Lessons Jasper Taught Me.

A year ago today, we put Jasper to sleep. Here are the lessons I learned from him.

Sorrow.

That sometimes, even when you want something desperately, it just doesn't work out.

Not to compromise on the things you want, you will be taken advantage of.

Pain doesn't always heal with time.

You Can't Climb That: Why I don't need your permission or approval to go for my goals

I keep a little notebook in the car where I write down the names of climbs I've gotten on and occasional fun quotes. Most of the quotes are food-related, because let's be honest, food is the real priority here. But one quote on the page sticks out as being remarkably different from the light-hearted fun quotes. It's written in all caps and italicized for emphasis: "YOU CAN'T CLIMB THAT!!!"

I wish I could say that quote is just another funny inside joke, but it's actually a haunting put-down that's been nagging me for the past year. It's a little dagger of self-doubt that cuts right between the ribs and hurts.

A year ago, I had made plans to spend the weekend at Smith Rock with a climbing buddy. We were hoping to do some fun multi pitches while there, the easy classics: Wherever I May Roam, First Kiss, The Pioneer Route. We ran into some friends-of-my-friend, members of the same climbing club that I am a part of, and I remember one woman was very interested in what we were planning to climb. She spoke mainly to my friend and didn't seem to acknowledge me much, but hey, I hadn't taken the intermediate climbing class so my opinion probably didn't matter anyway. 

When she heard the Pioneer Route mentioned, the interrogation began. "Who is going to lead the trad pitch? Do you know what you're doing? How many pitches of aid have you led? Do you even know what aid climbing is?" I suppose I should have just let the woman talk at me and walk away, but I responded. For some reason, I felt like I had to explain myself to this stranger. I told the woman I would lead the trad and aid pitches, that I'd started leading the past year and we knew how to climb the bolt ladder with slings, that we were going to figure it out and could always bail if we had to.

"I DON'T THINK THAT'S A GOOD IDEA, YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT, YOU CAN'T CLIMB THAT!!!"

I remember talking the lady down, saying it was only one of the routes we were considering for the weekend, we might get on Wherever I May Roam ("ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN CLIMB THAT?!") or First Kiss ("YEAH, THAT'S A BETTER IDEA!") Finally, with her blessing to climb 5.7, we walked away.

That weekend we didn't climb a single multipitch, we flailed on some moderate sport routes and had an okay time, but our stoke was slaughtered by the woman's comments on our climbing ability. We drowned ourselves in self-doubt. Who was she to judge anyway?

Sometimes it doesn't take much to shut others down. For years, I have felt that I've had to ask permission to get out there and push myself. That if I don't live my life in the "correct way" then it's wrong. I was told it was dangerous to push myself outside, or to take a copy of Freedom of the Hills and practice skills on my own, that you need a class to learn safely.

But the thing is, there isn't going to be someone to hold your hand on the mountain when you end up testing your mettle. Those moments will be yours alone. Training will help, but you need to be able to find the limits of your ability on your own, you need to be comfortable and confident in your skin.

I am tired of asking permission to push myself. I am done with feeling like I need some nine month class to make me into a climber. I am releasing myself from feeling like I need to learn to climb in the "approved way". Instead, I will celebrate my strength. I will celebrate my fear when things get tough and lean into it so that I can let it go and make the moves I need to. I will celebrate my technical knowledge and feel confident in my ability to gauge risks. I will also climb whatever damn route I want to and not justify it.

This summer, I spent three months on the road. I led about 80 pitches, most of them on gear. My confidence and ability has skyrocketed. I am still very much an emerging climber, but I own my ability. A week ago, I took off for a few days at Smith. One evening, my partner and I were discussing routes to try the next morning, and the Pioneer Route came up. I instantly felt this nagging pang of fear in my stomach, wondering if I was allowed to climb the route. Maybe we should just do some sport instead? I obsessively read trip reports and convinced myself I could not lead the route.

The next morning, we packed bags and began the approach hike "wow, that rock looks awful tall, what am I doing trying this? Well, at least I can always bail if it's too bad" I was so ready to bail before even beginning to climb that it was pretty pathetic. But we were already at the base of the route, better at least give it a go, right? Pitch one went up nice an easy, I had no problem finding placements, the exposure was refreshing and the views were fantastic. It was early in the morning and cool in the shade, lightly breezy and we were already so high up in space. Onto the bolt ladder. I reached up and clipped my sling to the first bolt, stepped into the sling and clipped the next bolt. From the belay, the top of the ladder looks so far away and overhung, surly I can't reach it, I'm too short and not allowed to climb this route. But that's a total garbage lie, I'm more than able to climb this route. I am strong, confident, capable, and safe. Somewhere around bolt 12 I realized I was more than halfway through with leading the pitch. Instead of asking each bolt permission to clip it, I celebrated the athletic challenge of stepping up and reaching for each bolt. I was noticing how strong I was, how clipping bolts was a piece of cake. The rising sun began to illuminate the rock, I looked down into space below me and saw all the draws shining in the sun while my aider and slings blew in the wind. I felt so confident and joyous as I clipped bolts and moved upward. 

Soon, "fuck you, S*****!" Became my mantra and I progressed upward. You can't tell me what to do, I am the boss of me and I don't need your or anyone else's permission to go for my goals!

Sometimes I wonder if guys get this much blowback when they try things that are hard for them. I personally, know at least three dudes who climbed the Pioneer Route with much less experience than myself who did not face the judgement that I did. Sometimes I wonder if I'd been met with encouragement instead of fear-mongering when I started out if I would be climbing harder stuff today. The thing is, now that I've climbed the route, I can say with confidence that my partner and I totally could have gotten this route last year. How cool would it have been to have ticked Pioneer Route off last year? We would have had a really positive memory instead of one of fear and doubt.

