Infinite Bliss w/Derek

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Derek and I tried this route last year to train for Mt. Watkins later that year. It started to rain on us after we finished 18 pitches and we rapped for 5 hours in the rain, wrestling with tangled, soaked ropes on the low-angled slabs. It was arduous. Of course, leaving it undone weighed on us, especially because the crux of the route was the last five pitches. The tedious rappel descent was actually a positive this time, as my injured ankle makes descending complicated talus very difficult and slow. 

Ever since I fell into a crevasse on Mt. Rainier, I’ve been hampered by my ankle, which has been severely injured before as well. A recent MRI revealed extensive damage and to fully heal it *might* require surgery. I’ve been testing it more lately to see what I can and cannot do and rock climbing seems to work pretty well. Returning to Infinite Bliss was the next step.

Strangely, and unexplainably, especially considering my ankle and Derek’s lack of recent climbing, we got a lackadaisical start. In the past I’ve set the schedule for our adventures, being the more experienced and more driven partner, but in the last few years, I defer more to Derek. I learned years ago to treat him as an equal partner with perhaps superior risk assessment than myself. He’s stronger, more agile, has better vision, and has a great intuition in the mountains. One day soon, he’ll be my complete guide, but for now we are a roughly equal partnership with differing strengths and weaknesses, but a climbing philosophy that is 95% the same. He is my favorite partner, despite the stresses that sometimes come with family members. These days, I want to climb with partners that I love. I love a lot of my friends, but there is no shortage of love with Derek.

Last year, we started hiking at 6:20 a.m. This year we didn’t leave his house in Seattle until 7 a.m.! We started hiking at 8:20 a.m., already two hours behind last year, while hoping to do five more pitches and five more rappels. Plus, the van parked right at the start of the trail indicated that we’d have company up there. The approach through the woods starts steep and then just gets ridiculous. On the descent, for the first time ever, I measured progress by the hundredths of a mile. It took us 40 minutes to get to the base.

Above us, we could see two climbers on the eighth pitch. Two pairs of shoes at the base made it clear they were the only party above us. Our strategy was for the second to carry the pack so that the leader would be unencumbered. This makes more sense when pitching things out, but sure puts a burden on the second when simul-climbing, which we did some of. 

The nature of this route and the descent makes 70-meter ropes, yes, that is plural, a necessity. You cannot rappel this route with a single 80-meter rope (not that we owned one) and with two 60-meter ropes you can’t combine but one rappel. The least efficient strategy would be to climb with a 70-meter rope and carry an extra 60-meter rope. This is what we did! Don't do this. Also, it isn’t ideal to carry a super thin extra rope because then you can’t simul-rappel, which is very helpful speed wise, and for handling both ropes while descending. Since the route is mostly a slab, while descending you are constantly pulling the rope off ledges and throwing it down again. When simul-rappeling each person just manages one rope. Alas, this makes for a heavy pack. And we took nearly three liters of water. And our approach shoes for the rappel down. This last decision was a huge win.

With memories of the rain from last year, I brought a light shell. Derek trusted the forecast and didn’t even bring a shell. I thought about leaving my shell in a show of solidarity, but my pullover was soaked in sweat from foolishly wearing it on the approach and I didn’t want to pull on a wet garment when/if it got cold, so I brought the shell.

We meant to bring 3 Micros, but forgot two of them. We meant to bring two headlamps, but forgot one of them. Then, I made a decision so stupid that it staggers the mind. My only explanation was that I was still thinking about solidarity when I left my headlamp at the base because Derek forgot his. Is zero lights better than one light? No, it is not. Regardless, we launched upwards.

I took the first block. Because the route goes straight up, mostly on smooth slabs, and because I only had one micro, I led on the entire 70 meters. I’ve shamed climbers (silently in my mind and whispered to my partners) for planning to simul-climb with all 70-meters of rope and here I was doing exactly that. But it was only because of these unique conditions. Plus, having the rope laying on the slab instead of coiled around my neck took some weight off of me. It worked fine, though I would have preferred more micros and a shorter length.

I put the first four pitches together, placing the Micro at the second belay, just after Derek left the ground. These pitches were rated 5.6, 5.4, 5.4, and 5.6 and went by quickly. Derek took over and led the 5th (5.5, 110’), 6th (steep 5.7, 160’), and 7th (steep 5.6, 190 feet) to a huge ledge. The team above us was climbing the 10th pitch at this point.

After some food and some water, I strung the next two pitches together, a 200-foot 5.5 pitch into a 160-foot 5.9 pitch. Derek led pitch 10, a 100-foot 5.8 that felt easy, into a 50-foot 3rd class section to get right below the next pitch, the first 5.10 pitch of the route. The team above us was leading the 12th pitch and the second was at the belay atop the 10b pitch. He called down to us, “This pitch you are about to do is so good!” I knew he was right, as we’d climbed it before, but it seemed even better this time. 

We decided to take a short break for some more food and water and to give the climbers above a bit of space, since I was planning to link the next two pitches. I felt really smooth and dialed on the 10b pitch and this gave me confidence for the harder pitch above. I linked into the 5.8 pitch above it, without Derek having to leave the ledge below. Climbing this without the pack was a huge advantage. I felt for Derek having to smear his way up this nearly holdless section of climbing, but he got it clean. He did remark that he was close to coming off three times. I’m sure it was due to the weight on his back, but it shook his confidence a bit. That and the lack of rock climbing, I’m sure. 

Derek led the next 5.2 pitch, which only had one bolt on it, up to the party above, whose leader was about to finish the next 5.7 pitch. The leader did not enjoy the massive runout on the 5.2 pitch, but that type of protection-less climbing is ideal for a seasoned Minion, which Derek is. He scampered up to Kenton and chatted him up for a bit. Kenton asked Derek if he wanted to climb over the top of their rope, but there was no point in that, since Kenton was just about to take off anyway. Derek clipped into the belay, but didn’t go off belay. Ten minutes later he was following Kenton up the next pitch. 

I shouldered the heavy pack and followed both pitches, trying to move quickly to increase our chances of passing, but I need not have worried. Derek had already negotiated the pass and Jed and Kenton were already discussing retreat. Jed, the leader worried on the 5.2 pitch below, asked Derek about the runout pitches above (Derek having already told them that we’d been on them before). The pitches above are much worse in this regard since it is quite difficult to know where to go and likely to be 150 feet away from protection and not even know if you are on route. They decided to descend.

When I arrived at the belay, I was greeted warmly by all and Jed said, “It is so cool that you are a father and son team.” That has happened to us a couple of times and I love it. In Patagonia, we caught a party of four on Cerro Solo and soloed on by and they said, “We heard about this father and son team…” It is indeed a privilege that I do not take for granted. 

