tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31408909876768300232024-02-20T23:07:08.387-08:00KigsblogClimbing Tales from the Kigluaik Mountainsallapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-54508666332419775482022-12-31T17:50:00.003-08:002022-12-31T17:54:52.356-08:00Four Peaks Showcase<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfF1C6AV-kE3VZo4lbWrVzvLTXKS_2Y9l9-EscQhwrwXwVgb8mCNQk9_xIHKfp4WScULylQMH2kjLRaxM8DqwzfcYzCMJi1bXeOdgRPzn5_zydkADEwNP85GRWaBGpUFEN9w_rtgZ6X70G5cQFiKDT3MgydOad4iOPcMM7RyqwOfOaZf5sc5HPPCDFVA/w640-h480/Pen%20Tri%20Cwm%20West%20Face.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Cloud dapples West Face of Pen Tri Cwm (Pk. 3600+), the first of our four showcase peaks in this post. The orogeny of the Kigs can be read in the clash between the layers: meta-sedimentary paragneiss on top catching a ride on a cudgel of meta-igneous orthogneiss busting up from underneath through a brown lith of schist. The <a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/60ac7fe0579d193db1877bd8/t/61e533d4e8f08e6ac34daec8/1642410968435/SCREE_05-2007.pdf">Anchorage guys of '96</a> climbed and named Pen Tri Cwm (from Welsh, "Facing Three Valleys") and piled a big cairn on top. Allapa and Phil Hofstetter climbed it around '03 on a drunken Autumn weekend in which we forgot our coats and slept in the open with one side accumulating snow. This soaring chunk of choss dominates the Sinuk drainage. </span> <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Blog-lag: 2.3 years (new Kigsblog maximum)</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> <span> </span></span><span>The testosterone dropped. The fire in the belly cooled. Too many chicken-outs accrued. My climbing license got revoked in Kigs-court. It was the beginning of my Great Decline, the one Bachar tried to climb his way through. But my throbber of life realization had not fully loaded as of the summer of 2020, the time of the trip in this post. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> <span> </span></span>The GLUE OF TOWN thickened. Bearanoia held me fast. The Kigs lay far away. My dog had gotten mauled by mosquitoes. I dreaded being out there in the veldt, alone, with that Timothy Treadwell feeling. The current wave of skiers and climbers here in Nome at the time of this writing had not yet arrived in Nome. I called up Rick.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: large;"> <span> </span>"Vertigo," he admitted. "I don't want to go on the steep stuff. But I'd be happy to go for a hike."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: large;"><span> Little did I understand, it was the same vertigo that was even then twining its fibers through my own nervous system. I decided to violate the Prime Directive. I agreed to a mere hiking trip. I would allow myself to be reduced to backpacker level, a Colin Fletcher charlatan. But just to hedge my shame, I hid crampons, helmets, Cobras, TC Pros, and chalk-bags in my backpack. fancying I could creep away and solo a major new route of the Kigs like some kind of choss Henry Barber. </span></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxn5tSBcVrzvbKL62WnsrpO6C6IaS21ArUyJWy_IYQiFfi2iRiLorQ71Aykn9J7fnqtBWEsYuzDI7hXsy6dkJ9c1AX3N7Si7nPsg40jOZyDMpCawqoSrR9NrDlVATEQfvRq5Uy26UAJokIwYzuwnIuECv3WzdN_BZ6IrjaqhbGmR3NYmYkpAqWkhROIQ/w640-h480/Grand%20Central%20steam%20shovel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">"Johnson suppressed a giggle each time he passed the fallen steam-shovel. Leaving it up on the High Line in the Fall had been McPherson's idea. Truth was, they had all been drunk. Things were falling apart late in the season. They had left things where they lay to get to the last train. Johnson's last look at the steam shovel showed it standing tall in direct alignment with a major gully on the hillside above. <i>Es wird night schafft</i> thought Johnson, but kept it to himself. The shovel looked so pathetic now, like a sad, swatted insect, sad and pathetic, like the whole Wild Goose Pipeline operation." </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span>My metabolism had slowed without my knowing it. I kept on eating prodigiously. I wondered why I was so weak at the boulders. I no longer seemed able to crank 5.10. "Write it off to age," I guessed. Later, weighing sacks for another trip, I stepped on the scale. I wasn't weak. I was fat! My father warned me this precise boiling of the frog would happen. But I hadn't fully figured out the riddle as I embarked with Rick, and two more friends, on that expedition in the summer of 2020.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6H3GyzbEpC7AFgMtEZGKHuYJ2tV4_CHXHNHZPvlh6OTSfzI2nwO4Qqj5wkPl3R36YCnucjovKY4V30AaYcik7D8ySf6Xcc2LhF99unXM39YTrZhMhPg9pyizQ-dpuWB5swtAmSvqxGgf-Aoo-WmbpXGuSUIxzA9HB7348MTtsjIo187V8wuSlxrctA/w640-h480/Pk%203050+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Hang a left up the West Fork of Grand Central and this peak, Peak 3050+, draws the eye. "Siutik" (A Pair of Ears) has a nice Distant Time vibe, though I've had difficulty hearing the name being whispered by this one. The deep cleft between the ears forms a prominent snaking couloir that Mikey Lean and I boot-packed, and down-boot-packed, in the early two-thousands. The last two pitches to the summit felt exposed after the deep confines of the couloir. Who will be the first to ski the Z-Couloir?</span> </td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEg_4ZxiE1_ClHoRVLzu2sMvpD75YUHHtmgP0ZbaiXYEwfJejryYGWYe9IGRCv1pve6ubM2T6HNN-JbDvOG0Zny8llg4TP1lQye2X6hiTJJM2odMKA4ERrkNtJ1NBtyJA2sZiESsRyMYHgJnv0rqzge8Q_eqV7Lo-vQ3v4pKIlKjg20Aiu_es4Z9z9A/w640-h480/Z-Couloir%20Pk.%203050+jpg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">The Z-Couloir on Siutik</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEg_4ZxiE1_ClHoRVLzu2sMvpD75YUHHtmgP0ZbaiXYEwfJejryYGWYe9IGRCv1pve6ubM2T6HNN-JbDvOG0Zny8llg4TP1lQye2X6hiTJJM2odMKA4ERrkNtJ1NBtyJA2sZiESsRyMYHgJnv0rqzge8Q_eqV7Lo-vQ3v4pKIlKjg20Aiu_es4Z9z9A/s4032/Z-Couloir%20Pk.%203050+jpg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> <span> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">I found myself matched against three gazelles. Rick had hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in a faster time than Eric Ryback himself. Connor is an unsung legend who runs miles on the lonely Kougarak Road all seasons. Maisie was competing in cross-country at Whitman.