And it sure doesn't take much for those seeds of doubt to grow. And their roots grow deep. Doubt is a hard weed to kill.

Mostly though, the moral of this story is that I want to do everything I can to build other people up instead of drag them down. I don't want to be the person in someone's story who was a jerk. We should encourage each other to achieve our goals instead of shut each other down.

Many Fragments

Some people have really bad days, some people have really bad years. I've had a couple of really bad years. I feel like so many pieces of myself have broken off in the past few years that it becomes difficult to remember who really wears this skin.

Sometimes I can't keep up with it all. I want to put my head in the sand, I would rather surround myself with a darkness of my own making than the storm outside.

Instead though, I will spend the next week in central Oregon, playing on some rocks.

Meeting a long-standing goal

This weekend I led my first 5.8 climb on gear- it's a goal I've been working on for the past year. I don't have lofty aspirations to climb the really tough stuff, but I do have a nearly endless list of gorgeous alpine climbs in the 5.6-5.9 range that I can't wait to get out and experience. But before I can throw myself into the wild unknown, I've needed to take the time to build a solid and varied skillset: glacier travel, physical conditioning for the approach hikes, endurance, confidence, self rescue for rock and snow, navigation, and the ability to quickly and efficiently lead on alpine rock.

The pieces are finally starting to come together and I'm really, really excited.

One pitch of 5.8 doesn't make me a 5.8 leader just yet, but it means I can lead more pitches of 5.8 and eventually move onto harder and more committing stuff. That's exciting.

The past couple years have been really tough for me. While I've been incredibly lucky to avoid physical injury while climbing, I cannot say the same for emotional scars. A seemingly endless parade of tragedy is starting to let up, but the person who stares back at me in the mirror still isn't a woman I really recognize. That's okay. Progress is progress. I'm stronger today than I've ever been and am learning to say no to doubt and fear. There are still three months left in this year to continue to grow, and I have a feeling that 2017 is going to produce some amazing treasures. 

Edit: I later learned that I've led three other 5.8s on gear. Yay for inconsistent guidebooks. Also, I didn't hesitate nearly so much on the "5.7s" that were actually 8s. Funny how fear of inadequacy is such a crazy thing

Forming Habits

    Every morning after Ben leaves for work, I'm trying to make at least one image. Strengthening my artistic practice is something very important to me. One hour at a time, putting energy into this skill again. This time, it's energy going into making my own art and not pushing a brush to create someone else's vision. This is more difficult than I anticipated, but it's also really satisfying. I'm really just vomiting a bunch of work at this point, casting a wide net and hoping to settle on a style eventually. 

Watercolor study of a quartz crystal.

Lisa in Idaho.

Oregon Homecoming- Broken Top Hike

Today begins my third week back in Oregon. It's also back to school season, the dog days of summer, and time to start unpacking everything from the road trip.

Three thousand photos, a box of ephemera, well-worn guidebooks, and a tan that I never thought I could acquire. Reintegration into normalcy has been a bit exhausting, but it's also exciting. I am not going back to the old life I had in Portland, instead, I am building a new life in Hood River.

There's a definite melancholy to be off the road and to have left the truck behind in Montana. I'm totally overwhelmed with setting up the new house, getting the Portland house ready to sell, looking for a new car (Subie-Doo isn't going to last the winter), looking for a job, and ridding myself of all the stagnant trappings of a life that held me back. But! 

When you've been living in a tiny box on wheels, the world outside is so limitless and your possibilities abound. When you have a house and town to call home, the inside world becomes big and encompassing while the horizon becomes distant. The trick is not to let your perspective get too small.

I want to keep that Big Sky feeling in my mind even when what I see in front of me is clouded with obligation.

And that's why it was so great to get out this weekend and hike up Broken Top in the Oregon Cascades. 

Broken Top is about the easiest mountain you can climb with zero conditioning. Ben, Ollie, and I have effectively zero mountain conditioning. Sure, we can climb some rocks and do day hikes, but I struggle to remember the last actual backpacking trip I've done-- I think it was when Ben, Dave, and I got rained out trying Broken Top last October. So this little trip ended up being Ollie's first backpacking trip, Ben's first glaciated peak, and my first backpacking trip of 2016-- not too bad for us slackers!

 As per usual, the Green Lakes Trail provided some pretty wildflowers.

 First views of South Sister, getting close to the campground.

 Ollie enjoyed having her backpack off and the ability to run with wild abandon. She had yet to realize she would be hiking for two more days.

 Afternoon view of the next day's mission.

 Ben hiking into our campsite. I carried the rope all the way in so he set up camp and boiled water for dinner. This is a combination I can work with!

 We slept in, started at a comfortable hour, and trudged upward, eventually ending up on a foolproof ridgeline.

 Ben scrambling up to the summit.

 Taking a minute to enjoy summit views.

Since we foolishly carried a rope and gear all the way up, we invented a rappel station and occupied ourselves with a few minutes of amusement.

Ollie got some alpine cuddles and fell asleep in Ben's lap. She wasn't a fan of hiking back, maybe one day she will lean to budget her energy.

An unexpected surprise of the trip was that we ran into friends along the way! Just outside of the Green Lakes campground, we stumbled across Dawn, a friend we made through the Mazamas. Dawn and her friend Linda had plans to climb Broken top the next morning. We shared some time at the summit together and pine needle tea that evening. It was really great to catch up and see everyone smiling.

We didn't set alarms the next morning and clocked in almost ten hours of sleep. Our hike out was pleasant and lunch in Bend was satisfying. It is very nice to be in such a dog-friendly state after traveling this summer. We didn't have to worry about having to leave Ollie in a hot car or tied up far from us, she was able to nap happily at our feet while Ben and I split a beer and ate our lunch. Back in Hood River we felt a little stiff but altogether very fine. Ollie has been sleeping nonstop, but occasionally will move from the couch to the floor. Pretty sure she had the most fun of all of us.