I moved into the lead for what is probably the most stressful part of the climb: three pitches of barely protectable, indistinct, a bit loose and lichen covered, highly featured, lumpy slab climbing. Only 5.2 and 5.0, but route finding is the crux. This is one of my specialities. I can’t pull hard, but I can handle this terrain. I’d been up it once before and missed the only bolted belay on this section, but was determined to find it and the one at the top. I clipped some rappel slings around a stout bush, then slung a root, and, after two pitches, found the one bolted belay. I slapped the Micro on it and moved upwards. The comments on MP.com said to go  straight above this belay for 140 feet to the next anchor. Upon review of the topo, it shows the pitch to ascend at an 11-o’clock angle and this is correct, but I went straight. I found nothing, just like last time, but I knew where the following 5.8 pitch ended and worked down from that and spotted a bolt to my left. I traversed hard, clipped it, and continued up into that pitch. I never saw the anchors, but Derek found it on his way up.

I’d put four pitches together and we were now atop the 18th pitch — just where we were forced to turn around last time. My feet were killing me and I stripped off my shoes while Derek followed. When he arrived we took stock. It had taken us 5 hours to rappel from here before, but we had five more pitches to climb still and it was 2:30 p.m. Derek prudently thought we should start our descent by 4 p.m. given it would be dark at 9 p.m. and we had no headlamps. I figured, foolishly given previous data,  we could do the descent in 3 hours, even though it involved five additional rappels! I guessed it would take until 5 p.m. to make the top, though, and would give us an extra hour to play with. 

Derek wasn’t feeling as confident as I, so I took the next lead, the crux 10c pitch. I climbed with an urgency, committing to moves quickly. This assertive climbing helped me, as it saved my strength and I made the right decisions on each move. Until I didn’t. Near the top of the pitch, with no handholds above me, I committed to a very insecure mantle, struggling to get my left foot on a high, good edge. My right foot slipped and down I went. Derek gave me an expert catch and with more than 100 feet of rope out, it was a soft catch and a short fall. I got it on my next try, but then was stymied by an even smoother section, which I’m sure is the crux move. After a minute of consternation, I stepped on a bolt hanger and was through it. 

I missed the traverse at the top of this pitch and had to link it into the next 5.7 pitch. I didn’t think I’d have the draws for this, but by missing a clip on both pitches, I just was able to combine them. The next pitch was the last 5.10 pitch and 180 feet long. It ascends a chimney-like flare that I climbed via lots of fun stemming. Again I was so impressed with Derek carrying the pack up these, but I was about to be even more impressed. 

When Derek arrived I asked him about the next pitch and he said, “I feel I should lead it.” I got that completely and encouraged him. He led off…with the pack still on his back! I noticed this and he clipped the pack into the first bolt. He then cruised up the pitch and was off belay 30 feet earlier than I expected. I started up, thinking it would be like the lower, easy 5.8, and picked up the pack. Above, in multiple locations, I barely hung on. It felt like another 5.10 pitch. Which made me wonder what the 5.10 pitches felt like with the pack.

Derek was at the penultimate belay with just a 5.9 pitch to go. I took the sharp end for the final pitch. Either the ratings are stiffer at the end of this route or I was getting tired, because I found this pitch quite hard as well. I inched up slowly and steadily, aware of the time slipping away. 

It felt great to finally finish this climb and soon Derek joined me. We took some summit photos and we changed shoes for the descent. It was 5 p.m. As we prepared for our first simu-rappel (of 22 total — we combined one), we told each other no mistakes. We knotted the ends of both ropes for every rappel. We knew Brad Gobright had died simul-rappelling for failure to knot the ends. We communicated constantly even though we were right next to each other for the entirety of the 3.5-hour descent. It went smoothly. There was one rappel in the runout section, where my 60-meter rope didn’t reach, but Derek was able to make the anchor on the 70-meter line. Once he was clipped in. I tied a knot in his rope, clipped it to myself, and he belayed me as I downclimbed the 5.2 section to the belay. 

Once on the ground, we were relieved to finally take off our harnesses. Our hips were a bit sore after weighting our harnesses for most of 3.5 hours. Derek offered to take both ropes on the way down to spare my ankle and I was thankful for it. We now had one headlamp, but just barely made the car before needing it, arriving there at 9:15 p.m.

What a cool adventure! Most of the climbing is great fun and the crux pitches are excellent! Really thoughtful climbing with great protection. The “rotten zone” is a problem, both on the way up and down, as many others have noted, but for a Minion, this isn’t that big of a deal. And if you have two 70-meter ropes you don’t have to do any shenanigans on the descent.

GIAD: Mt. Goode's Northeast Ridge in a Day w/Derek

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This is the second adventure this year where my wake-up alarm has gone off before I even went to bed. Both trips have been with Derek.

Derek put the idea of Mt. Goode into my mind. It was a long adventure with a long alpine ridge rated 5.6. Alpine climbing at a moderate grade (for me, that is 5.8 and easier) has become my sweet spot, though my window for trips this long is rapidly closing. Mt. Goode is the highest peak in North Cascades National Park, yet it is not visible from any road. To bag this peak by any route involves over 11,000 of vertical gain and nearly 40 miles of travel. My buddy Ryan, the Little Monster, did the peak just ten days ago, over three days — the standard method. Doing it this way, you’d do a 10-mile approach/de-approach, but that still leaves a monstrous summit day. We elected to go for it “in a push”, hoping to break 24 hours and complete the GIAD.

Why make a hard thing so much harder? Time, for one thing. We saw that Sunday had a great weather report, but not on Saturday. I had to fly out Monday afternoon, so even though it was sort of forced upon us, it was really our desire to give it a try. To see if we could do it. We both carried tiny emergency bivy bags, just in case we couldn’t keep going and needed to sleep.

We drove to the trailhead Saturday night, with a stop for pizza for dinner…and breakfast and lunch on Sunday. The alarm went off at 2 a.m. My bag was covered in dew (I was sleeping on the ground while Derek slept in the back of his car), and it was 46 degrees. I hopped into the car to change into shorts and eat breakfast. We started up the car to warm us up before heading off, which we did at 2:30 a.m.

We covered the first ten miles quickly, in around three hours, as it was mostly downhill. This was all on the Pacific Crest Trail. There, we turned off on the North Fork trail. Soon after making this turn, we could shut off the headlamps. Five miles later, with one dicey stream crossing on a super slick log, we were below the 4-star Northeast Ridge of Goode. We took off our shoes and forded the creek, using poles to stabilize ourselves. The crossing wasn’t as bad as I expected. I have very wimpy feet and have suffered some seriously cold crossings in Canada. This was relatively short and, while it hurt my feet, it was a cuss-free crossing.