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: large;"> <span> I pulled both hamstring muscles badly in the first thirty feet of walking. My pack was festooned with superfluous climbing gear. The muck underfoot was thick in Grand Central. No overarching climbing goal loomed like a beacon. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOTTyOGPZlFIi8MoP-0PDFc_Oos4iQnc8g6paaZwSF5OAlf8NW2I00zFi0wnD6yUCK4RkB9PUvTpIxn4h7mrN_xb6MaKJTPOvOwXEoJc9hj3z3m5jc_IeXaGvNc5EyQb-345IUXTHBkKmCASpE9rKcNRBkVuvjaEHGENk2kUTu0_1jLray45Oq3QPlg/s4032/Pen%20Tri%20Cwm%20from%20north.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOTTyOGPZlFIi8MoP-0PDFc_Oos4iQnc8g6paaZwSF5OAlf8NW2I00zFi0wnD6yUCK4RkB9PUvTpIxn4h7mrN_xb6MaKJTPOvOwXEoJc9hj3z3m5jc_IeXaGvNc5EyQb-345IUXTHBkKmCASpE9rKcNRBkVuvjaEHGENk2kUTu0_1jLray45Oq3QPlg/w640-h480/Pen%20Tri%20Cwm%20from%20north.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">North Ridge of Pen Tri Cwm, looking west from West Fork Grand Central. The pass between Grand Central and Windy is all the way to the right in this photo. We detected elevated levels of PHI energy at the pass, indicating it is most likely a long-used travel corridor.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span><span> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Not many passes cross the eighty mile spine of the Kigluait Mountains. The north side of the range tends to be a hideous drop-off. Mosquito Pass is the only pass with a name on the map. The Class 2 pass connecting Windy Creek to the West Fork of Grand Central counts as one of the major passes of the Kigs. Peaks have whispered their names to me before, but no passes have ever done so. Can the lost Iñupiaq name of a natural feature be derived from clues in the landscape? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>Once before, in residence at the Crater Lake Institute, I had skied over the Windy/Grand Central pass. To I looked forward to hiking it in summer. But already, my legs were shot. I couldn't keep up with the others. I was old and overweight. If I had been solo, I would have declared Day 2 a rest day. But I was harnessed to a group of Thru-Hikers, two of whom were older than I!</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRqNqGOn4K_VSRcPi-EREamuHuzn3sdx_7M85FyAwKe9Ht8-IHigVLRv1OfGHJrMng1xCgCKGH_kbHbI5smhYcnpnws_vYka0AlY3wP3IYYVlCevWdWvRms4x9V8fi1Autwx0gcNsexDv8Q77stNDfheyzYBWyRtddifAfPuptgaSTsoXmuxi6M0pkQ/s4032/Kirgavik%20Peak.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRqNqGOn4K_VSRcPi-EREamuHuzn3sdx_7M85FyAwKe9Ht8-IHigVLRv1OfGHJrMng1xCgCKGH_kbHbI5smhYcnpnws_vYka0AlY3wP3IYYVlCevWdWvRms4x9V8fi1Autwx0gcNsexDv8Q77stNDfheyzYBWyRtddifAfPuptgaSTsoXmuxi6M0pkQ/w640-h480/Kirgavik%20Peak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">"Falcon Killer" is our third showcase peak. Its allure only holds when viewed from the north from upper Windy, as in this photo. From the other side it presents as merely a series of tors on a ridge. There's no hint of this fearsome precipice lurking on the north. I soloed each of these tors one marvelous summer day. The high point was a fifty-foot 5.6 solo. At the crux, a Peregrine Falcon tried to murder me. <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/12/falcon-killer-buttress.html">(story here)</a> I don't like it when people name mountains after their personal experiences. Still, I took to calling it "Falcon Murderer Peak. " Kigs-law required me to translate the name to Iñupiaq, which results in <i>Kirgavik Inuaqti</i>. All these syllables have proved unwieldy. Perhaps shortening it to <i>Kirgavik— </i>"Falcon"— would be appropriate. On several occasions with various partners I have visited the lower buttresses and done some one-pitch routes on rock that varied from "decent granite" to "death <span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">choss." The bird-shaped white scar in the middle of the face is one godawful scar. Only choss lovers need apply.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table> <span> </span>If there is to be a PCT of the Kigs, then upper Windy Creek should be part of it. Ancient lateral moraines offer wide parkways good for walking. An ancient rock-slide crossing the whole valley is re-vegetated into a bouldering paradise. The "Two Hundred Year Old Rockfall" is the primo spot to be in these mountains. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> On Day 2, Connor and Maisie came about into the GLUE and ran for town. Rick and I continued in the direction of Mosquito Pass. We were going to traverse the whole range into Glacial Lake and hike out to the Teller Road.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span> "I can't do it," I regretted to inform Rick. "My legs are shot." </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span> </span>Or was I trying to hot-henry Rick? So we would stop hiking, and I could do some climbing? Sadly, no— my legs were actually shot. A rest day at Mosquito Pass Wall was in order. We hiked a few hundred feet up some moraines from Mosquito Pass and made camp by a tarn in the caldera.</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt1JHViygjt85gTfBl0JQXWZQmeYnHXqfja4e1A5dqXOHFdJpC4WrUUkXIb9ibakp6jhLYpc4zHl03GKtjxZqfkN00C2vYOPvqv4hC97bYn6vwQfhcuhqtZqo6eLG8l896MvoQPZK__nSkInO8EkykN2Nlxx4WNpKUDKKnv3ppnXYC827pQnFFxAOng/s4032/Mosquito%20Pass%20Wall%20Hidden%20Couloir.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt1JHViygjt85gTfBl0JQXWZQmeYnHXqfja4e1A5dqXOHFdJpC4WrUUkXIb9ibakp6jhLYpc4zHl03GKtjxZqfkN00C2vYOPvqv4hC97bYn6vwQfhcuhqtZqo6eLG8l896MvoQPZK__nSkInO8EkykN2Nlxx4WNpKUDKKnv3ppnXYC827pQnFFxAOng/w640-h480/Mosquito%20Pass%20Wall%20Hidden%20Couloir.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Our fourth showcase peak is Peak 2911. There must be a name floating out there, but I have not yet encountered it. I refer to it simply as "Mosquito Pass Wall." The red arrow shows the "Hidden Couloir" climbed by Collins and me on a day so frigid that I still thank the snow-machine gods for allowing our machines to start when the climb was done. Probably the Graphite Road will go right by this scarp. There will be a tourist pull-out complete with port-a-potty where we will be able to get out and view the mountain. A climbing guidebook will list many routes visible in this picture. Dark, shadowy, and foreboding, even on a sunny day, this cirque has a gothic feel that will make people want to get back in their car and drive on. </span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78GRqVYYHpvUXRIpDhfVjnKKBU2Kvy0YmF_Al-viqG9KOzS9OxdO4pSrToljXN1Pr9MZ2c3wTA9M9VASz0oI3UBGAqqpybprU8hKPhWY5O90Cgv-bXwqZxruzuHSWMhfvf7R-DWsQvdouf_U8SrSWpQYJ7hW6iU5LONWKM6r2yTwssjapn8ZXYPVvpQ/s4032/Mosquito%20Pass%20Wall%20Apron.