It was incredibly fun and relaxing to go on such an easy but rewarding mission. Good views and great people make for a real pleasant weekend. Definitely not going to haul up a rope and gear next time-- will save that pack space for more snacks and maybe an inflatable raft to take on the lake.

I think with a bit more conditioning, the three of us can go on more alpine missions. Objectives with mellow approaches and a few pitches of 5.fun climbing are totally doable. Gotta find that happy compromise that satisfies everyone.

Livingston is Beautiful

As I prepare to leave tomorrow morning, there's a part of me that seriously wants to rent a studio in the Ebert and stay for a month or three.

Sixty to Zero: off the road in Montana

Death becomes us. If it isn't today on the mountain, it will be on the drive back; or thirty years down the road from a heart attack;  or maybe, if we're really lucky, it'll happen sixty years from now in our sleep with loving family members nearby.

How could you do this? Isn't it scary? Yes and no. I don't think I've ever experienced true fear before Friday night. I remember the accident. Or rather, I remember hearing a bloodcurdling scream, and hazily trying to figure out where it was coming from, until I realized that I was the one screaming. The elk jumped in front of my truck while I was driving at sixty miles per hour. I hit it dead on. The airbags went off and I pulled over. I could not open the driver's side door, because the hood was pushed into the hinge. At the time I did not know that. I was in complete panic and wanted to get myself and Ollie out as soon as possible, I didn't know if the truck was leaking gas and would be a fire hazard. Trying to force open a car door that won't budge is horrifying. It was dark, I had no cell reception, and there were no other cars on the road.

In every practice scenario that I've worked through for first responder training or incident management, we discuss panic. We talk about it in a clinical, removed way. Then we are given our prompts, some people leave to get moulage and then we all play save-the-day, or, gracefully-deal-with-fake-tragedy.

My truck is totaled. With it are a lot of memories. Five years of hauling furniture and paint for theatre and film-- of learning to make my own in the art scene. Moving furniture across town from apartment, to apartment, to house-- and the memories of all the lives lived in those spaces, the relationships that blossomed and died in those times. Early morning drives to the trailhead. Weekend camping trips. A bad accident in 2014 that's left me with a fear of driving and occasional panic attacks. A joyful month-long roadtrip up the Pacific coast with my friend Cassie. A drive out to Idaho with Ben. Filling the truck bed with soil to make plants grow in the new house.

My fear of driving isn't something I talk much about, because I don't like exposing weakness to the world. My two front teeth are fake. I was hit by an SUV while riding my bike back in college. Spend a night in the ER alone and in shock and you're not going to have a good time. Driving home from work, when I was working 80 hour weeks in theatre, I fell asleep. Understandable, I'd been working nonstop and had five techs in the last six weeks (translation: no sleep). I drifted under a semi. Driving terrifies me. When I have to drive at night and see flashing lights, my pulse quickens and sometimes I need to pull over until my heart and mind settle. I work with a therapist about this.

The road trip actually did wonders for my fear of driving. I remember the day of the accident, I don't think I'd felt so free and happy before. I'd been paragliding and hiking in Jackson, WY. The two weeks prior, I'd been truck camping in Idaho having some of the most positive climbing experiences of my life. I drove through Yellowstone that morning listening to the Dixie Chicks. The song 'The Long Way Around' came on as the sun was rising and it moved me to tears of happiness. I got to Old Faithful just in time to watch it erupt, then take an early morning walk on an empty boardwalk. In the middle of the day, I popped the tailgate down and ate a bean and cheese burrito on the back of the truck. It felt like I was on top of the world, joyriding through one of America's treasures.

My campsite for the night didn't have access to water. I wanted an early start in the morning, I was on the road driving back into town for some water when I hit the elk. Four hours later, the tow truck dropped me, Ollie, and the truck off in the parking lot of an auto shop in Livingston, MT. I spent the night in the parking lot. The following morning, I blasted everyone I knew in the Rocky Mountain states to see if someone might know someone in the Livingston/Bozeman area. I couldn't live in a busted truck in a parking lot for however long the repairs would take.

Miraculously, a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend has a place in Livingston AND was willing to put me up for a few days! While caught in insurance limbo, I found myself surrounded by vibrant, artistic ladies. I'm forever grateful for having a place to make my bed this week. To be surrounded with great folks in a beautiful town was unexpected and beautiful.

Monday, I got the news about the truck. Bad news. Craiglist turned up a few possible replacement cars, and I borrowed a car to drive into a town with car dealerships. A couple hours later I became the owner of a sixteen year old Subaru Outback, it will get me home.

Today, I cleaned out the truck, took off the solar panel, and transferred the roof box. It's sad work disassembling your home for the past three months. So much dust, clutter, and memories. The truck isn't going to leave Montana, but I'll take the memories with me.

It'd be easy to feel down in the dumps about this, but I can feel nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the friends who have friends who have friends in Livingston and vouched for me. Gratitude for Erica and Lauren not only putting me up for the week, letting me borrow a car to buy the Subie, but for also sharing their world with me. We have spent the week watching movies, going out on the town, cooking meals, and having a blast. I feel gratitude for moments of stillness, where I felt inspiration to make some art. I feel gratitude for friends and family who have been supportive during this mess. I am so thankful that neither Ollie or myself were injured in the accident. Trucks are replaceable, life isn't.

I'm going to be bolder now. I'm going to do what I can with the time I have to be present. I don't want to give into fake and easy fear. Most of the stuff we do everyday isn't going to kill us, some things may be unpleasant or spooky, but I don't want fear of the unknown to be my master.