On the other side, we ate and loaded up on water for the climb. Loading up on water was a mistake, as there was tons of water above us, but we were still strong at this point in the day. Heck, we’d only done 15 miles and not much vert. The latter would change in a hurry. The summit was six thousand feet directly above us. Derek led us up the talus, slabs, scrambles, and an incredibly dense brush section. It was a grind, but we did it nonstop. We would not take a sit-down break until the summit, 11 hours into our day.

We donned harnesses and crampons at the toe of the glacier. We were both in running shoes. Derek in Mutants and I in Prodigo Pros. We got out our rack (singles to #1 - 0.2, with doubles of 0.4, 0.3, and 0.2, plus a single ice screw and a picket) and roped up. We carried the screw and the picket as “leaver” gear. We thought we might have to rappel down into the randkluft (this is a new word for me that I learned from Ryan) gap between the glacier and the rock and then climb out of it. 

I led up and across the glacier, trepidatious about what I’d find on the far side. My soft shoes precluded any step kicking, and eventually I had to swing the pick of my ultra-light axe for purchase as the axe shaft wasn’t penetrating enough. The first possibility looked terrifying, and I moved up to the only other crossing. Here, I was elated to find that the edge of the glacier had collapsed into the gap and formed an easy bridge connecting me to the rock and the Northeast Buttress. I put in a couple of pieces and brought Derek up.

Next, I led rightwards, trying to get to the buttress proper. The rock here was a bit rotten, and tons of loose blocks covered the terrain. I explored a couple of options before finally piecing it together. I arrived right at a small ledge with some rappel slings. After Derek joined me, I led off again on our first block of simul-climbing.

The summit of Mt. Goode is listed at 9200+ feet. We gained the rock at around 6800 feet. We carried just a single 40-meter rope per Ryan’s suggestion. Shout out to Ryan for his advice on the rope, rack, footwear, and general strategy. And to Danny for lending me his rope. 

Once on the buttress, the rock became much better. The first hundred feet of my block was super solid granite at a gentle angle and peppered with small dikes and jugs. It was like an alpine Flatiron, only easier. I led until I ran out of gear and belayed at 7400 feet. Derek took over and did a brilliant link, getting us to 7950, also stopping when he ran out of gear. We had three Micros with us, and Derek would place all three. I usually just placed two and then used the third to belay Derek up. My second block gained us another 400 feet, and then Derek led to 8700 feet. My last block got us to the start of the descent traverse at 9000 feet. We dumped the packs here and the rope! Dumping the latter might not have been the best choice, as the climbing to the summit was amongst the hardest on the route. We passed three rappel anchors on the way to the summit. I think I misinterpreted Ryan’s comment about dumping the packs to dumping everything. It all worked out, but I was supremely focused on the way back down, as was Derek.

We took maybe 15 minutes on the summit. Derek finished off the pizza he was carrying, and I ate one of the sandwiches I was carrying. I carried a tremendous amount of food and, between the two of us, we ate most of it before returning to the trailhead. We were also drinking on a schedule. I had set an alarm to drink every 10 minutes when I Everested Flagstaff, and it worked so well that I used the same technique on this day, only I set the alarm for every 30 minutes. This worked out well, and neither of us ever bonked and moved well the entire day. The limiting factor for both us, by the end of the day, was our feet, which were starting to blister and get very uncomfortable.

Once back at our packs, we roped up for the exposed and scary-looking, though not-too-bad traverse to the Black Tooth Col, where we’d do our first rappel. I led on the way down, doing a 20-meter rappel (the full length of our doubled 40-meter rope) down a loose corner to another anchor. Here, we knew we couldn’t go straight down, as it required a 60-meter rope. I rappelled, skier’s left, down a loose (this is going to be the theme for us for the next four hours) gully. At the bottom, I didn’t find any anchors, and very steep, loose terrain below me. I descended a bit and then traversed, skier’s right, all the way across the steep wall we didn’t rappel down. This was exposed, but easy-going. At the end of the traverse, I had to down climb an exposed slab, but it went okay, and I found myself at an old rappel anchor. I encouraged Derek to follow my path, and he started down.

The anchor I arrived at consisted of a rusted pin, buried and looked solid, connected to a well-placed nut with a rusted cable. We backed up that anchor with another sling and a black totem, unweighted, for my descent. Derek then pulled our gear and followed me down. We were now in the 3rd-class, loose gully, and this descent went smoothly. Once out of the gully, we descended at about 1000 feet of talus, with the top couple of hundred feet being very loose and then pretty solid. We followed Ryan’s track and traversed hard skier’s right. I used to be able to match Derek walking on talus. I’m not even close now. But he’s a patient guy.

Finally,  off the talus we found a faint “trail” down very steep, grassy slopes. We stayed on this trail mainly by following the track, as it was so faintly defined. This terrain was very slippery, and I fell at least ten times on the descent, but didn’t hurt anything besides my pride. Derek was more surefooted, but even he slipped many times. It was 5000 feet down to the real trail, and the bottom, flatter section was probably even worse, as it was covered in deadfall, and any sign of a trail disappeared.

We were very thankful to be down onto a trail and knew that we just had simple hiking to complete our adventure. But it was 5:30 p.m. and we still had 18.5 miles and 3000 feet of climbing to go. We got to the PCT around 7:15 p.m. and still had 5 miles to complete just the loop portion of our day, back to the North Fork junction. We had headlamps on before we got there, but took a short break to eat and take some Advil. My knees were pushed to their limits on the huge descent and ached, but my feet were the most uncomfortable.

At 9:30 p.m., we started the last 9.5-mile section. Here we finally succumbed to headphones. We had exhausted our capacity for conversation. Derek would pull ahead of me here, but never too far. He was always within hearing of my 30-minute drink alarm. He’d stop, and we’d help each other retrieve our water bottles from the back of our packs. 

With one mile to go, Derek stopped again, just to let me catch up. Then, with just a tenth of a mile to go, he ushered me in front, ensuring that we’d finish this adventure as we started: together.

I don’t need to tell many of the likely readers of this report how great of a partner Derek is. Sure, I’m biased, but every one of his partners will say the same thing. Derek is rock solid on the route finding, leading, rappelling, and being safe. Those are requirements of my partners. But Derek adds his ability to carry the majority of the weight, be indefatigable, always remain positive, and patient and kind towards his partner. And with me, a nice dose of love. These days, I only want to climb with partners I love. Derek’s at the top of my list. 