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78GRqVYYHpvUXRIpDhfVjnKKBU2Kvy0YmF_Al-viqG9KOzS9OxdO4pSrToljXN1Pr9MZ2c3wTA9M9VASz0oI3UBGAqqpybprU8hKPhWY5O90Cgv-bXwqZxruzuHSWMhfvf7R-DWsQvdouf_U8SrSWpQYJ7hW6iU5LONWKM6r2yTwssjapn8ZXYPVvpQ/w640-h480/Mosquito%20Pass%20Wall%20Apron.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">This is the "Apron" of Mosquito Pass Wall. The East Ridge there is a fine Class 2 jaunt to the summit of Peak 2911.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span> </span>It's not actually a caldera. It's just a very round glacial cirque. The Mosquito Pass Wall gets photographed often enough that it has become the iconic scarp of the Kigs. Rick and I spent a nice day there exploring. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span> Years ago, o</span>n a fantabulously cold day in mid-Winter, Collins and I did a nice Scottish couloir hidden in the bowels of this wall. The couloir was about ten feet wide and ten feet deep. I placed a little pro on the sides as we simul-climbed, stemming on the sides and kicking steps in the hard-packed snow. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly, I realized this couloir was not <i>ten</i> feet deep. It was probably over a <i>hundred</i> feet deep. It was a "chasm," a common feature in the Kigs, a deep slot traveling into the mountain. completely plugged with snow. We were suspended by snow over a giant crack. I wanted to investigate this theory on the 2020 trip, but I was too lazy to scramble back up there. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFUnCKXOXSY-x_ID4KGyc_uWqmrXENqOmXJEIiNuJsb0oORt_AHkfSLrQmoqoMYdsPGz3DBMQ51fCZSj8xZeGGRQcA7UTqXTlp7mIlkOmcCVanJktM0RT4E1h-7TXao_Wlx8LkklZxz-ZxXNcHUqjUI-kAh7sVcE1yE6Z4w7XT2h-fgtEv3gTK9Jmmg/s1894/Grand%20Central:Windy%20Pass%20map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="1894" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFUnCKXOXSY-x_ID4KGyc_uWqmrXENqOmXJEIiNuJsb0oORt_AHkfSLrQmoqoMYdsPGz3DBMQ51fCZSj8xZeGGRQcA7UTqXTlp7mIlkOmcCVanJktM0RT4E1h-7TXao_Wlx8LkklZxz-ZxXNcHUqjUI-kAh7sVcE1yE6Z4w7XT2h-fgtEv3gTK9Jmmg/w640-h396/Grand%20Central:Windy%20Pass%20map.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">The map for this post shows our four showcase peaks, plus the hiking route done by Rick and Allapa over four days in the Summer of '22. It is officially a source of shame that none of these peaks were directly grappled with. These mountains were merely observed from the valley floor. I was in violation of the Prime Directive, Thou Shalt Climb. Only through controversial legislation in Kigs-court was I even allowed to make this post. It is worth noting that Sinuk to Grand Central and Buffalo to Grand Central are a no-go for a backpacker or <span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">snow-machiner. </span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv4Zb58MjgzPt2-4jc4BFSkgI2nUYjvpjSBH9N5xjMq3SvnWk_H4wsAqjmCFfRifMEWzdtNi3WTwl8WsRLKAqb873i_lKvZJVOwgv2TpzBr_oCfH7Fc2d6eNp8oGvZhpZmramcd5MmbB3K85hcQCxuCgQVCZXCH1pyiu8zQyZYbzw33bOS-zIxHFkEQ/s4032/Two%20Hundred%20Year%20Old%20Rockfall-%20the%20Flame.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv4Zb58MjgzPt2-4jc4BFSkgI2nUYjvpjSBH9N5xjMq3SvnWk_H4wsAqjmCFfRifMEWzdtNi3WTwl8WsRLKAqb873i_lKvZJVOwgv2TpzBr_oCfH7Fc2d6eNp8oGvZhpZmramcd5MmbB3K85hcQCxuCgQVCZXCH1pyiu8zQyZYbzw33bOS-zIxHFkEQ/w300-h400/Two%20Hundred%20Year%20Old%20Rockfall-%20the%20Flame.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">"The Flame," one of the choicer selections<br />at the Two Hundred Year Old Rockfall.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTS2byoMSKQIp3np5vkvFmi7d2kO_iqhwR6kQZORS4bcQU78teO9hdVl85z9n9TgiA7vUnvR0DiaA866VeR8o5MLqHhgx6Hmc2ZSlaP6jsvYibpEGqzYBSJpaxutcGVA_EU7Ea-55IJsVhJn7UqcsijDkBcfopZOa3UcbZWNM89iGoyetHQYcp6qJHCw/s4032/allapa%20in%20Windy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTS2byoMSKQIp3np5vkvFmi7d2kO_iqhwR6kQZORS4bcQU78teO9hdVl85z9n9TgiA7vUnvR0DiaA866VeR8o5MLqHhgx6Hmc2ZSlaP6jsvYibpEGqzYBSJpaxutcGVA_EU7Ea-55IJsVhJn7UqcsijDkBcfopZOa3UcbZWNM89iGoyetHQYcp6qJHCw/w640-h480/allapa%20in%20Windy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Author, looking up Windy Creek, with Pen Tri Cwm in background</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-78499126381374313042022-07-06T19:26:00.010-07:002024-02-03T15:44:44.075-08:00Winter Palimpsest<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to the third and final post to employ "seasonal compositing," a chronology-folding algorithm used to resolve the substantial accumulations of BLOG LAG built up within the seasonal cycle of Kigsblog over several years. Like stars in a constellation, the images in this post may appear adjacent though situated at differing distances from the observer. Here are links to the inner transects: </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2020/06/fall-bouldering-interferometer.html">Fall Bouldering Interferometer</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2021/03/early-winter-superposition.html"><span style="color: #674ea7;">Early Winter Superposition</span></a> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Outer Nick Band</b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> From the huge snow year of 2018, this flotsam dates back to the great days of the Nick Treinen era.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='357' height='297' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyFigdrWncec257jHMV1ww61PTSBXBfolmmJ4jFKJ6zUyLyoghgbVvRUHu0ywkeDbw0XL5Jyeaop6g-LEltLQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">VIDEO: </span>Wait for it... the awesome "Western Cwm" of Mt. Osborn (Ooquienuhk).<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dybpS80CKcP8yDY-T-5MNehdfTr_UXxnM7TsfyaPLraCJ6_Hjv44keao13XYr0WxEE7aYYFwxaOFi_x6MnLvA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">VIDEO: Nick is skiing straight down V-boulder problems on King Mountain buried by the great snows of 2018.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg72BFWBmkwCwllk_0qJlvPpJaNQUOrULZyTDgIML_6z_fsTA5KNH6X2gR61XqTmXSDNdAfvJsdDCxsfmd0ZOY_n8Bm5u1uoA_C2bkb4qby7c2TdbvpQcAyDu0hlidTM3xvJ8KfjvGl-gEo6Ma6fVh3LlX339V6jpFWjLeuF9LnHJME_6Us9x7bOLwgtw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg72BFWBmkwCwllk_0qJlvPpJaNQUOrULZyTDgIML_6z_fsTA5KNH6X2gR61XqTmXSDNdAfvJsdDCxsfmd0ZOY_n8Bm5u1uoA_C2bkb4qby7c2TdbvpQcAyDu0hlidTM3xvJ8KfjvGl-gEo6Ma6fVh3LlX339V6jpFWjLeuF9LnHJME_6Us9x7bOLwgtw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice ski tour along the ridge north of King Mountain.