It's important to spend time doing the things that bring us joy and remind the people we love that we care for them. I realize now that I need to get off my ass and make more art more often. It might be difficult at the moment because I'm so out of practice, but so what? It won't get any easier if I don't start now. It's been incredible to spend time with the fantastic people I've met along my journey, I hope to be able to repay this kindness to others in the future. Don't worry universe, I'm far too in awe of the wonders of people to forget this one, I will settle my karmic debt and pay interest in full and kindness.

Tomorrow, Ollie and I hit the road. We are going home. Ben is flying out for a tiny bit of climbing and to help with the driving. After the accident, I'm more than grateful that he'll be out and I won't have to do all the miles alone.

Thanks for the great memories, truck. I learned a lot about myself on this trip and am grateful for the chance to grow this summer.

Reflections from a month on the road.

First Leg Trip Report: Oregon to Colorado

The biggest accomplishment of this trip so far has just been getting out the door. Hitting the road, being able to physically put it all behind me and leave.

I could have spent several more weeks building out the back of the truck, getting it just right. Put more effort into the house. Spent much more time researching where to camp, what to do, and how to get from point A to point B on the map. Figured out what, exactly, I'm doing with all of these wedding and travel plans that conflict with my own personal journey. Figured out what, exactly, I'm doing with my life. All of the what ifs and shoulds and regret and need to get this done had been piling up for a long time. Portland had become a very dark place and I felt trapped in a kind of decision paralysis about what I should do with my life versus a nagging dream of travel.

I kept what plans I had for the journey secret. Much like the images I drew in my childhood sketchbooks, I kept my dreams and plans for this trip to myself. Mostly because I was afraid someone would try and talk me out of it. I didn't do this intentionally to hurt the people close to me, but because striking out on my own has been such a precious, tiny hope in my mind for so long and I am not particularly bold- too much discussion of the trip would cause me to doubt myself further and potentially cancel the whole endeavor.

I built out the back of the truck, made sure the house wouldn't fall down, set a date on the calendar, and left. The actual leaving ended up being delayed for two days because a perfect weather window opened up for Mt Hood and Liz and I had to climb it-- more about that in a separate post.

I am extremely thankful and grateful for the friends I have in Portland, I think we need to start being social more often and not just for goodbyes.

Mt Hood was a good trial run for the truck, it handles noticeably different with the roof box on, and I was extremely happy to have a soft bed to sleep on in the parking lot after descending. After a glorious nap, I drove back to Ben's place in Hood River and we had dinner together. Even though I'm comfortable as can be in the back of the truck right now, reflecting on time in Hood River sure makes me miss Ben.

The following morning, a little later than expected, Ollie and I hit the road. We had no plans for where we would spend the night, only that we were going to drive south until it was late. Driving through Portland and going down I5 is faster, but I didn't have the heart to drive through that city. Who knows, I might have had to check on the house and get stuck working on something.

So we took the scenic way south on hwy 97. Mt Hood smiled down on us, the mountain had been looking very ominous for the past month and four failed attempts, but on this day it seemed to be at peace, the summit occasionally peaking out from a blanket of clouds.

On the drive south, we had great views of Mt Jefferson, Smith Rock, the Sisters, and endless Oregon forest. It was really lovely. Sometime after crossing the California border, we drove by a herd of elk. Mt Shasta came into view, and at a scenic viewpoint I researched campsites in the area and found where we would spend the night.

Our campsite was on the flanks of Mt Shasta. I was happy to find that all of my tubs fit into a California-mandated bear box and that I was still awake enough to figure out how to lock said bear box. Ollie was hesitant to sleep in the truck that first night, I think she remembered being kept in there while I was working on Grimm, but after some coaxing, she hopped right in and slept at my feet. The next morning we drove up to Bunny Flat and played a game of high-altitude fetch. Ollie loved the snow. Shasta appeared in prime condition, with snow all the way to the parking lot. Too soon though, it was time to hit the road, as we had many miles to drive to Bakersfield.

I wish I could say the I5 drive was exciting, but anyone who has driven that section of highway knows otherwise.

I got into Bakersfield that evening, and saw my parents

Ben arrived Friday afternoon. We picked him up at LAX and drove back to Bakersfield, Ollie was very happy to see Ben at the airport. We tried to convince Ollie that the swimming pool was fun, but she wasn't convinced... turns out that picking her up and throwing her into the pool didn't help with that. Lesson learned. I think we had alaskan salmon for dinner and an awesome avocado and tomato salad. Saturday we went on a classic tour of Bakersfield- tacos for breakfast, a walk along the scenic Oildale overlook, and then a drive up into the Kern River Canyon. While Bakersfield is a flat city, the Kern River Canyon is spectacular. We saw climbers topping out on the sides of the road. I briefly wished I had learned to climb sooner so I would have had something fun to do the summer I lived in Bakersfield. After our drive, my father cooked his famous prime rib over the grill. I don't think I've eaten that well in a long time. After dinner we had some wine, shared photos in the living room, and enjoyed a brief bit of family time.

Sunday morning, Ben, my mom, and I drove to LA. We stopped in at the Getty Museum and showed Ben around. The Getty is such a fun museum to walk through, with the monorail approach, it feels like you're traveling the the fortress of some James Bond villain. That day, the LA sky was surprisingly clear- we could see the city out to the ocean. I think LA would be a very beautiful place to live if you could eliminate half the people. Southern California is a really beautiful place- one I am happy to visit on occasion. We saw a traveling exhibit that was a scale replica of Chinese burial caves. The caves were small rooms lined with painted Buddhist iconography. I thought the exhibit was completely underwhelming. After working in the film industry for half a decade, I know I've personally painted better looking images and the sets we've built are much more interesting. To make the experience worse, we had to wait in the hot sun before entering the caves and were only given two minutes per room. It seemed over-hyped. Thankfully the Getty is free, because the James Maplethrope photo exhibit was even worse. It seemed self-obsessed, very privileged, and his work did not exhibit noteworthy technical advances to make up for the creative and blunt subject matter. We enjoyed walking through the collection of European art from 1500-1900, the collection is manageable and interesting, with notable works straight out of your art history textbook.