Each time I write up a report like this, I wonder how long I’ll be a viable choice of an adventure partner for Derek. With Derek’s kindness and strength, I think it will be me, not him, who turns down a joint adventure. It will be me realizing what he has in mind is too much for me. I’m on the ragged edge now.

Do Hard Things: Everesting Flagstaff

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Why do this? It’s sort of stupid. That said, I suspect most people who read this already get it. But I understand the

majority must think this is just dumb. If I wanted to do something hard, why not try the LA Freeway again?

Or run an ultramarathon? Why go up and down the same little hill, regardless of how great a climb Flagstaff is?

I ran my one and only 100-miler because I hung out with the wrong crowd and eventually wanted to know if I

could finish one. It’s the same here. I’d been aware of “Everesting” for quite some time because of some friends.

I wondered if I could do it. I put it on my bucket list to try eventually, and this was that eventually. 

My previous elevation record was 23,931 vertical feet at the Running Up For Air near Salt Lake City in 2019.

It was in February, and the course was completely covered in snow. You might think the snow would make this

feat harder, but for me, the snow was key. It cushioned the descent and saved my knees. On dry ground, these

days, my limit is 10,000 feet of descending. The bike was my only option, as the descents are free. On foot, the

descents sometimes are as hard as the ascents. Then, I sort of disdained doing laps on something to “Everest.”

One friend told me that I had to do it that way to be a true Everest. I poo poo-ed that idea and vowed to do my

own thing, riding all the great climbs around Boulder instead. That was ignorance talking. I’ve made that mistake

before. I didn’t know what I was talking about. Riding around would be cool, but that would be much harder.

This was going to be at my very limit, so I needed to make it as easy as possible.

Picking the right hill is key, and I don’t know that I nailed it, but I’m happy with my choice. I tried Super Gross

and did 15,000 vertical feet. I concluded it was too steep, too muscularly-intensive, and the climbs were so long.

I needed more frequent breaks and a gentler angle. Of course, if you get the angle too gentle, you’re going to be

doing a giant amount of mileage. This is where hiking would be so much better…except for the descending.

Flagstaff is quite steep for the first 300 vertical feet, but then it is such a nice angle. Plus, the road is cool with

some nice switchbacks and great views. And it is an absolute gas to descend! 

But the real key to doing laps on one hill is that I could stash all the food and water I’d need at the base. If I were going to make it, I needed to stay on top of water, food, and electrolytes— something I’m not known for. For this ride, I set a timer on my phone to go off every 10 minutes to remind myself to take a drink. After each lap, I’d get off my bike, refill my bottle, refill a tiny snack in my jersey pocket, then sit for a bit and eat and rest. At first, these stops were short, but sometimes I took a nice break. I couldn’t delay too long, though, since my rate of climbing didn’t give me enough cushion to rest more.

I got up at 1 a.m. and drove to the Gregory Canyon Trailhead. I planned to ride my gravel bike in the dark since I had a dynamo hub (thanks to Ryan Franz), which powered an LED light. When it got light, I’d switch to my road bike. At the trailhead, I noticed that the cable connecting my hub to my light was cut. How stupid of me not to check this. Our garage has been a mess with the remodeling we're doing, and I think all the movement of my bikes must have broken it. I sent my mechanic (Ryan Franz) an email at 1:50 a.m.: “Emergency repair needed!” For some reason, I stuck with the gravel bike in the dark. I think I wanted to change body positions a bit, and maybe that would help. I had brought a headlamp just in case, so I rode with my headlamp but had no real light or flasher. Thankfully, not a single car passed me on my first six laps.

On my first or second lap, I passed an ultrarunner (I assumed because of the running pack) running down the road. When I passed her again, on my way down, I was shocked at the brightness of the light she had pointing backward. There is no chance you'd hit her, since you have to run away from the light. I was nearly blinded coming by her. This was much brighter than a car headlight. I'd never seen anything like it.

On a couple of these early laps, I looked above me on the slope and saw two red eyes watching me. It was too dark to tell what kind of animal it was, but I like to think it was a mountain lion. I wondered if it would pounce upon me from above and, if it did, would I stand a chance of fending it off? In a fair fight, I'm confident I could take a lion, but with a dirty trick sneak attack...I wasn't so sure. So, I kept a watch for those beady eyes.

Descending on my third lap, my headlamp blinked and then went into the lowest power. It was about to die. I made it back to the car before it completely died. There, I had a power brick and figured to just plug it into the brick and, with a long cable, put the brick in my jersey pocket and keep riding. Except that the headlamp will not turn on when it is charging! I sat in my car for 40 minutes while it charged to one bar. I then made sure to ride in the lowest setting, and it got to daylight.

I did all of these dark laps without a helmet since it was a pain to have the headlamp and helmet on my head. It worked, but it bugged me. I tried to be cautious on the descent, knowing that a crash without a helmet…could be catastrophic. 

Once it got light out, I noticed a guy setting up a toprope on Capstan Rock. He worked on self-belay for a couple of laps. On my third time by, he was packing up, and I asked, "How'd it go?" He said he couldn't get the crux. I asked how hard and he said, "5.10/V1". I told him I was a climber, and he hiked up the hill to talk more with me as I wrapped around the rock. He asked my name (his was Tristan Brewer), and when I responded, he said, "I know of you!" He mentioned the Yellow Spur, I think, and specifically my Flagstaff/Monkey Traverse linkups. That was cool. 

Also, on an early lap, I found four young people playing soccer across the entire road. So strange, but they were nice and just kicking the ball back and forth between them. I rode through the group and said to the girl on the downhill side, "You're the key person. If that ball gets by you, it's going a long way." I regretted not taking a photo of them, and they were gone by the time I descended. 

Coming down on my sixth lap, I spotted Sheri parked at Panorama Point and called out, “I’ll be right back. Switching bikes.” At the car, I checked my email and saw that Ryan Franz responded. He said, “Just seeing this (about my broken cable) now. It will be fixed before tonight.” So cool. So, I didn’t need to worry about the night riding. Also, it put additional pressure on me not to quit when it got dark. If he’s going to do this for me, I better ride the dang bike.

Ben Perdue rode up, and he joined me for lap seven. We had to stop at Sheri's car, though, so that I could eat one of the breakfast burritos she brought me. I ate the second one on lap nine and finished the hashbrowns on lap ten. I was trying not to eat too much at a time, but to eat every lap and a bit while riding too. 