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYmomckBVAWKaifpZ5yCJWBM8yk0FarebqlBsb15jij6ffYdkTiX44Vm7nMju5RG-ry54D8UcMpOciY3VK9E3l35yjnmolKXFDOwoThWgDTpPlnaqhIqOFo0taCIxjxhVbHlKqLHf-yjbmZTPPIjprpGcv48fbIcUSggG1cH7wtJLxunB-pPS9GeCUA/s4032/driveway%202022.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYmomckBVAWKaifpZ5yCJWBM8yk0FarebqlBsb15jij6ffYdkTiX44Vm7nMju5RG-ry54D8UcMpOciY3VK9E3l35yjnmolKXFDOwoThWgDTpPlnaqhIqOFo0taCIxjxhVbHlKqLHf-yjbmZTPPIjprpGcv48fbIcUSggG1cH7wtJLxunB-pPS9GeCUA/s320/driveway%202022.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My driveway 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><u><br /></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsOxf9tMyDkHNhXEd7mHlqi5SlkD7eFV7dQK2v6LzT9dNoiRxeY7S_Vgr1yhRLLiXBMhG3JeGo6AIBUxzpPTcnJnZ6Hv_FPPIpK7scBpOLOuFMsAFw8nceR3A43rrxXioMDzq6oK4G5XuAU4vgrE2TY7gpYog1KHe6FaWSC8DmnDnQ2iGaSkmfgHHOQ/s4032/king%20mt%20ridge%20tour.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsOxf9tMyDkHNhXEd7mHlqi5SlkD7eFV7dQK2v6LzT9dNoiRxeY7S_Vgr1yhRLLiXBMhG3JeGo6AIBUxzpPTcnJnZ6Hv_FPPIpK7scBpOLOuFMsAFw8nceR3A43rrxXioMDzq6oK4G5XuAU4vgrE2TY7gpYog1KHe6FaWSC8DmnDnQ2iGaSkmfgHHOQ/s320/king%20mt%20ridge%20tour.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Nick</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><u><br /></u></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Near Pane of Freezing Rain</b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: medium;"> <span> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;">Winter of 2022, Nome received the best shellacking I have seen in 22 years of living here. We emerged Christmas morning to discover that Whoville had been zambonied while we slept. Everything, the horizontal surfaces as well as the vertical, had been shrink-wrapped with a 2 to 3 centimeter veneer of prime </span><i style="text-align: left;">verglas </i><span style="text-align: left;">ice</span><span style="text-align: left;">. The whole world had been transformed into one big ice climb. These life-as-ice-climb conditions lasted well into March and the whole town had to wear spikes. I spent many hours hanging out at the "Mud Mounds," the tailings piles at the base of Anvil Mountain that are worked and sculptured by giant machines in the summer months, and form an excellent ice climbing playground in the Fall and Winter that you can drive right into and use your car as a warming hut. In a year with the right conditions and the right diggings, the dirt cliffs make a good ice climbing surrogate where you can practice technique. But in a year that gets a good shellacking, like this previous winter, you could hardly design a better ice park. Good times with friends in the dim light of Winter.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRwNsU_e5-ZtynYF46x19ivkPRG4fRvgr1jBBqQ35CV7d6N01x8juKiRYSDrYnTm7f65Tp8Db67vXAx36ro8yJxsLj5uratbmdcu4JYtlFTDd9e9ZQnHdNDDu9uaa5e7Qz5h6EGiXAkIVhCO1Q6_BXznrMv5GDDMrZYizvfnuZM7L9mySwydjSxKHh7A=s1024" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRwNsU_e5-ZtynYF46x19ivkPRG4fRvgr1jBBqQ35CV7d6N01x8juKiRYSDrYnTm7f65Tp8Db67vXAx36ro8yJxsLj5uratbmdcu4JYtlFTDd9e9ZQnHdNDDu9uaa5e7Qz5h6EGiXAkIVhCO1Q6_BXznrMv5GDDMrZYizvfnuZM7L9mySwydjSxKHh7A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben and Calvin are having fun up on King Mountain after the Great Freezing Rain Event of '21/'22</td></tr></tbody></table></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZhRkc9M4GfL8kq00XSeL1f6aJNuwELhHfuZhMiIWKXi8JhTN_fykF1BUkSVyyVVv83JjS1ex4rWZyz57bDC6xBcCQm5rlWW--Qia-gG9vk0tYDQbYiw9ELML3ErnLGc-7BsB-1K70h9YLukeZH03pd4yriXwIhdv0uVizJ7zaeJu-koU0f54Ptrh1DA=s4032" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZhRkc9M4GfL8kq00XSeL1f6aJNuwELhHfuZhMiIWKXi8JhTN_fykF1BUkSVyyVVv83JjS1ex4rWZyz57bDC6xBcCQm5rlWW--Qia-gG9vk0tYDQbYiw9ELML3ErnLGc-7BsB-1K70h9YLukeZH03pd4yriXwIhdv0uVizJ7zaeJu-koU0f54Ptrh1DA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben on the Limestone Band at Anvil Mountain.<br />The finest shellac ever!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZhRkc9M4GfL8kq00XSeL1f6aJNuwELhHfuZhMiIWKXi8JhTN_fykF1BUkSVyyVVv83JjS1ex4rWZyz57bDC6xBcCQm5rlWW--Qia-gG9vk0tYDQbYiw9ELML3ErnLGc-7BsB-1K70h9YLukeZH03pd4yriXwIhdv0uVizJ7zaeJu-koU0f54Ptrh1DA=s4032" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUYmvuChWPqMvrZx93xZ047bcUWXv3htOtzBHc_gvI5p8x5WEKRJgQOTjmFPLOp8Uo8FGzdx3l6xhMD32n4caOtqkGaOrS_Z_l8V8bSFYEEXEhwo8EfbQwsiK7gNQxZ4CUaeM-I3RI2IY3UhtisQZhr4C_68BxVdd3Jfx4IKdB5Qlh204k-G-xGP0V9w=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUYmvuChWPqMvrZx93xZ047bcUWXv3htOtzBHc_gvI5p8x5WEKRJgQOTjmFPLOp8Uo8FGzdx3l6xhMD32n4caOtqkGaOrS_Z_l8V8bSFYEEXEhwo8EfbQwsiK7gNQxZ4CUaeM-I3RI2IY3UhtisQZhr4C_68BxVdd3Jfx4IKdB5Qlh204k-G-xGP0V9w=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben down in the Anvil Mud Mounds on the <br />"Crook Wall." This sliver of frozen mud glazed <br />with ice became the go-to practice area for aspiring<br />mud climbers.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">s</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='434' height='361' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dywj78Uin6GUT20rYXa62REA-Wx6VGkdMPdJuB82fgdcsYpW0QURoQWWF4eTCLzPkkA_2844U9PypMlOs1ljw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">VIDEO: Ben remains poised at top-out on Crook Wall. Mud Climbing is brutish. You swing your blunted tools hard as you can trying for penetration. But the introduction of the shellac made mud a more delicate game requiring sharpened tools and precise swings.