Sadly, it was time for Ben to catch his flight, after a quick and delicious dinner, we dropped him off at LAX and drove back to Bakersfield. Monday morning, it was my turn to leave. I packed up the truck and headed in the direction of Joshua Tree, reflecting that this may be the last time I pass through Bakersfield for a very long time.

Leaving Bakersfield was exhilarating, I was finally beginning to explore new territory. As I drove through prairie that gave way to rolling foothills and larger mountains, I finally felt like I was driving off the edge of the map and into the unknown- that the journey was finally beginning! We drove past the San Gorgonio Mountains, the rim of Death Valley, into the Mojave Desert, and found a great, expansive dry lake bed to camp on.

The morning sunrise from the bed of the truck was large and expansive. Five AM was warm but pleasant. That morning and horizon felt endless, until the sun got a bit higher in the sky and became blazing.

We had miles to go before Tuscon that night. Slow morning coffee in the back of the truck is a luxurious treat, but by 8 AM we were packed and ready to go.

The drive through Joshua Tree was lovely. Before the sun was too high in the sky, I would occasionally leave Ollie in the truck and boulder up the start of a route or two. The climbing seemed fun, and my general opinion is that Ben and I need to return. We hiked a bit on the marginal trails that dogs are allowed on. I reflected on how destructive humans can be at national parks and how limiting the dog-ban is. But, since the rules were not mine to make, Ollie stayed on her 6' leash and we stayed on the mediocre trails we were allowed on. A detour down a dirt road introduced us to a herd of bighorn sheep. There were a couple young sheep in the mix.

The rest of the drive from Joshua Tree to Tuscon was mostly flat, punctuated with gem shops and giant dinosaur sculptures. I drove east on hwy 66 and then through the Sonoran Desert National Monument. A brief stop to walk through the saguraos was peaceful and a sunset view of Picacho Peak was appreciated.

In Tuscon, there was warmth and happiness. Ben's family is absolutely great. Though there were mild dog shenanigans, all was well. Dinner and conversation were great. The next morning, which came a little too soon, had a great breakfast and then several hours on the road north. 

Fields of saguraos gave way to a high plateau and an eventual view of Humphreys Peak, towering over Flagstaff, AZ. I found my campsite late at night, in the dark off of a forest road. It was the first night I was really scared. The darkness had many secrets and I just didn't feel right. An early morning wake up illuminated a nice campsite, but the weather forecast was completely mediocre. It was too easy to say no to hiking Humphreys Peak. If I just blamed the weather and conditions, no one would blame me for not hiking... but lowering my standards was not what I went on this trip to do.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, with many breaks to reflect, I trudged up the mountain. It was not a glamours hike. It was a pathetic, mediocre, crappy hike. Many people told us to turn around because conditions at the peak had deteriorated, but they were wearing jean shorts and flip flops. We just put on more jackets and trudged on. The summit was anticlimactic. I did not feel like I had accomplished anything, other than trudging, there was no great enlightenment.

The hike down was memorable though, we encountered Justin, a climber from Phoenix, and his dog, a very well-mannered St Bernard who carried a backpack bigger than mine. Justin and I met a pair of lost hikers. After promptly getting off-route ourselves, we navigated back to the trail through an approaching whiteout and as soon as we were back on trail, the clouds cleared up and visibility returned. I remember the hikers asking us if we'd ever gotten lost before. I thought to myself how often I get lost, and how getting un-lost is the real trick. Maybe I'll get un-lost on this trip.

We shared dinner at Chick-fil-a and I returned to my roadside campsite. It didn't feel so creepy the second night, and I was tired enough not to care. The next morning, we slept in, made macaroni and cheese for breakfast, and decided to find showers. Ended up bouldering for the afternoon in Flagstaff- probably the stiffest climbing I've encountered. I struggled on V1s and 2s. I could blame the altitude, or maybe the gym was sandbagged, but I'm weak enough that I'll just blame myself for being weak and work on getting stronger.

A third night sleeping on the forest road was cozy, though the loneliness returned. The following morning, I met Kevin Brown for breakfast and a walk through Flagstaff. It has been fifteen years or so since I escaped Midland. We had a good chat, and he told me about all the places in Arizona and New Mexico I'll have to return to.

Driving from Flagstaff to Albequerque was enjoyable. While it was too hot to do much, we stopped at a few tourist traps to look at the giant dinosaur sculptures- they really are all over the southwest. The views were epic- great looking rock, wonderful horizons, good scenery. Will have to come back for an Arizona climbing trip some spring.

Albuquerque was the first place I started to feel truly happy. I've been carrying so much emotional baggage for the past few years. To show up at Maggie's place and not have to carry that load any more was fantastic. It's such a release to relax the defenses you've held around yourself for years. To be around a person who's friendship is not conditional is magical. To be around people who do not have an agenda is liberating. We only talked about Willamette one night, and that was a dark wine-soaked evening. Otherwise, the time was lovely.

New Mexico really is a land of enchantment. I need to return. There are slot canyons, badlands, alpine meadows, sacred peaks, cruiser trad climbing, ice climbing prospects, art installations, delicious food, good people-- EVERYTHING. I think if I could take New Mexico, and flank it with the North Cascades, Rocky Mountain National Park, the Pacific coast, and Baja California, I would never leave. It's a good thing the North Cascades are in the upper northwest so my return is guaranteed. (for now)

Sadly, I had to leave the comfortable land of Albuquerque and head north. I rented snowshoes to hike up Wheeler Peak. 2000' of elevation gain in snowshoes is a little bit of an undertaking. The swimming though soft snow on the descent was a shit show. Hilarious. I am glad to be a strong mountaineer and able to deal with the crap conditions with grace. Digging myself out of waist-deep postholes with my ice axe several times was memorable.