Coming down on lap 9, I passed Danny and The Little Monster ascending near the top. They swung around and descended after me. After my restock at the car, they rode lap ten with me. Little did we know that, just as we started up the hill, Ryan Franz arrived and saw us leave. He went up to my vehicle and fixed the broken wire, and was gone before we got back down. A couple of laps later, while getting water out of the bike, I looked at my hub and thought, “What the?! The cable doesn’t look broken now...” Then I realized what had to have happened. I checked my phone and saw the email from Ryan. That is so incredibly cool! On his lunch break, he comes out to fix me up. 

Danny and Ryan took off after lap ten, and then my phone died. I plugged it into my car port and did a lap, and the phone was still dead. Bummer. I tried an inverter and it did charge the phone, but only to 25% in the time it took me to do one lap. I used it more frugally after that. Without my phone, Sheri couldn't find me or communicate with me. It was not a big deal but a minor annoyance. 

Lap 11 was tough. I had my first and only doubts here. Lap 12 was tough, too. I think because it was sunny and the heat sapped me. I tried to remind myself that on ultra-long adventures, I go through highs and lows. Sure enough, I got stronger after that and felt really good on lap 15. 

On lap 16, I got a huge psychological boost from Colin, Emma, and their baby Orion showing up at Panorama Point. Colin gave me electrolytes and cold water. Orion is so cute -- already burning bright. Then, while talking to these three, Haley pulls in. She had driven out (after doing Longs, of course), solely to give me a Coke and offer her encouragement. It's so cool that these four just came out to give me a boost. Energized, I moved on.

At my car after lap 16, Frozone rode up with his shirt all unbuttoned, a la Tony (and later John Alcorn). All the cool guys dress like this. I couldn't pull that off. He rode lap 17 with me, after he'd already done a scramble. Then he went scrambling again and would later return. I wasn't the only one recreating all day. It rained on us descending, but it was just a drizzle and felt good. I rode lap 18 alone, and it was really blustery. It made the lap harder, riding into a headwind, but it was just this one lap. 

On lap 19, I stopped at Panorama Point because Sheri brought me a Starbucks Frappuccino and a cheese danish. I ate the entire Danish, but it would take three laps to finish the frap. Once I hit 19,035 feet, I thought to myself, “Sweet! Only 10,000 feet to go.” And I thought, “What the heck am I saying? 10,000 feet! That’s like riding Haleakala!”

When I came down off of lap 19, I saw John Alcorn, Maury, and Rush waiting to ride with me. I made a quick turnaround at the car, knowing they were waiting on me. We headed up, chatting away. I heard from Danny that John was coming, and Rush said he’d be out for a lap at some point, but Maury was a surprise. He said, “I needed to come out and see what this craziness looks like.” It didn’t look crazy. Just a group of friends casually riding up Flagstaff. It was so nice to have buddies for these laps. Good conversations helped pass the vertical effort nicely. It was cool riding a lap with the two fastest Diamond soloists! Maury took the record from Dean Potter, and then John took it from Maury. It is so cool counting these superstars as my friends. Just past the Flagstaff House, former Tour de Flatirons champion David Kennedy rode up to us. It was so cool to have so much support from so many friends. 

I ripped the descent, trying to show these studs that even though I couldn’t go uphill very fast, I had some cycling skills. Stupid ego. I went pretty hard and even passed a car on the inside on a switchback. I used to pass cars all the time on the descent, but that’s generally ultra aggressive, not smart, and probably drivers thought I was a dick. But this pass was legit. Throughout the entire descent, I heard a rider on my tail, and I couldn't shake him. I figured it was John Alcorn based on the sound of his hub, but I knew he wasn’t wearing a helmet. That’s pretty risky. I wouldn’t do that. But, then again, he’s soloed the Diamond. His level of acceptable risk and mine are not the same. I turned up Gregory Canyon Road at speed and a bit wide, but John went wider and sprinted up the road to the car. Nice. We shared the joy of ripping that descent. 

Moments after we got to my car, Sheri arrived with a Cosmo’s pizza. Rush, John, and David had to go, but Maury was up for another lap.  Lap 21.

Maury descended Chapman, and I rode down alone. I took a longish break at the car, giving kudos to my friends’ Strava activities about riding with me. And then, up rode Frozone and Pilot Bill. Sweet. That was just the kick I needed to get back on the bike. I was off the back a bit on lap 22, but still turning the pedals. When we turned onto the Gregory Canyon Road after descending, I could see a rider up the road ready to go. I was thinking it must be Stefan because I was expecting him at one point, but it was the Little Monster back for more laps. Sweet. Frozone had to go, but Bill and Monster did lap 23 with me. On the way down, we screamed by Stefan (riding a single speed!) and another rider as they ascended. Of course, they immediately turned around and descended. They were out there to help me. That’s so cool

Back at the car, I found out the other rider was Hammerin’ Hank Aaron Lucas. This guy is the classic Boulder dad crusher. He does everything at what would be an elite level anywhere else besides Boulder. Of course, he climbs 5.12. I mean, isn’t that the entry grade around here? And he’s super strong on the bike. And Stefan… nothing needs to be said there. It was dark now, and we all rode with lights. Ryan’s light mount broke or something, but this guy doesn’t miss a beat. He went back to his car and came back a minute later with the light taped to his bars. And it was seriously bright. What a great group for lap 24. At the turn-around, we stopped briefly so that I could put on my helmet. I rode up each time without my helmet on since wearing it all day would have hurt my head. Stefan commented on how the weather was perfect and what a great night to be riding. In fact, the weather was nearly perfect all day. Except for those few laps in the middle, where the sun beat down, it was ideal. The cloud cover really helped. 

Stefan had to go after one lap, as he had work obligations early the next morning. If he hadn’t, I’m sure he would have ridden with me to the finish, no matter what that time was. I was pleasantly surprised that Aaron and Ryan were in for another lap. That would be Ryan’s third lap in a row and fourth overall. So that was lap 25. I thought I’d be riding four laps alone and in the dark, but it was now down to three.

Once down, Aaron took off, and Ryan headed to his car to pack up, I assumed, but he came back with his bike, saying, “I’ll ride the steep part with you.” Of course, he did the entire lap. But he also had to work the next day, and all good things must come to an end. At the end of lap 26, I hugged and thanked him. What great friends I have. I hope I don’t take them for granted. I often think about how lucky I am, but on a day like today… I get emotional. 

I took a break in the car. Two laps to go. My phone had died on the previous lap but was now recharged. I noticed a text from Sheri asking what lap I was on. She sent that at 8:46 p.m. I responded at 11:15 p.m. I responded, but she was sleeping. I had 2.5 hours to get my last two laps done in under 24 hours. I'd make it unless something went wrong. I had feared the onset of cramps all day long, but it never happened. Derek gave me salt tablets, and I'd taken maybe ten of them in the last 20 hours. Eating and drinking a ton helped too. The last couple of descents were chilly, so I took a shell with me for the final two laps. 