</div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124; margin-bottom: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i></i></b></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihlyFQvtW5RHl2tRboMQnXvvSF213mkW5XhshfzczqcFtsMJiA4gY3KjfWOClKAnIduVeASc2lruALCYZwO07_C1rjCmxLuP7pWI9hovondMRXfEDCuQ_hMZHjWARG1xvMxVa0VRTM4JJiXmuN8etliM7ge6u83EofSStxX-mz__AEtHF6HqB_6zINfw=s4032" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihlyFQvtW5RHl2tRboMQnXvvSF213mkW5XhshfzczqcFtsMJiA4gY3KjfWOClKAnIduVeASc2lruALCYZwO07_C1rjCmxLuP7pWI9hovondMRXfEDCuQ_hMZHjWARG1xvMxVa0VRTM4JJiXmuN8etliM7ge6u83EofSStxX-mz__AEtHF6HqB_6zINfw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">THE TALE OF THE TRANSIENT GORGE: Neither my dog,</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Lucy</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>, nor the Miocene Canyon behind her were fated to live many days past this picture, taken in late Fall before the Christmas Ice. A tribute to Lucy, all-time Kigs-dog, we will save for some other caption. This one holds the crazy tale of the <u>Miocene Mud Gorge</u> that existed at the base of Anvil Mountain for a few days in October of 2021. The miners really wanted to dig up this hillside, even though it delves disturbingly close to the town's drinking water aquifer, and the city of course said yes. I walked up on Anvil in the Fall looking for some frozen mud to climb and found this freshly-dug gorge, still steaming with newly-exposed metamorphic rock and silt from the bowels of the earth. The walls were forty feet high in some places— a mud climbing treasure vault! Only problem was, the temperature was too warm that day. The bottom of this crumbling, sloughing, hideous gorge was no place to be. I longed to sink first tool and grapple with the ancient mud, and vowed to return with rope and rebar as soon as the temperature dipped, but a trip to California intervened. When finally I returned a week later, something felt off. The gorge had disappeared! Filled in. I guess there must not have been any gold down there.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7tjTn9Lb0aZaD4ul95QcKrZ2LWyXBcd5rt31oYLoUWR6-_pDJLyZQDBly3mkL49ZGOCMVJCcv1RtsUoRPkN8wsuR6D6aN8HqiQGCv1M_wWzvDFNQ8U-ipnfyePVsRt9lO1CX4xjJTXZTb0ynk4vvqpbO9JUrYshmox0RR0-KiTUWttCCB5s5hGkOJw/s4032/anvil%20mountain%20gold%20mining%20dig.jpeg" style="display: inline; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7tjTn9Lb0aZaD4ul95QcKrZ2LWyXBcd5rt31oYLoUWR6-_pDJLyZQDBly3mkL49ZGOCMVJCcv1RtsUoRPkN8wsuR6D6aN8HqiQGCv1M_wWzvDFNQ8U-ipnfyePVsRt9lO1CX4xjJTXZTb0ynk4vvqpbO9JUrYshmox0RR0-KiTUWttCCB5s5hGkOJw/w640-h480/anvil%20mountain%20gold%20mining%20dig.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This alluring twenty foot piece of choss saw the light of the late Holocene for a few days before the same agents of the Anthropocene that had uncovered it with their gigantic machines returned to thrust it back into darkness. The choss waits underground. No animating force of mud climbers will ever visit it again. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-T5bsT8lajrYyuFczGbU6d7vTTWc-dS2BC8X7b-_bIhyw0ilFTnn6d-A_Gi0e3wiq77czZsEjH9aS5IJNCnphxty5__oiXwhS2J4N3HT-ETP88Pfbh6N0gnr6Ky78oOp7RvUM5e7-WF_g0aWg1fdcKwVJe-x7YgKhd5it-xbt-piHEyKXYPIjksOXw/s4032/anvil%20mountain%20pomrenke%20digs.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-T5bsT8lajrYyuFczGbU6d7vTTWc-dS2BC8X7b-_bIhyw0ilFTnn6d-A_Gi0e3wiq77czZsEjH9aS5IJNCnphxty5__oiXwhS2J4N3HT-ETP88Pfbh6N0gnr6Ky78oOp7RvUM5e7-WF_g0aWg1fdcKwVJe-x7YgKhd5it-xbt-piHEyKXYPIjksOXw/w480-h640/anvil%20mountain%20pomrenke%20digs.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmm, fresh choss right out of the earth.. It's not even rock, not really, but for those few climbers <br />with a taste for the the Mud, this looks tasty. A steady dribble of<br />stone and mud fell from these walls the evening I was there and I dared not linger under them.</td></tr></tbody></table></span><br /><b style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #274e13;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We take what's dead</span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And breathe life in<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And move like knives<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Through scars on land<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Still untouched</span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">No stain of hands<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Caramelized<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In a tilted light<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">No chain stays unbroken</span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">All aims get forgotten</span></i></b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The weight of lead</span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">On floors of sand<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The idea reduced again<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">To outcome<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">No chain stays unbroken</span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">All aims get forgotten </span></i></b><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span face="-webkit-standard, serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><i style="font-style: normal;"> </i>The Kings of Convenience</span></b></p></span></div></b><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: start;"><div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div></div></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Ring of Ayasayuk</b></span></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And here in the layers of the palimpsest, we detect another ring of Ayasayuk, carbon dated to November, 2021. The quarry face, and the path of the flow, remained largely unchanged from the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/3140890987676830023/6031751254811160929">year before</a> or the <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2018/09/ring-of-ayasayuk.html">year before that.</a> Vince and I managed to make a complete ascent of the Diretissima this year, defined as a complete climb of the quarry face up the middle of it in some way from bottom to top, although the Fourth Tier was missing from our climb this year due to inadequate coverage. We sure wanted to get back out to the Cape after the freezing rain event to see how our climb was affected, but the ice itself made the snow-machining conditions weird, not to mention, the ice glued our snow-machines and everything else to the ground.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHdpHXulblOwaAONzKo-uIkf-p-32ORZCXO-kpBXntvlJX1AMjXst2GaaOFZGkAz3N3FG-y3SqYdmtzJrGdT3mWo8wMxD-jboPOybTFyszgKfzVCrC-runopx4OQemTSJ1ppK1bSrJyBz8PX2bbskP6irHgb-kjCIbVLa4kiW0SN5kq3S0lkFUfeloQw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHdpHXulblOwaAONzKo-uIkf-p-32ORZCXO-kpBXntvlJX1AMjXst2GaaOFZGkAz3N3FG-y3SqYdmtzJrGdT3mWo8wMxD-jboPOybTFyszgKfzVCrC-runopx4OQemTSJ1ppK1bSrJyBz8PX2bbskP6irHgb-kjCIbVLa4kiW0SN5kq3S0lkFUfeloQw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up the Third Tier ice. This pitch weighs in at a formidable WI I. I was happy to sew it up because my climber mind has become rotted with paranoia and superfluous fear.