crux and routefinding. If Wednesday was spectacular, Thursday was perfect.

Yours truly on the last 5.10 roof. (Photo: BF)

Floating on top of the feather, high above the range. (Photo: BF)

Summit #2. (Photo: BF)

Friday dawned a little rainy, and we were still plenty tired from our adventure on the Feather. We had met Bryans friends Jon, Andy, and Briton on the trail the night before while coming off Warbonnet, and it was fun to share coffee over a slow morning and watch the weather. Around noon we all got the itch, and headed towards the base of the NE Buttress on Pingora, the other “50 Classic” in the area. I wasn’t feeling super energetic, and had substantial doubts about the weather, but the NE Buttress was a route I had thought about since early in my climbing career. We finished the slab traversing by 2pm and Bryan shot up the first real pitch.

We swung leads through the afternoon and stretched the full 60m on almost every pitch. The climbing was perfect, sustained, and secure. Being on the third big route in three days, but left foot was ready for rest, but good weather and a great partner kept my stoke high enough to push through the pain. Andy and Jon followed closely. I popped out the last chimney pitch just as the evening colors were getting good. Bryan and I scouted the raps while waiting for Jon and Andy to finish up and shared the summit with our new friends just before sundown.

TEAM. (Photo: BF)

This place is so rad. Summit #3, on top of Pingora (Photo: BF)

We got into camp just after dark, immediately destroyed several thousand calories and slept hard. Bryan and I looked at each other on Saturday morning and quickly agreed that neither of us were doing anything other than sitting on our butts and celebrating the previous three days of climbing. The weather was increasingly sketchy, and a major storm system rolled in around 4pm. Our crew piled under a sweet boulder cave and hunkered down for the night. Sunday morning was still dodgy, and I was still plenty sore. Bryan agreed, so we said goodbye and headed for the cars at Big Sandy. Low clouds and raindrops made for a comfortable walk out, and settled any doubts we had about climbing- plus I think we both felt plenty “done” for this trip.

Andy and Jon model the rest day tai chi. Open the hips gentlemen.

Perfect is a strong word, but I couldn’t have asked for better partners, a better place, or a better experience. I got what I was looking for, and a whole lot more. This one is going to stand out for a while.

Until we do it again soon.

Plasir Means Fun

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Part I of III

I’ve written about the Wind River mountains a few times, but despite their significance for me they’ve been a difficult place to get to in my adventures. 9 days ago I got off work late and pointed the car south with a loose plan and a lot of determination. Putting together partners for the whole 9 days wasn’t going to work, so I mixed and matched to make the most of my time. Sylvia would join me from Lander for the first 2 days, I’d have 2 days solo, and Bryan from Jackson would join me for the last 5 days. Sylvia met me in Pinedale and we made quick work of repacking and getting on the trail.

I didn’t exactly pack before leaving Missoula.

The heaviest pack I’ve carried since Denali.

I got to know Sylvia while I was living in Portland. She moved to Lander in 2009 and though we haven’t linked up often, our time together has always been beautiful and significant. Her climbing focus lies in the foothills of the Winds at Sinks Canyon and Wild Iris, but she was eager to join me for an alpine excursion in the first part of my trip. Labor day weekend normally boasts great weather, no bugs, and good temps for climbing, and consequently the range is packed. We stayed away from the epically popular Cirque of the Towers, and found a great alpine introduction in the East Fork Valley.

“Take the direct line straight up the center of the face for 2/3rds the height of the mountain…” Booyah.

Ambush Peak is huge and hosts a variety of amazing climbing lines. Sylvia always helps me remember to have more fun so when we saw the description for the Ambush Plasir route, we knew where we were headed. We hiked in on Saturday afternoon with huge packs, and I was grateful for the help schlepping two ropes, a double rack and 9 days of food in the range. We made fast work of 12 miles on trail and enjoyed amazing light on the walk in.