Lap 27 went fine, but putting on my shell was a bit of a challenge. When my wheel stops moving, my light stops shining. In complete darkness, it's tough to even clip into my pedals as I can't see them. It took me a while to realize my jacket was inside out. I couldn't use my phone as a light because I needed my hands. Yes, this is an argument for riding with a headlamp as well. On my final descent, I was reminding myself not to make any mistakes. The day had gone so perfectly. I had no mechanical issues (besides the wire fixed by Ryan). I didn't even have to add air in my tires. I did lube my road bike once. Police lights were flashing at the lot just above the Flagstaff House...maybe just to move along the people parked there. I think you can't park overnight there. 

I did a bit of extra vertical on laps 27 and 28 because I couldn't see my overall vertical any longer. When I switched my bike computer over from my road bike to my gravel bike, I inadvertently took a split. Afterwards, I could only see the vertical for the split, which was zero. There must have been a way to see the total vertical, but it wasn't on any of my screens, and I didn't want to mess with it. I knew I was right around 21,800 feet when I took the split, so I needed at least 7,200 on the new display. I did 7,400 just to be sure. 

Shout out to the Coros bike computer, by the way. Coros is known for its incredibly long battery life on its watches, but this bike computer is another level. You never need to charge it. What? You say. This bike computer is solar powered, and the panel doesn't seem to take up any display space. Maybe the display itself is a solar panel. I was a little worried that it would die on me since I was doing so much of this ride in the dark, but no. I've had this computer for a year. I've charged it once. It's magic.

I got home, showered, and crawled into bed just past 2 a.m., after being up for 25 hours. The next morning, Sheri and I went out to breakfast, and it was delicious! But, I ate/drank so much that I don’t think I ran a calorie deficit. I did so well with fueling that I robbed myself of pigging out! But I’ll trade that for not cramping any day. I’m shocked that I haven’t cramped at all. Frequently, the cramps hit me after I’m done with an adventure. It’s a lesson we’ve all learned many times and frequently need to relearn. But for a lot of adventures, running a huge calorie deficit can’t be avoided. But here, with a literal carload of food and water available every hour, there is no excuse not to do things right. Strava says I burned over 10,000 calories doing this. I haven't added up all that I ate and drank, but it might be close to that.

I think most cool feats have come about because someone thought, “I wonder if I could…”

My buddy Hans Florine has a motto and even a website for it. I liked it so much that each semester I urge my students to:

Do Hard Things!

North Face of Notch Peak: Book of Saturdays

 Book of Saturday on the North Face of Notch Peak

Strava

Photos

I used to drive out to Yosemite in my RV and spend the first week of June in the Valley. Here's the route I took:

Zooming in on the western edge of Utah, we see this:

This is the north face of Notch Peak:

That's all any climber needs to see to want to climb it. When I first saw it, I had no idea what it was. Some research yielded the name (Notch Peak) and the elevation (9658 feet), and finally a route: Book of Saturday (12 pitches, 11a). I've been dreaming of climbing it ever since, for at least a couple of decades. The guidebook says this north face is "reputedly the biggest limestone wall in the Lower 48 states...if the elevation of the approach and the lower wall is included, the relief is 800 meters." Yowza! Just the Book of Saturday is over 1300 feet tall.

The route is described as runout and loose, but the biggest runouts were on 5.8/9 terrain, and the 5.10 and above was supposedly well-protected. It sounded like a route I could manage, but, like on Watkins, I recruited some insurance: Jared Campbell. 

Like Hans, this guy is a world-class adventurer athlete. Though not as famous in the climbing realm, Jared got his start there, sending sport climbs up to 5.13. He moved on to trad climbing and huge link-ups (Grand Traverse, Evolution Traverse), where he discovered his ultra-endurance. He went on to win Hard Rock (one of the hardest 100-mile runs in the world) and finished the infamous Barkley Marathon (look it up) four times (more than anyone else at the time). He's done his own version of Badwater, which travels 135 miles from Death Valley to the summit of Mt. Whitney. Only he went over the summit of Telescope Peak, making a ridiculous challenge much harder. His prowess in technical, committing climbing/scrambling/canyoneering routes in Zion is almost beyond belief. He told me about descending Kolob Canyon in the middle of winter, where he'd rappel into pool after pool that had a 3/4" layer of ice on top. The ice didn't support his weight, so after rappelling into the pool, he had to swim across it, breaking the surface ice as he went. He told about how a throwing error resulted in their essential 200-foot rope sinking to the bottom of one of these pools. He had to repeatedly dive down to attempt to retrieve it, getting hypothermic in the process. Why do this canyon in winter? Because it wasn't hard enough in summer! 

I'd climbed with Jared just once before, when we did Squawstruck, a 22-pitch 5.11 route in Provo. My buddy Mark Oveson set up this blind date for me. I'd known about Jared for a long time. I'd been jealous of my friend Buzz, who'd done many adventures with him. Jared and I hit it off enough that he was game for Book of Saturday. He'd already seen the route but not climbed it. What? He had climbed Western Hardman (5.11) on the lower wall and linked that into La Fin du Monde (5.10) for a 21-pitch tour de force. Afterwards, they rappelled Book of Saturday to get back to the base and their vehicle.

I discovered there was a hiking trail off the backside of this peak and thought it would be cool to climb the face and then, instead of rappelling, just hike down the other side. Unfortunately, to do this involves a significant car shuttle. But I had a plan for that, too. I'd recruit Mark to come out with us. While Jared and I climbed the face, Mark would drive around to the other side, hike in, and meet us on top. I still think this is a good plan, but after my trouble on Watkins, I scaled back my ambition to just climbing the route as easily as possible. Jared had even suggested rappelling in, and after first resisting, I relented. 

The Plan

I didn't want to take a 70-meter rope if we didn't need it, but my 60-meter rope needed replacing. A quick trip to Neptune's solved that problem:

For the second rappel line, we brought my 7mm, 60-meter, ultra-stiff, static line that had been recommended to me for Patagonia by Chris Weidner. This is a specialty rope if there ever was one. It is only useful as a second rappel rope. It has two key qualities. First, it is small and light. Second, it is incredibly stiff. When coiled, you can hold one end of the coil and the rope sticks straight out, holding shape. Normally, I hate this, as it makes the rope difficult to handle, but the idea is that when rappelling, you pull down your other rope first. This stiff line is the one that rockets down the face, and the stiffness prevents it from wrapping around any protrusions. Or getting tangled in your other line. In this regard, it works very well.