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjx7sPVhmxf5nrCD-SFmF44BTrpTTtIUTX32zjZdsKt7Ic7iCdKTaKcbYdXYC_lKmmr_2FrI5UW1KEdAXixPC9J5oRsQwvvPt_PqXFArWp5Axn6cvFIE8V-30b2-5q0_uGaMq9lfo1pnquLPcXOy8KyO75aYTD-QGDMYF5Muvj3fm7JsVMq6NFLZqJtyg=s4032" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Climbing ice at Cape Nome" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjx7sPVhmxf5nrCD-SFmF44BTrpTTtIUTX32zjZdsKt7Ic7iCdKTaKcbYdXYC_lKmmr_2FrI5UW1KEdAXixPC9J5oRsQwvvPt_PqXFArWp5Axn6cvFIE8V-30b2-5q0_uGaMq9lfo1pnquLPcXOy8KyO75aYTD-QGDMYF5Muvj3fm7JsVMq6NFLZqJtyg=w300-h400" title="Cape Nome ice" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down the Third Tier</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbgaVeUyH47kwZ_PPqPCxDVsA96wSiZ0DIw1ypCz5biBGuIAIdb7AZpEKZBSXCUG8wkvZdvjbXZzwNHAgLPo3x583eQpDrkJRUCMHyAWaFHtqZJ9_oVdAi5v6BjQvfuLoJTLpR9NvBgiapHjWIHBuyceg4VkxnEJ9yEFFFVOTUqh_w1rgvWVTeISnUrw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbgaVeUyH47kwZ_PPqPCxDVsA96wSiZ0DIw1ypCz5biBGuIAIdb7AZpEKZBSXCUG8wkvZdvjbXZzwNHAgLPo3x583eQpDrkJRUCMHyAWaFHtqZJ9_oVdAi5v6BjQvfuLoJTLpR9NvBgiapHjWIHBuyceg4VkxnEJ9yEFFFVOTUqh_w1rgvWVTeISnUrw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vince clawing at odd smear on Fourth Tier, the only ice to<br />present up there this year. In other rings of Ayasayuk,<br />the presentation on Fourth Tier ice has been spectacular.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishTAOAHB0hI8UwbFn5Kv-G3ZnDUViM2CWsOMkbRxKeXYIujWv9ZjCnz17xfC3zTO_3PDE_XJvphk9uwJc1w-MoVsCdY4vCzClvqhocJAZE_2bjiAS5aJ39LQF6DKgV0okB25Dk00CRiBfPsyzTwGji1cJGJMoLMczZOGBHO_8zl8uh-WCugGPR4hTFA/s4032/cape%20nome%20ice%202021.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishTAOAHB0hI8UwbFn5Kv-G3ZnDUViM2CWsOMkbRxKeXYIujWv9ZjCnz17xfC3zTO_3PDE_XJvphk9uwJc1w-MoVsCdY4vCzClvqhocJAZE_2bjiAS5aJ39LQF6DKgV0okB25Dk00CRiBfPsyzTwGji1cJGJMoLMczZOGBHO_8zl8uh-WCugGPR4hTFA/w640-h480/cape%20nome%20ice%202021.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Fourth Tier Ayasayuk Quarry, November 2021. That actually represents a rather healthy crop of ice for a ring. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>New Friends Overlay</b></span></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A poignant fact of living in Nome is: friends come, and friends go. The graph showing "Number of Climbing / Skiing Partners Available Per Year" shows a few spikes over the years— I've actually given names to these times when I had someone to climb with, the Mikey Era, the Joni Era, the Drew, the David, the Nick— but in between the spikes lay long, multi-year intervals of partnerless, lonely, solo endeavors. I am happy to say the last couple of years have brought the biggest spike ever, an unprecedented influx of motivated skiers and climbers, cool people, with updated technology and skills, ready to do what it takes to get out there in the hills around Nome four seasons, and willing to investigate some of the more arcane sub-routines of Nome mountaineering such as mud climbing, dry tooling, snow-machine mountaineering, plus mandatory endless boilerplate. The next generation is here. I am so grateful for these new friends. The fat padder, the cowboy, the all-arounder from up the Steese, the home town kid— some have already cycled through and fled the odd, hot little town of Nome, while others remain. One more look at that graph will reveal that I, allapa, have lived through so many Friends/No friends cycles that I am becometh the old dodger. I am doubly grateful to new friends for putting up with my wheezes, dithering, and Alaska Rang PTSD. I simply must purchase new skis with AT rig and tech bindings. Three-pin has gone to the dinosaurs.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuXBvnfV7JDuUaHRoKyOdllQBFgNOUPN9AqBSPbnfcgEAI6iEn5h5L3oAdwphTbAJvsFjn_uYh2Qlec1Q76yfqVMgGeSzOdubmizTsgANy0VdJ--XyL-uiiWVJe6qmVMYxDAEOgwLoM3nfGuZwdfCZjJyuGYTISaXA5HMiu-cSDnP0TyjD2OqGezBOPw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuXBvnfV7JDuUaHRoKyOdllQBFgNOUPN9AqBSPbnfcgEAI6iEn5h5L3oAdwphTbAJvsFjn_uYh2Qlec1Q76yfqVMgGeSzOdubmizTsgANy0VdJ--XyL-uiiWVJe6qmVMYxDAEOgwLoM3nfGuZwdfCZjJyuGYTISaXA5HMiu-cSDnP0TyjD2OqGezBOPw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first of the "digging of the pit" series, this one in Buffalo Creek in January 2021 on a cold, beautiful day with good powder.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF2WhThFKEQo9YAgZN09d14FJQhaK4kaecbwnl6-BYessXBeogG8N_Q4HpkWxYe2StMZu_vOGtb2M4n4DzLviQOrZnCFCgatFTzOfGeNSvrs2F_riJTnx1TN6cuAt8hMnWWYtpoWHPf_8pMaOVZM9xTfI0Z8mfr9GFaq862zdmX7Q-hvd-eezFU1eDVQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF2WhThFKEQo9YAgZN09d14FJQhaK4kaecbwnl6-BYessXBeogG8N_Q4HpkWxYe2StMZu_vOGtb2M4n4DzLviQOrZnCFCgatFTzOfGeNSvrs2F_riJTnx1TN6cuAt8hMnWWYtpoWHPf_8pMaOVZM9xTfI0Z8mfr9GFaq862zdmX7Q-hvd-eezFU1eDVQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At center is Pk. 2162, the highest hill in the Eldorado / Flambeau drainages east of the Kougarak Road. In November of 2020, Keane organized a school-night mass assault on this hill and led us on a fine ride through hill and trough country to reach this hill, Eldorado, my first time up this high point. Clouds, white-out, and darkness intervened between us and home. Our moving string of lights at time doubled back upon itself or went in circles, but all made it to school on time the next morning. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9uXWCuttoqHnwc6LeOs8JRrzbFTbJEPRDbHu51VWBRkBJPQLX9iUNLE1A2yC0tE8HtkzsnJwhrvwdwPgcYRYDRIMC1iLESgDwf__k_iLpR7sXfUbr8_PdPwwiqMnB1nEVh6MayxkGJDpFJAWq35A2hK2fSfZ6U8MioAH1bMS7yWYmVmttO9H6hhLkdw=s1548" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1390" data-original-width="1548" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9uXWCuttoqHnwc6LeOs8JRrzbFTbJEPRDbHu51VWBRkBJPQLX9iUNLE1A2yC0tE8HtkzsnJwhrvwdwPgcYRYDRIMC1iLESgDwf__k_iLpR7sXfUbr8_PdPwwiqMnB1nEVh6MayxkGJDpFJAWq35A2hK2fSfZ6U8MioAH1bMS7yWYmVmttO9H6hhLkdw=w640-h574" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Pk. 2162. Perhaps it warrants inclusion on the"Foothills of the Kigluait" list.<br /><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/06/five-foothill-winter-in-nome.html">Foothills of the Kigluait</a>, Also, <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2017/05/oregon-creek-hill.html">this excellent foothill.