Camping in northern New Mexico was the real gem. Along the access road to Taos Ski Valley are several amazing pullout sites. I put up my hammock and spent a day reading the glorious Clan of the Cave Bear novel by stream before packing up and heading to the Wild Rivers Recreation area.

Taos is a tourist trap, but a beautiful one. In all my scouting, I could not find a quality local dive bar for good conversation and cheap drinks, but the art galleries showed better work than you'll see in Portland, so that was nice.

The BLM campsites on the Norther Rio Grand are FANTASTIC. Seriously. They are cheap and mostly empty. My spot looked into the canyon and also the plateau. On one side I saw sunsets over the river while on the other side I could sit back and watch thunderstorms charge across the horizon. If I could do it again, I'd spend a month in New Mexico in early spring and make a long camp there. I would paint every day and watch the sky every night.

I began my first real painting of the trip, a painting of Mt Hood, a reflection on darkness. To be alone in the desert making a painting about the darkest moments of your recent memory is a harrowing experience. I cannot say I recommend it, but the meditation on darkness can be very helpful.

Soon enough though, it was time to move on. Into Colorado, the colorful state. A drive through a vast, open abyss with giant sky was riveting. Shortly after seeing a sign that declared OPEN RANGE, I had to stop for a herd of grazing horses. Driving past 14ers was magical. Really began to understand what “Big Sky Country” means. An evening bouldering with Amanda and fun chats was nice and grounding. There's a tiny part of me that wishes I could have lived my entire life in the Bay Area. I think San Ramon was my favorite place to be out of all the towns we lived in. It was good to be reminded of a positive time in my life.

The next day it was onto Boulder. Eryn, now Joy, welcomed me with open arms. We hiked through the fields that surround the Flatirons, surrounded by yellow and purple flowers. I told her of the misery and sorrow that occurred in the past year. I didn't intend to tell her about all the melancholy, but it came out. We discussed other names for me besides Sarah. Options include: Ocean, Kali, Sol... nothing really stuck. It was a good, beautiful hike complete with warm afternoon rain.

That evening, we went to an event called Circling. I will be the first to admit I'm not in touch with my inner self. This event was basically a group therapy/CBT/let-it-go session. I volunteered to be circled. I talked and talked. I used words to describe feelings I usually ignore. I think I came away with more understanding of myself. I think. It's tricky when we live so much in our heads and rarely get to see the Outside. It was uncomfortable, but the good kind of uncomfortable. I'm not usually “enlightened” so much of the vocabulary was outside of my understanding. I feel as if I missed a large learning curve and just ran for it.

Ben showed up that weekend. We climbed the first flatiron and drove through Rocky Mountain National park. There are not words to describe how happy I was to see him. Our climbing was fantastic, save for some aggressive thunderstorms. Climbing together, cooking together, being together- it all felt so right. And of course Ollie was overjoyed to see Ben at the airport. Our little family is the best.

Since Ben's visit, I spent a week climbing- some sport in Cleer Creek Canyon and Poudre Canyon, some multipitch trad at Lumpy Ridge. I prefer the trad so far. Sport routes are too crimpy/slabby/meh. Give me the strange features, fistjams, veggebelays, runouts, etc. Ben said I'm officially a trad climber now. Based on the sport climbing in CO so far, I'm inclined to agree. I feel better when half my body is lodged in a crack than when it's hanging on tiny crimps.

AND THE CLIMBING HERE IS GOOD! It's amazing! I have never felt so great and confident on the rock before. Sure, I've been runout above my last piece of pro, but the rock is solid. It does not explode when you put a cam in it. It builds confidence instead of destroying it.

I am happy here. I get to physically exert myself and have a wonderful time doing it.

You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here: Time to go // An Apology to my friends

First off: an apology for being distant the past few months, it hasn't been intentional-- I retreated to a very dark place and have not been very present in life. I apologize if I never returned a phone call or message, did not check in, offered to help with something only to not follow through, or failed you in some other way. Times have been bleak. 

The past eighteen months have been riddled with tough events and at some point, I lost my ability to be a functional person. The end of a serious relationship; a bad car accident; a death in the family; working an extremely stressful and demanding job in a negative and unhealthy work environment; the death of a beloved pet; the near-death experience with another beloved pet; finding the courage to walk away from the stressful and demanding job; tenants who trashed my house, stole my possessions, and quit their lease agreement while I was out of the country; and a completely soul-crushing attempt to go back to college after five years away, 

I broke as a person. Daily panic attacks that would last one to three hours and occur multiple times a day, inability to sleep, inability to focus and remember important things like when is the water bill due, painful gastrointestinal issues that required management, and a loss of confidence in myself.

My climbing suffered as well. No longer could I push myself trying to lead 10s and 11s, instead, I would bail on 9s. I nearly turned around on Dog Mountain less than halfway through the mellow hike. I made three unsuccessful attempts up Mt Hood, each time turning around because my nerves were fried-- the last attempt was so bad that I stood my climbing partner up and bailed on a perfect weather window, I couldn't even will myself to make it to the parking lot. 

The thought of staying in Portland, getting another job, trying another go at school, just pushing through everything and making it work somehow only creates anxiety and feelings of doom.

I love this city, but it's time to go.

...

I grew up with a very traditional and linear view of life. I experienced crisis when I realized that I will never fit the West Texas narrative for what a woman is supposed to do. Negotiating feelings of failing that narrative and trying to figure out what's next has been difficult. Everyone expects a plan. We talk about other people's lives with judgement and negativity when their choices differ from what we consider "the right thing to do". I've been afraid to share my dreams and aspirations because they involve art and hiking up giant snowy hills. 