For a rack, we brought my double set of ultra-lights to #1 Camalots (all used at some point), stoppers (never placed), 20 slings, half alpine, half sport (about right).

I drove out Friday morning, stopping at the Ghost Rock Rest Area to bag Ghost Rock West, and met Mark and his 11-year-old boys, Jason and Spencer, at the Ashton Burger Barn (recommended!) in Delta, Utah. This was an 8.5-hour drive for me, and there was still an hour of driving left to get to the trailhead. After dinner, Mark went to a hotel with the boys, and I waited for Jared, who arrived at 8 p.m. He grabbed dinner to go at a burrito place, and we drove out to the trailhead.

After packing for the next day, we hit the sack (me in the bed of Jared's Tundra and he in the rooftop, pop-up tent) at 10 p.m. with alarms set for 3:45 a.m.

The Climb

We were off the next morning a little after 4 a.m. We had allocated two hours for the approach (3.7 miles, 2400 vertical feet), gearing up, and starting our rappels. We then figured it would be two more hours before we were down to the base and starting to lead back up. We stuck to this schedule almost exactly. Before dropping in, I sent a message to Sheri and talked to Mark on the phone (we had great reception on the trail, but no coverage once on the face). Jared was in shorts the whole day, while I wore long pants for the approach and the climb, mainly for protection from the sharp limestone.

The 10 rappels (we combined pitches twice on the way down) were intimidating, but went smoothly with one snag of the stiff rope on the first rappel. Jared led the way, and I was thankful for that. I figured he'd already been down these rappels once before and had a better chance of locating each station. He did an expert job. We had to laboriously rethread our stiff line each time, so that it was always the last to fall, but all went well.

The weather report for Delta was a high of 89 degrees, and you'd think it might be too hot to climb, but that is not the case. If anything, I was chilled on the wall. Until we topped out, we were never in the sun. Book of Saturday sees no sun, maybe ever. Even in the photo above, our route follows the line of shadow from bottom to top. We had near-perfect temps, though I'd have been happy with it being 5-10 degrees warmer or having less wind. It wasn't very windy, but the breeze made it a bit chillier. 

I'd scoped out the topo, noticing the crux was the 5.11 second pitch. Wanting to do my part and swing leads, I suggested I'd take the odd pitches. This would give me three 5.10 leads. It didn't go that way, but I did take the first lead. I had the larger pack and stuffed the stiff rappel line into it. It wasn't that heavy, but it wasn't that light, so I carried Jared's pack on the first pitch, a steep 5.10 pitch.

While this route supposedly has 100 bolts on it, at least 35 of them are at the belays. That leaves 65 bolts in 1300 feet of climbing or, on average, a bolt every twenty feet. That's a sizeable average runout. Hence, the rack. I question this number, too. The topo shows 7 bolts on the 100+ foot first pitch. I don't recall that many. I placed as much gear as I could, and it was generally well protected, but it was steep, and I got really pumped. I didn't fall off, but I nearly did at one point. All winter long, I told myself I was training for Watkins and Notch Peak and I was reasonably strong at the end of April. But now, more than a month later, I hadn't been in the gym since. I was disappointed with my fitness. 

It took me a while to lead the first pitch, but I only got patience and encouragement from below. Jared followed smoothly and quickly transitioned into leading the crux pitch. From the belay, the pitch looked reasonable. I didn't realize how steep it was until I followed it. Or how bad some of the holds were. Jared climbed methodically up the pitch, making it look like there was a rest after every move. How deceptive! There were a couple of nice rest opportunities, but I pulled on a draw at the lower crux and had to hang on the rope (my only taints of the ascent) at the overhanging finish of the pitch.

The next pitch was only rated 5.6, but in my pumped state, it seemed more like 5.8 at the start. It lay back higher up, but then entered a gully with lots of loose rock, and I moved extremely carefully so that I didn't knock anything down on Jared. 

Pitch four started with a crack in a corner and was the best pitch yet, with the best rock so far. The rock quality is a huge factor in the ambiance of this route. There is still plenty of choss and loose rock on this route, but nearly all of it looks like it will break. Getting used to pulling on holds that appear to be barely attached was something I never really got used to. I'd bang on holds repeatedly, seeing no movement at all, but still not believing I wouldn't pull it off. When massively runout, using holds like this is terrifying. It made us appreciate the rare sections where the rock looked solid.

Pitch five was rated 5.8 and had just three bolts in 130 feet. I got in supplemental gear along the way, but the crux is at the very end and comes well above the last bolt. Steep climbing led to slightly less steep terrain, just as the holds got very rounded and slick. I finished maybe twenty feet above the bolt and a bit rattled. 

Jared wanted to climb pitch 6 (5.7, 80 feet) with pitch 7 (5.9, 60 feet). It sounded eminently reasonable, but turned out to be a mistake. First, the 5.7 was more like 5.9 and a bit runout. Second, because of the lack of bolts, Jared got off route to the right. He went up and down for a bit, concerned about climbing himself into a deeper hole. On this route, it is essential that you stay on route. If you get off route, there is no guarantee you'll be able to find protection or be able to set up a belay. We had to find each belay station.

Jared eventually downclimbed a bit and made a hard traverse to the left before going up, placing some gear, and eventually getting to the belay, where he continued into the next pitch. This went fine at the start, but he continued above a bolt where he should have gone straight left, again. He later said that a look at the guidebook would have been helpful:

Instead of traversing at the bolt, Jared continued straight up. The climbing was challenging, and he placed a couple of pieces of gear, climbing twenty feet above the belay. He called down to me the situation, and I commented that he'd pulled out more than enough rope to reach the second belay. This forced him to look around a bit more, and he spotted the belay. I took him on tension and lowered him, and he swung over to the belay. He also brought the trail rope over with him... I think. Because by the time I got there, the rope ran directly to the belay, and his gear was still in the rock, up and right. 

I benefited from both of Jared's mistakes, climbing on the correct line. I was surprised at the difficulty and serious nature of the "5.7" pitch. The 5.9 pitch was better protected, though with a heads-up traverse.

In Jared's defense, the belay wasn't visible to the left, and it was unobvious to go that way.

The next pitch was rated 10c. I wasn't supposed to be leading this pitch. The linking had gotten us off my sequence. I deferred the lead, and Jared eagerly accepted the sharp end once again. The pitch started with what we hoped was the crux. Jared styled it, and I did well there also. While climbing this part, Jared was telling me about an Eastern European friend of his, who, when pumped, would call down to Jared, mid-lead, and say, "Jared! I am so hard right now!" He was referring to his forearms, but he knew how it sounded to the nearby climbers. Once through the lower crux, Jared moved on but not before saying, "Bill, I am so hard right now."