</a></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTkF8eZd7cxVJbJWCxp9BzQxpvkklu4UoBHxpyYDsur9oc2nfJEOEf_7KqkFnpyhVjDodtwVA5ONOdh6W9nwH7EZqhFGjmhhSFgbopCidepgXeb5OCXJ252pnYAERmYUMcPKftyeJrBvRuh_ervTZk6QT9srxjhI1eKdSE6VFra0cEXRYi8sMAGfFNPQ=s4032" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTkF8eZd7cxVJbJWCxp9BzQxpvkklu4UoBHxpyYDsur9oc2nfJEOEf_7KqkFnpyhVjDodtwVA5ONOdh6W9nwH7EZqhFGjmhhSFgbopCidepgXeb5OCXJ252pnYAERmYUMcPKftyeJrBvRuh_ervTZk6QT9srxjhI1eKdSE6VFra0cEXRYi8sMAGfFNPQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Pk. 2162 dig</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaVJkNdIfYeuHnPLYCuvs2dP64D9ywtTsUuxQEopv7OzrevluPNTn5rmwYYkfpB0gRnBk9QhL2h4FFGsKXyQjRXeW4XWYOInNJKfE6lwtG5EcEA57snU358lZY7KVF82Hb9eEQmubAX5PWtAXXd-uY4-atUY7FuLVuFJvEPDZU-O09KXdqjezBq65TGQ=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaVJkNdIfYeuHnPLYCuvs2dP64D9ywtTsUuxQEopv7OzrevluPNTn5rmwYYkfpB0gRnBk9QhL2h4FFGsKXyQjRXeW4XWYOInNJKfE6lwtG5EcEA57snU358lZY7KVF82Hb9eEQmubAX5PWtAXXd-uY4-atUY7FuLVuFJvEPDZU-O09KXdqjezBq65TGQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buffalo Creek</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhetSUtmbeavitKoW1ED3pne-S_5Zg5kObH-CXHzNq7tNLEPvfn9Xlh4VHfwqMhDaL1eBPMFtRXLZYinccyIfiQW9IGZq8hLvUDp4_gCmxGQ7aGLtNkokL7xaUcYR_bD5RKvMe-o2LA00OMZAL7gljgrY_ZTsEEhPHg5NyTGE6kSFzQ4rkjl5D8cXLFSg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhetSUtmbeavitKoW1ED3pne-S_5Zg5kObH-CXHzNq7tNLEPvfn9Xlh4VHfwqMhDaL1eBPMFtRXLZYinccyIfiQW9IGZq8hLvUDp4_gCmxGQ7aGLtNkokL7xaUcYR_bD5RKvMe-o2LA00OMZAL7gljgrY_ZTsEEhPHg5NyTGE6kSFzQ4rkjl5D8cXLFSg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nugget Pass, looking north past Salmon Lake</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv6agiOlo9VKaUMhh0AMEQ913baiwYAyeTgvy__ZOpI3gwsPHVOsKBr6_4BVjiuZ1gBS8L3opqL9ZFYVFBOJyi_RQJK-51aU-cg_WXlXVlqIy69fazWSI7bmYnncpujbDJZoBJcMCj72khTI7fZmi5bZyzpwPG2zUQT65I0wDirJJhKThmeuERAz9K9A=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv6agiOlo9VKaUMhh0AMEQ913baiwYAyeTgvy__ZOpI3gwsPHVOsKBr6_4BVjiuZ1gBS8L3opqL9ZFYVFBOJyi_RQJK-51aU-cg_WXlXVlqIy69fazWSI7bmYnncpujbDJZoBJcMCj72khTI7fZmi5bZyzpwPG2zUQT65I0wDirJJhKThmeuERAz9K9A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allapa and Sean in the big bowl halfway up the east side of Ooquienuhk (Mt. Osborn), April 2019. <br />I am grumpy because my brand new snow-machine sits befuddled and paralyzed down in the middle of Grand Central Valley. Everybody else got multiple runs— for instance, Sean and Keith skied a chute up above Sean there— but I only got this one run because I had to go down and continue to beat my dead horse. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2OCZi22UYnreQLb1nnCqG2Stp3QqFL_cEe30lum5SOrNvqIujxMZNDvWvYWztJcWO2n-wa7C8mKQmaFrfjQOAmrNW1IupZccZwKJJYpS4TiMre8qIBJJFuyTd7xO1mQZpwNqw_xxDAebeobrb0QUzWjOch0SatC5c0SgtnX83nv3-mSAumsZ7K6Mq_g=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2OCZi22UYnreQLb1nnCqG2Stp3QqFL_cEe30lum5SOrNvqIujxMZNDvWvYWztJcWO2n-wa7C8mKQmaFrfjQOAmrNW1IupZccZwKJJYpS4TiMre8qIBJJFuyTd7xO1mQZpwNqw_xxDAebeobrb0QUzWjOch0SatC5c0SgtnX83nv3-mSAumsZ7K6Mq_g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close-up East Face of Ooquienuhk, April 2021. Friends ascended and skied slopes to left. I deviated from the skiers and climbed straight up to the Southeast Rib, but overheated in bog snow. A nap descended from the heavens and overwhelmed me at the spot from which this was taken. Phil Hofstetter and I did a route up the middle of the east face in 2004 that had a couple of pitches of water ice. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2RIVMbeSUHPT92HrjvmTmsT4HmYURgA8FkzAN-YJ0eZGGHdDpveFxxaVXygOf4-LyvDZ3fxxpNQH8kf94X49ZmwL1cML3lXoD2C0URKIMAM5L9LGXDP95Jdov97msulDBuMDA0AiFddtRB9uU0IlmoAqNu2iu14bweQJ1hTET-ZYHKsu-7l2KIrsZAg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2RIVMbeSUHPT92HrjvmTmsT4HmYURgA8FkzAN-YJ0eZGGHdDpveFxxaVXygOf4-LyvDZ3fxxpNQH8kf94X49ZmwL1cML3lXoD2C0URKIMAM5L9LGXDP95Jdov97msulDBuMDA0AiFddtRB9uU0IlmoAqNu2iu14bweQJ1hTET-ZYHKsu-7l2KIrsZAg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sluicebox Couloir in the Northwest Cirque of Ooquienuhk, April 2021.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi0s7i-RwVWm_cqTDtb1TAJUrcYvdy2rcBLW4N9lFTDt4CwjpwyzpQQEhVm9eFntpdOVn79wEkU634dYH7BGZeajk-Hb5fCjUzd4Tyqnx9n1TQrEDY9QGccMPWwxKuBDOVTGGSFWxhaOFP_ejwnlGKmOr4xvuK1RKgyQj6knDkmPg32_nBrpA9lqjtQ/s4032/Fox%20Mountain%202022.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi0s7i-RwVWm_cqTDtb1TAJUrcYvdy2rcBLW4N9lFTDt4CwjpwyzpQQEhVm9eFntpdOVn79wEkU634dYH7BGZeajk-Hb5fCjUzd4Tyqnx9n1TQrEDY9QGccMPWwxKuBDOVTGGSFWxhaOFP_ejwnlGKmOr4xvuK1RKgyQj6knDkmPg32_nBrpA9lqjtQ/w400-h300/Fox%20Mountain%202022.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2022, Peak 2610 at Copper Creek</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3plvQbPD9PN3uVJDj7mzJf3fUnSJ_4EAYBgtbMJxLAXYA17mTFSIs6gbMElwUgdR6MjlqYQrIPaFVxvVfdxabb3Y_h83WvY561_lHh-wVwvO_VNrclJ0acDIf2VnmsR9KxXWzjyH12X90fEiIdkcP6d1c6mZ2umoRL2ocsrtEfot0xXYKPS7XbLICw/s4032/Newton%20Peak%20ski.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3plvQbPD9PN3uVJDj7mzJf3fUnSJ_4EAYBgtbMJxLAXYA17mTFSIs6gbMElwUgdR6MjlqYQrIPaFVxvVfdxabb3Y_h83WvY561_lHh-wVwvO_VNrclJ0acDIf2VnmsR9KxXWzjyH12X90fEiIdkcP6d1c6mZ2umoRL2ocsrtEfot0xXYKPS7XbLICw/w400-h300/Newton%20Peak%20ski.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newton Peak after the storm</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxGnBYSuxpCVwaOF4U1uzBgzX1wH8A_K-nxYktBb1rCwVw696Rsg3YFPN2wGQRXEjsBayCSeW8xyz3459c0j9nbeTaPH105zD8V7HRC-ZH5UUwvHYmlF00NLbxIQqpX9IreiLb2H8zlot0SnVcQTDQ1upD9URNs3dVd3TAtLR8i46itmMZiYJfAr6UQ/s4032/buffalo%20creek%20ian.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxGnBYSuxpCVwaOF4U1uzBgzX1wH8A_K-nxYktBb1rCwVw696Rsg3YFPN2wGQRXEjsBayCSeW8xyz3459c0j9nbeTaPH105zD8V7HRC-ZH5UUwvHYmlF00NLbxIQqpX9IreiLb2H8zlot0SnVcQTDQ1upD9URNs3dVd3TAtLR8i46itmMZiYJfAr6UQ/w400-h300/buffalo%20creek%20ian.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allapa at Nugget, Tigaraha in background</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtz-C5K62n39z97g0sjC5e8K10OIX1aahaahhOg64cb4tL9sJVNFcl8mOmEeKxF3Jjp4-ykl4KIRcGqI9wcHc04P218JEtBJIIj020Rnl7vsdrNVoIb6rTAsFYi8IIz4BpLyvV1569oVn0TkFO-eL2b8n4XQtvfGuN1yqzpWv5bVCu-DSiJIh62godw/s4032/distin%20bluff%202020.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtz-C5K62n39z97g0sjC5e8K10OIX1aahaahhOg64cb4tL9sJVNFcl8mOmEeKxF3Jjp4-ykl4KIRcGqI9wcHc04P218JEtBJIIj020Rnl7vsdrNVoIb6rTAsFYi8IIz4BpLyvV1569oVn0TkFO-eL2b8n4XQtvfGuN1yqzpWv5bVCu-DSiJIh62godw/w640-h480/distin%20bluff%202020.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bluff at Mt. Distin, Snake River Valley, April 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pHLfEDUk_YVpRUyJ4CndWtXWew_oNwJWJob6JOheCEqbxojt9ICMxa-n4vQ5TU_E_AKfTbKMxQ3f2paHHTJPh-O_9m8aPL35BFm7jV8W3owoSa5Mv3IFuadIzyQUcQjlr2GV6vZ91LsH3ARoTDKEdVLHCvVX2n5QotjChB13ML3E7PY-OHpFyc0YlA/s4032/distin%20bluff%20and%20ben.