It is socially acceptable to talk about people who create art like they are worthless and deserve every misfortune that falls upon them. "Oh, Johnny is a bartender now at another restaurant and still drive that crappy van? It's so disappointing that he's never done anything with his life, but what do you expect from a literature major?" How many times have you heard some version of that conversation?

The more I thought about staying the course and making things work somehow in Portland, the more I knew I had to go. We had a good run and now it's time to move on.

I planned a departure date for shortly after a WFR class and began looking at the map. Originally, I was looking more for sport climbing crags. But a trip focused exclusively on rock climbing posed challenges: mainly that because I was bringing Ollie along. Dogs at the crag are more of a liability than an asset, finding partners to deal with a dog would be more difficult, and with her, multipitch would be impossible.

So I looked at the map, marked where I had a few great friends to visit, connected the dots and figured I could do some backpacking along the way. The highway had me going surprisingly close to many state highpoints! Surprise! Some google research reviled that many of these peaks are within my ability (and Ollie's too) so an idea formed. I was going to try and hit these highpoints along the way, do some painting, and see some friends.

While working with some guys in a crevasse rescue clinic and talking to them about this trip, one of them called it a sabbatical and the name stuck. I like thinking of this as a sabbatical with the hope I will come back refreshed, happy, and maybe with some pride in myself.

So here's the plan for #Sabbatical2016: Get out of Portland, climb Mt Hood,  drive south through California, visit family in Bakersfield, try for Mt Whitney, drive east through Arizona, attempt Humphreys Peak, visit the Painted Desert, visit my friend Maggie in Albuquerque, attempt Wheeler Peak, drive north into Colorado, attempt Mt Elbert and any other 14rs in fair condition, climb with Ben and friends in the Flat Irons, visit Denver and Boulder, drive north to Wyoming, climb with Amber in Laramie, flail in the offwidth cracks of Vedawoo, hike Table Mountain with Ollie and stare at Grand Teton, attempt Kings Peak in Utah, pass though Salt Lake City and hopefully climb something with Gabe, drive north to attempt Borah Peak, climb all the granite in City of Rocks and Castle Rocks, drive west into Oregon by way of the Wallowas for some more backpacking, and finally return to Portland. I'm going to make a painting for each state I pass through- if the highpoint is unsafe to attempt while I am in the state, I'll find some other fun and appropriate challenge. The goal is to have as much fun as possible and come out of this with a happy dog, sore body, confidence in myself, and some decent art to show for it.

TIME TO GO!

Three words

I would use to describe myself today:

Defeated

Exhausted

Weak.

two quick thoughts

Maybe I can increase my involvement with the Mazamas by organizing a battery recycling drive?

Maybe I can run a skill builder where I teach people how to paint outside?

It's not always bad

On top of Rooster Rock in the Columbia Gorge. It's fun to have fun!

There's a lot of good to be found in the world. When we do the work to unpack our life experiences and appreciate ourselves it can be quite staggering to see our own progress. Sometimes you have to take a step back to actually see yourself.

It's almost April, I can't believe it. Time passes. Life passes. Those moments that are crushing and urgent and terrifying pass.

If we put the work in, we can affect our future. If we do not put the work in, then our past will control our future. I admit it's terrifying to transition from a powerless, passive mental state to owning yourself. I haven't "figured it out" yet, but I'm working on it!

There have been some difficult but really good experiences in the past couple weeks. Experiences that demonstrate progress has been made. One example of a difficult event was a recent climbing competition in Portland. I was stressed out by the noise and crowds. The gimmick-y competition routes did not feel like my kind of climbing. I was deeply uncomfortable during the entire event and left early after belaying Ben on his project (he did great by the way! Made it into the men's open division!) When the results were posted later in the week, I discovered I placed 14 out of 70 for my division- women's advanced. It was an unexpected affirmation that yes, I am a strong climber. Not the best, not the strongest, but good enough. It was a reminder that I've come a long way physically and mentally and need to celebrate that! Next time a competition rolls around, I'm not sure if I'll enter, but if I do go for it, I will go all the way in and give all I have. The possibility of getting into the women's open is alluring, but the real victory for me would be remaining comfortable in a loud, stressful environment and not running away.

My confidence was boosted by the comp because it provided an objective marker for my progress. I will work on allowing my confidence to come from my own faith in myself, and not a piece of paper with scores written on them. 

I can see now that my climbing really has improved, and so has my confidence. I spent one day out in Washington building anchors and the next day did my first trad lead where I was not with Ben or Gabriel! Big deal for me, being out on my own with no adult supervision... and it was great! I went with my friend Stacey, a friend I met in BCEP two years ago. We've been climbing at the rock gym together for a couple months and had a good weather window. I was super honored to be Stacey's first non-Mazama (yet still Mazama) climbing experience! We made it up and down safely and she loved it! I was concerned about the dirty and mediocre first pitch coupled with the amount of wind we encountered on the second pitch, but you can't fake a smile like this:

Stacey on top of Rooster rock!

Honestly, it was so, so, SO good to climb something easy and well within my ability. None of this 185' 5.terrifying+ bullshit that's full of cacti, rats, and dead things. I had confidence in myself and my placements. Confidence! SO good! I understand the value of pushing myself, but you can only push for so long. Sometimes a bit of celebration is in order.

On another note, I'm finally making art again. It took a while to clean out my studio (it's amazing how much trash will accumulate in the basement over the course of two years) and reclaim the space again.The creative mind is a muscle that needs to be worked and I will be the first to admit my creative mind is out of shape. After some reflection and marks that look like chicken scratches, I have ideas for paintings. Not just one piece, but many! It's as if after all this time the dam has finally broken and my creative energy is flowing again. It's overflowing in a way, but it's exhilarating to be constantly inspired for the first time in ages.