Above, out of sight, the rope moved slowly. And this was a very long pitch (160'). Eventually, it was my turn, and once through the lower section, I climbed above a bulge and saw this vast expanse of nearly featureless orange limestone. I recalled this section when we were rappelling down. I thought it looked scary then, and my opinion hadn't changed. I remember thinking, "I don't want to lead this pitch, whichever it is." I stood there for quite a while, trying to find anything that would aid my ascent. Jared eventually even called down to check on me. This prompted me to try the minuscule holds. I inched upwards, one improbable move after another. I was appalled at the distance between the bolts -- at least twenty feet. I imagined doing the thinnest move, where I was sure I'd fall, while 15 feet above the last bolt. I wouldn't have done it. This was the one pitch on the route where I'm pretty sure I couldn't/wouldn't lead it. 

Jared would later acknowledge the serious nature of the pitch, but seemed more comfortable with the prospect of a fall. This is a terrible place to take a fall of any length. First, if you scraped against the wall, the limestone would chew you up. Second, the rock is so questionable that falling against it might dislodge rocks that tumble down towards your belayer. It was a ballsy lead by Jared.

At the belay, we discussed the remaining pitches. I'd already skipped a lead, but with two 5.10s and two easier pitches remaining, it made more sense for me to take the easy ones. This is the danger of climbing with a rope gun. It's so easy to defer to the stronger climber. He'd have let me take any pitch I wanted. Jared wasn't pressuring me to give him the harder pitches so that we could top out sooner. It was all up to me, and I once again chose the easy way out.

Jared led the super fun 10a 9th pitch, which we both agreed was the best pitch on the route. It was well protected, for a change, had relatively good rock, and lots of variety and interesting moves going over a roof or two. I led the 10th pitch (5.7, 100 feet), which was quite runout, and had to trust holds that sounded and felt solid but looked terrible. I dispatched this pitch pretty quickly and belayed at an uncomfortable V-dihedral with just a couple of footholds. My feet were killing me, and I'd take off my shoes here.

Jared then led the last hard pitch. It was another long one (150 feet on the topo, 55 meters in the description) and rated 10b. He climbed up to a steep thin section, clipping a couple of bolts along the way. He hesitated here for quite a bit. Enough to get me nervous about my prospects of climbing it clean. I knew the pitch was long, and if I fell that low on the pitch, the rope would stretch quite a bit. I'd have to climb it over again completely if I fell. 

Our topo said to move left at the third bolt, and Jared, conscious of what happened the last time he didn't do this, traversed left. He placed some gear and then couldn't find the route. He probed around for quite a while before moving back to the right above the gear he placed, not finding any bolts. We were bewildered at the bolting strategy. The easier 9th pitch was well bolted. This harder 11th pitch was very runout. Yes, he found and placed gear, but even that was widely spaced, and without a bolt, there was no confirmation he was even on the right line. He continued on 5.10 ground, turned a roof, protected by gear, and eventually found more bolts. The pitch ended with more of the micro-hold, orange limestone climbing that had given me so much trouble on pitch 8. It was easier here (5.9), and I trusted my feet more on the micro-edges that seemed to dig into the rubber on my shoes.

When I arrived at the belay, we heard Mark call from above! We were one 80-foot, 5.8 pitch from the top and could hear him clearly. He and his boys had already been to the summit and were ready for us with a pack full of snacks. Jared and I wondered what treats they had hauled up there. Mark once brought me a popsicle high in the Flatirons on a really hot day. This was a much longer approach, but I wondered what crazy goodies he and his boys had hauled up here.

The last pitch went fine. Runout in spots, but had three bolts and I found them all, supplementing the gaps with gear. I tested each hold and moved methodically (read: slowly). I didn't want to make any mistakes this close to the finish. Mark was leaning over the edge, trying to take some photos, and made me a touch nervous. I knew how loose things were. He was being careful, though, and didn't get too close to the edge. I clipped the final anchors and put Jared on belay. He soon joined me. Book of Saturday was complete!

The Hike Out

Even before I could get my shoes off, Mark was passing me treats. First, it was a bottle of grape Powerade with one for Jared as well. Then it was a bag of chips and a sleeve of donuts (Mark knows this is my favorite food). Then, out came a mini watermelon! With spoons. Then, in something only Mark would think of, he pulled out three pints of Häagen-Dazs ice cream! And it was still frozen! How could that be? Mark had carried up seven pounds of dry ice! Where do you even get that? The grocery store, apparently. He brought it up in a soft-sided cooler. Why three pints? We couldn't possibly eat all that. Well, he had to bring a pint of coffee ice cream because he knew it was my favorite. But then he had to bring another pint because neither he nor his boys liked coffee ice cream. So, why the third pint? Because Mark doesn't stop at the amazing. He has to go over the top. He can't just give flawless, incredible support. Maybe some other great friend could do that. He has to do something so over the top that no one else would ever do it. 

Mark's boys were so friendly, so excited for us, so happy to be there, and proud that they had done a hard hike and that "it was easy" for them. They took part in all the goodies as well. And I'm sure I'm forgetting plenty more of the snacks (add them in please, Mark). While Jared and I hiked the last 200 vertical feet to the summit, Mark and his boys got a head start on the descent. My gear was still strewn all around, and I told Mark, "Do NOT take any climbing gear." I knew he'd go over the top again if I didn't say that, but he had a full load with all the snacks that we didn't eat. Plus, I'd already given Jason my pack from the climb with just the stiff rope in it.

We tagged the top, took photos, and returned to our gear. I looked for the rack. Jared, did you take the rack? Nope. Dammit, Mark. We packed and hustled down, catching the team. I confirmed that Mark had the rack and chastised him. He responded, "Oh, I thought you said, 'DO take the rack' ". Typical. Jared eventually ended up with the pack that I'd given to Jason, which Mark had taken from him already, so that Jared ended up carrying about everything. 

I'm so thankful and so grateful for these great friends. Once again, I only achieved my goals by having such strong, giving partners. When I first did Nose-in-a-Day, I was adamant about not doing it with Hans, knowing what would happen (and did happen when I eventually did climb it with him). Now, instead of shunning such strong partners, I seek them out. I still strive and plan to do my share, but in these last two adventures, I didn't. Will these two still climb with me in the future, knowing the burden that I am? We'll see, but Jared was already talking about linking up the lower face to the upper one on Notch Peak. With him, anything is possible, but if I do come back, I'm coming straight from a season in the gym!