We left our camp at Skull Lake around 7am and hiked to the base of our route, dreading the sight of another party already on it. Instead we had our route (and the rest of the East Fork) to ourselves. The route is 10 pitches, with bolted belays but all traditional protection- making it a great introductory alpine route and an easy descent. I lead most of the pitches and got a good reminder that 5.9 slab climbing can still pucker your sphincter while you are having fun. The climbing, weather, and solitude were perfect, but the best part by far was the partnership. It was the longest climb Sylvia’s ever done, but that mostly just meant we had enough time to share the richness of the past few years that we’ve missed each other.

Fun is in fact being had.

Since she left Portland, Sylvia has started a business and made a lovely life in a small place with big beauty. She’s grown in strength of spirit and courage of heart, and am grateful for her friendship. As they are with many friends I don’t see often enough, our conversations were both deep yet warm and fun in a way that only my mountain partnerships seem to inspire.

This is what it’s all about.

We got back to camp after dark on Sunday, shared coffee and breakfast the next morning, and parted ways at the Shadow Lake junction. Sylvia had to make the most of just a few days away from home and I took all the gear and headed towards the Cirque for the next part of my trip. The resonance of the universe is strong with me when I’m in the Winds and despite the weight in my pack I covered miles quickly. It is a special place indeed.

Damn special.

Ties

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I’ve been looking forward to writing about last weekend since before it happened. Time tends to prove the strength of ties that bind.

Bryce and I, deep in the Alaska range- June 2007. (Photo: David Kahn)

Me, Bryce, and Laura, deep in the Alaska range on our NOLS course in June 2007. (Photo: David Kahn)

Friday afternoon I finished my hours at work early and met Bryce and Brad who were fresh into Missoula on a little motorcycle tour as part of their new big thing. They came partially for the beer and music festival put on by New Belgium brewing, but I’d like to think I had something to do with it. Bryce and I met on my NOLS course in 2007, and quickly became close friends. Since then, our paths have crossed in Bozeman, Flagstaff, and Salt Lake City as our lives have wandered in pursuit of the adventure. Every time, the conversation seems to pick up just where it left off.

Doin’ my thang. It’s fun to realize that I’ve learned things that other people want to know about.

I said goodbye late Friday night, because Brian and I were headed to Butte early on Saturday morning. I was invited to give a talk on Energy Conservation as it relates to renewable energy at the Montana Renewable Energy Association‘s annual Clean Energy Affair event. Getting to share some of what I’ve learned in the past few years reminds me why I’ve chosen to spend my time as I have. Plus, rubbing elbows with the Governor is never a bad thing. Brian came along to get some climbing in on the incredible granite just outside of town. Even better, he got to do it with an awesome lady that I haven’t seen in far too long.

Brian and Ren, ready to rap off.

I spent most of 2010 commuting from Portland to Los Angeles to see someone special. At the end of that year, our lives were headed in different directions. It hurt, as the end of things always do, but there were never curse words. Earlier this year, Ren emailed and said she was leaving LA with a camper and some climbing gear. I mentioned the quality of adventures here in Montana, and she promised to make a point of visiting. She and her guy Jesse were driving up from Yellowstone, en route to Glacier National Park, so climbing in Butte fit perfectly. Brian provided some local knowledge on Saturday while I gave my talk, and Sunday found us as two teams of two climbing at Spire Rock. I couldn’t have been more psyched to see Ren and meet Jesse.

Beef roast, avocado, cheese, and bread- this always seems to happen when Ren is around.

While at the conference on Saturday though, I got a last minute call from my dear friends Jordan and Cari, who were also passing through Missoula on Sunday night and hoping for a place to crash. The new house provided ample space, and Missoula offered a gorgeous evening to meet old friends. Monday afternoon we all floated the Clark Fork and ate the grass-fed Montana beef rump roast I had been saving in the freezer. Fine times with finer people- summer in Missoula is a good thing and I am very grateful.

Ties that bind across time and distance.

stickthefeeling

engineering, adventure, and balance

Category Archives: Traveling

Red Rocks

Bliss

2013 In Review

Homegrown

Triple Header

Flooding

Lander, WY

The Cirque

Plasir Means Fun

Ties