 Also, it's fun to spend time with Ollie. She's been making progress as well and is becoming a very, very good girl

The Best of Me

I led a 5.10c yesterday, that's a new personal best.


I am really proud of myself. In the midst of one of the darkest periods I've experienced it is wonderful to have a marker for positive growth.

This morning I woke up to another school-related nightmare. An hour before my alarm was set to go off I was wide awake with an elevated body temperature and heart rate. I couldn't go back to sleep and spent the predawn hours paralyzed in fear with a mind that would not settle. The panic attacks have been getting worse, and are now daily occurrences. Nightmare frequency has increased to about three times per week.

It's absolutely miserable.

Therapy and medication are helping but they are not quick fixes to a systemic problem. At this point, melancholy has become the new normal and I'm fucking tired of it.

Interestingly enough, accepting that my new normal is a depressed state has allowed me some freedom to actually progress. I would constantly beat myself up for not being happy, confident, mentally sharp, able to find the right words to say, and for not being able to "snap out of it" or "push through it" as I've so often been told to do.

I've stopped fighting the depression, I accept it, and work to turn my focus to the things I love. Accepting the depression allows me to stop worrying about so much-- it's still there, but I'm not actively trying to fight it anymore.

After months of being stuck, my climbing has suddenly improved. A period of stagnation that began in November may be over. For the first time since Jasper died, climbing was really fun for me. I felt strong and confident. Self doubt and fear were not emotions of mine. Every movement was within my ability and strength. I was in control of myself and solid. It felt great!

The months I was slumming it on top rope and bouldering actually paid off. Sure, I was climbing under my limit and was generally unhappy, but I was still consistent about getting into the gym and that allowed me to build a stronger base. Removing the mental block allowed me to celebrate my strength and ability.

It felt really, really great. It was nice to feel happy and confident for a day.

No one wants to wake up terrified in a full-on adrenaline response, it can ruin your entire day. Unless you have fresh awesome memories of a great climbing session that to replace the fear.

Celebrate when you can.

You can't hold on forever.

I used to feel so invincible.

Depression is horrible. It's crippling and it's humiliating and well-intentioned people who have never experienced it will tell you to "just snap out of it". People who love you, or who you consider friends, or anyone you make the mistake of confiding in, will tell you that you just have to push harder and it'll get better, it can't be that bad after all.

It becomes a horrible secret you carry alone when those closest to you refuse to acknowledge that it's real. The more you're told to just snap out of it and fail, you begin to create a self-fulfilling loop in your mind and the depression gains more mental traction. When those closest to you devalue your experience but the feelings you are experiencing are completely real, the natural reaction is to doubt yourself further. If your mother tells you to just push through it, or your dad says he "can't understand why anyone would need to see a therapist", or a well-meaning friend tells you to "just choose to be happy" and you simply can't, the depression becomes stronger.

You learn to stop asking for help, to stop talking about it, to stop seeking social interaction. You are afraid to be doubted and questioned by any more of the people close to you and so you avoid your friends. You avoid going out because there are other people you would have to talk to. The pain of the past merges with the daily pain and that is made stronger by the all-powerful fear of the future and you go to extreme lengths to limit all pain.

You hurt less if you stay somewhere safe, if you hide, if you run away. Your bed becomes a prison, because it's the safest place for you to be. Simple things like paying your bills on time, doing laundry, brushing your hair to look presentable become monumental challenges. There's no point to do any of it. You don't remember to eat food or drink water.

You hit the snooze button and wake up three hours later. It's a good day when you get out of bed before noon, and if you're dressed with brushed hair and a fed dog that is a true miracle. You avoid mirrors because your reflection haunts you.

Sometimes you remember what it felt like to be happy.

Your brain is rewiring itself to minimize the pain and you're not sure what version of yourself you'll wake up in the morning.

2015 By the Numbers and goals for 2016

Bodyweight: 136-128 lbs

Total number of sport climbs led in 2015: 63

Total number of trad climbs led in 2015: 12

Total number of pitches climbed outside in 2015: about 190

Hardest sport climb led in 2015: 5 continuous pitches (500') of 5.9

Hardest trad climb led in 2015: 185' of 5.7

Hardest indoor gym lead without a take or pause: 5.10

Hardest top rope climb completed in 2015: 5.11c

Ability to climb 1000' feet indoors on top rope climbs rated 5.10 or below in one day

Number of mountains summited: five

Mt St Helens (2x)

Mt Hood

Mt Thielsen

Mt Baker

Alpine Leads: 3

Alpine Attempts: 10

Goals for 2016

Gain confidence, speed, and technical proficiency to efficiently swing leads on larger moderate sport/easy trad routes.

Drop another pound or 5, develop legit stretching/antagonist muscle training plan, stay consistent with strength training, begin finger strengthening summer/fall 2016.

Climbing goals for 2016:

Moscow - 5.6 trad - 3 pitches, 300'

Monkey Face - Pioneer Route - 5.7/A0 - 3 pitches, 250'

Wherever I May Roam - 5.9, Sport - 5 pitches, 400'

Dirty Pinkos - 5.9+, Sport - 4 pitches

Prime Rib of Goat - 5.9- sport - 11 pitches, 1300'

Mt St Helens - get Ben on some snow

Mt Hood - because it's there

Unicorn Peak - pleasant snow and alpine rock warm up for the season

Three Fingered Jack - Ben, Dave, and I have been talking about this one for a while now but the weather hasn't cooperated with us yet.

Sahale - I'd like to lead this

South Sister - Get Ollie up her first mountain! Possibly bivy at summit to watch meteor shower 

**Spend at least two weekends on lazy backpack trips with friends and dog.

Mazama climbs - if they'll take me! Rainier (Emmons), Forbidden Peak, Eldarado Peak.

Well, that's about 14 weeks of adventures lined up, better get to it.