I always say the best time to take pictures are the first few days of a trip. Everything looks unique to the fresh eye. I spent the first 18 years of my life in Nashville, TN and when I left I never thought I would be wowed by it again. Since then certain things about the city have changed enormously. The new aspects make me stand back and refocus; I even begin to the same drab in a new light. Here are some pics of what I saw.
I’m off to England. My recent trip back to Nashville reminded me how I like to keep my memories in boxes where they can live safely in little compartments and I can revisit them whenever I want, so I never really have to give them up. Here are some of my latest items to box from Southern Utah. Not sure when I’ll physically be back so I can always meet them here.
Here are a couple of shots from the recent Climbing Photo Annual. Keith Ladzinski took this sweet shot of Joe that snagged the cover. And Caroline Treadway got me a two page spread with her amazing silhouette. This issue stays on the shelf for 12 months! Great job guys!
So we’re leaving again. This probably doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s read my blog before, but for some reason every time this happens my body replies in nothing else than shock. The sadness and excitement do this funny mixing thing in my gut while my brain tries to stay cool and calm mapping out the logistics a move like this will take. Eventually the brain also breaks down as my naturally sentimental nature proves to be pure pussy shit and I go into melodramatic gaze sessions trying to take in every nostalgic ounce of the front courtyard, our beautiful vista or the recycling. Sure we can always come back to Southern Utah, but this living situation is likely gone for sure, and I’m realizing I don’t deal with permanence very well in any aspect. I like options, I hate being pigeon held and pressure never goes over too well in the mind of floater. If one hasn’t noticed already, writing gibberish and avoiding any solid point is another coping mechanism I’ve obtained for leaving.
The photos below are from my cousin’s recent visit, where I discovered partying hard is way more difficult than rock climbing will ever be, and beyond that a challenge I wish to exclude myself from a majority of the time. It also reminded me a live a pretty selfish existence, where I get to do pretty much what I want a majority of the time, (I know genius right!). But making time and space for someone else is another challenge worth putting yourself through from time to time.
Joe and I have been taking a series of mini trips this year. It’s a nice way to take a break from the projects and rest from your routine. Three days isn’t really long enough for anything cool to happen in terms of noteworthy climbing accomplishment, but I often feel the benefits from throwing myself at steep boulders and tiny crimps a few days later on my local projects. The hardest part is reminding yourself your doing something pro-active when it’s day three and you have shattered skin and can barely pull the lip of your warms-ups.We only have a couple more weeks here in Hurricane until we hit transition mode again. We have a couple of ideas lined up, but exact decisions have yet to be made. After my last few days in Vegas I’m thinking we should just roll the dice.
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I recently went through some old edits from a short piece I was working on. One particular paragraph had a squiggly line drawn through it with the word “blah” scribbled out to the side. It was my conclusion paragraph where I was trying to sum up the piece with some grand observation that would bring some universal truth to the reader about life, the world and all the chaos in it. In fact it was just wordy fluff that sounded like a bad Hallmark card, and even made my eyes roll at the end.
I think of this particular edit when I try to write some words about the recent passing Mike Tucker. I didn’t know Mike, but know his death has affected many in our community, along side his close friends and family. My thoughts are with all of you during this tough time. Rest in peace Mike.
I’m no a stranger to getting caught up in the pettiness of climbing. My life pretty much revolves around it so when I split a tip or have to sit through a rainy day, I’m prone to throw a little tantrum or two. But I’m never ceased to be amazed by those in our community who take it to the next level. They are so obsessed with climbing they seek out drama and negativity in everything. There’s no benefit of the doubt, there’s only pointing fingers and blame, and whining and bitching. Once again I find these emotions pretty normal and acceptable in the realm of climbing life, but only when it’s directed at yourself. Once these feelings are directed towards other individuals, dare I say get a life that allows you to stand back and take a look at the big picture.
Joe and I were dealing with one of those days recently. We were caught up in the world of climbing and since it is our world we found it hard to get out. It was Easter Sunday in the zipper of the west, so we were pretty much looking to escape in a ghost town. And then we saw it a beacon of light, or hope, or whatever you wanna call it. It was Eagles, the perfect dive bar to mull over your sorrows and play a cheap game of pool. These are our people I thought as I downed a cheap shot of whiskey and started on my watery Miller Light under neon beers signs.
It was your usual rift raft sitting at the bar on 3:30 on a Sunday. Joe got chatted up before we got to the juke box and for a moment I felt I was back in Nashville and a watered down version of Browns Dinner; I felt at home. But something was askew and before long we were approached by the DD of the bar who felt inclined to tell us about drunk driving, the fines for getting caught, the ills of this here town which include drunk driving and people jumping off the Virgin River Gorge bridge. It wasn’t long before he was telling us about his work for the Lord and the vision he had to come to Hurricane to find artifacts in the caves. All this was well and good but I was winning the pool game and this guy was really clamming up my victory with all his hoop-la.
On the way home Joe and I couldn’t stop laughing about the loopy guy we had just met. His stories of visions and hidden treasures seemed obscene, but then it hit me that in fact millions of people were in a different setting hearing a similar story just one a little more refined. We had had our Easter service at Eagles and I felt washed over and anew.
I rarely start a blog with the title already picked out, but this title has been at the forefront of my brain for the past two weeks while I’ve been waiting my days away at the tables of a Zion Pizzeria called the Flying Monkey. Taunting pictures of climbers scaling gorgeous red lines encircling me on restaurant walls, and remind me how I haven’t been able to get my thoughts down “on computer.”
The feelings I’ve been having are those of 85% percent of climbers I meet along the way who work real gigs while maintaining a passion for climbing. The thought process goes a little like this, “If I didn’t have to work I’d be climbing better, If I had more time I’d send that route, or the classic If I made more money I’d work less and climb more.” This fun little battle of the physical and mental play tricks on our performance. “How much strength can you really loose in only week after climbing nonstop for a year?”, I think as I pump off my usual warm-up.
I guess I find it peculiar how one little instance can erase a lifetime of truth. Luckily these instances aren’t always negative. Like how it only takes one good ole’ climbing day to remind me why I love climbing and that I am good at it. A feeling worth waiting for.
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It’s been awful lovely to have one of the girls around. Do check the latest pic from Caroline Treadway here. Just lovewhat she’s doing this season. Muah, xxx colette 
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