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pHLfEDUk_YVpRUyJ4CndWtXWew_oNwJWJob6JOheCEqbxojt9ICMxa-n4vQ5TU_E_AKfTbKMxQ3f2paHHTJPh-O_9m8aPL35BFm7jV8W3owoSa5Mv3IFuadIzyQUcQjlr2GV6vZ91LsH3ARoTDKEdVLHCvVX2n5QotjChB13ML3E7PY-OHpFyc0YlA/w400-h300/distin%20bluff%20and%20ben.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben, Distin Bluff, snow pit</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVugO_rIx_1Q9vuuU-SqsX-2RWqrwGTgZjkFJ3D3-hV3jmNfI7Yh98gA5zkNl_WowGY-NskRa_cnvmHqriP6Ibec4bRkAFViDfZ8vw0kbw1m52DNZLXhDjbiMsfq01HPScGJEp1G-TwNDWjH2hI85ilAAO2KEEqoMKydpea5dRG3FRyDiThqZ5wyJuSg/s4032/distin%20bluff.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVugO_rIx_1Q9vuuU-SqsX-2RWqrwGTgZjkFJ3D3-hV3jmNfI7Yh98gA5zkNl_WowGY-NskRa_cnvmHqriP6Ibec4bRkAFViDfZ8vw0kbw1m52DNZLXhDjbiMsfq01HPScGJEp1G-TwNDWjH2hI85ilAAO2KEEqoMKydpea5dRG3FRyDiThqZ5wyJuSg/w400-h300/distin%20bluff.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Distin Bluff detail. Eighty foot cliff.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF16mbwZrJCIM1Ok5RnJCiQv8tfflxSDRHXKTghjeUpp0XeGQNaTexuG5oHUiw5BKvYH5xezeY-bTqERFTJeAyxNQSbR2obG2qgkNox568Ck5JET0-ke-gfpDaMDlt2CmCDDqJwASxvQp0kd3Fb-3K0JjauqqwMFTQzmvcpo68_cvwl1z_-r4JfnE9xg/s2010/looking%20across%20sinuk%20at%20glacial%20lake.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1502" data-original-width="2010" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF16mbwZrJCIM1Ok5RnJCiQv8tfflxSDRHXKTghjeUpp0XeGQNaTexuG5oHUiw5BKvYH5xezeY-bTqERFTJeAyxNQSbR2obG2qgkNox568Ck5JET0-ke-gfpDaMDlt2CmCDDqJwASxvQp0kd3Fb-3K0JjauqqwMFTQzmvcpo68_cvwl1z_-r4JfnE9xg/w400-h299/looking%20across%20sinuk%20at%20glacial%20lake.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another trip to Glacial Lake thwarted by extreme cold, February 2021.<br />We dared not shut down our machines. This is looking across<br />to Peak Bering Air and Glacial Lake from the benches between<br />Stewart River and Sinuk River. Another layer of frostbite.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU92V-lXL5JYouJ1kdiV3_RejPjtj43hDCZM_ym_XjIuPG406VkbSNr0H3X5QRa0HrB38joEEDrh2PNV1RyUjdWwNv-yH5GJVuS9WjxnE8adf8-RhsrYwoEr41br1PbYhEn5YK0zXSO7nhylbx10jjneRoy_PW2707yJCVq9hSmc-rI26NUNy7qlJYHg/s4032/mt.%20brynteson%20climb.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU92V-lXL5JYouJ1kdiV3_RejPjtj43hDCZM_ym_XjIuPG406VkbSNr0H3X5QRa0HrB38joEEDrh2PNV1RyUjdWwNv-yH5GJVuS9WjxnE8adf8-RhsrYwoEr41br1PbYhEn5YK0zXSO7nhylbx10jjneRoy_PW2707yJCVq9hSmc-rI26NUNy7qlJYHg/w400-h300/mt.%20brynteson%20climb.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Brynteson and the Brynteson Ribs, March 2022. Vince and I did an easy<br />three-pitch route on one of the ribs. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Greg Stoddard Belt</span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">Greg Stoddard represents the arch Telly Fiend, the patron saint of debaucherous ski trips. Every spring there is a pilgrimage, once the Teller Road has opened but the snow remains on the hillside in many white stripes, to the Grand Singtook, Peak 3870, to ski the Solar Sidewalk which is usually in prime condition by that time. Participants read like a who's who of Nome alpinism, a veritable Burning Man of Seward Peninsula alpinism. I went in 2021, but didn't get invited 2022, so I'm missing some orbits in the Greg Stoddard Belt. I've let my skills slip, and my ski gear is from the Stone Age. I just didn't have the ratings. </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM8Z8GB4nxFCmE8evrluN4Tb8VpZEEwovUKHmGiT7QaM2rWfCJ-VcGdIJ3QsRQF6cUCasxOwgT1nv0ucBeePzPvd2iaxihchoP67xiPMrUnCsGISCDeZy9kl4cPH1xgJ-MOKXxybj5EGIYICuk9-7H-I3CH4LtuD-d3NOQDz64IF9YPS5sSFzMZdL8mw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM8Z8GB4nxFCmE8evrluN4Tb8VpZEEwovUKHmGiT7QaM2rWfCJ-VcGdIJ3QsRQF6cUCasxOwgT1nv0ucBeePzPvd2iaxihchoP67xiPMrUnCsGISCDeZy9kl4cPH1xgJ-MOKXxybj5EGIYICuk9-7H-I3CH4LtuD-d3NOQDz64IF9YPS5sSFzMZdL8mw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vince slogging in stiff wind up middle part of ridge on Singtook, May 2021. The snow was too parsimonious that year to invite skiing on the upper part of the mountain, but the lower mountain softened up by afternoon. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdB8vEfk_Ufemtt4jy_R8AgpjM7fMVKLKVayuVfwFd6Hwh3gQMljU5ZhFr9iK2iEndHSynXh5aK7FCL4dqzZW15M2atGLGywuTzGhv8QAjTIXpT3KvQxIbsXKHPZkCcRVZsP0Kp_RubnfdIsm8abMknij_Nfs15rmPfha0JkMg1GaMs3xl97nS9bUuJQ/s4032/3870%20ski%202021.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdB8vEfk_Ufemtt4jy_R8AgpjM7fMVKLKVayuVfwFd6Hwh3gQMljU5ZhFr9iK2iEndHSynXh5aK7FCL4dqzZW15M2atGLGywuTzGhv8QAjTIXpT3KvQxIbsXKHPZkCcRVZsP0Kp_RubnfdIsm8abMknij_Nfs15rmPfha0JkMg1GaMs3xl97nS9bUuJQ/w400-h300/3870%20ski%202021.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allapa on top of the Singtook once again, May 2021.<br />Have climbed this thing 25 times, maybe? Not counting the bails.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RKQtlX230lAuWtCk-TXHdJFgaGTzMYfpQRKI2RjCavZAlmwh330EWrFnvC8byOCX9-yIwM4exARjiHJnX5V_xNk7k0KRj7CwuU-72wl5FsHgMNx80fEwyVXFzCpPXpVxFGqAi6XGNU-nWop5OQGIKmji4ivCWTmScjqwOwDgTUg7vo8IEs1VDZfyWQ/s4032/lucy%20at%20twilight.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RKQtlX230lAuWtCk-TXHdJFgaGTzMYfpQRKI2RjCavZAlmwh330EWrFnvC8byOCX9-yIwM4exARjiHJnX5V_xNk7k0KRj7CwuU-72wl5FsHgMNx80fEwyVXFzCpPXpVxFGqAi6XGNU-nWop5OQGIKmji4ivCWTmScjqwOwDgTUg7vo8IEs1VDZfyWQ/w640-h480/lucy%20at%20twilight.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucy at twilight</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-29408359052779975042021-09-15T01:11:00.007-07:002021-10-30T16:34:22.834-07:00Central Water Company Ridge<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_gFMUeBsDQT1xdD4fMurdPbK4jjXjqUTasYbBYmVTw8ykwn1m8M7q0PdUVKQ4WKhfDAazdrK1VUyj6kNB0pVIk-g_T9Oifmk6EXGdrNzHBGi7HuJbOmuOwdQ59LVw1yrORNJhwrf711G/w640-h480/Central+Water+Company+Ridge%252C+Pk.+2800%252B.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Pk. 2800+ and Central Water Company Ridge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_gFMUeBsDQT1xdD4fMurdPbK4jjXjqUTasYbBYmVTw8ykwn1m8M7q0PdUVKQ4WKhfDAazdrK1VUyj6kNB0pVIk-g_T9Oifmk6EXGdrNzHBGi7HuJbOmuOwdQ59LVw1yrORNJhwrf711G/s2048/Central+Water+Company+Ridge%252C+Pk.+2800%252B.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><b>BLOG LAG: 14 months</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> After a long first ascent drought, I finally got up something. With Keane Richards, in June of 2019, we did a sweet little mixed climb in Grand Central Valley. "Central Water Company Ridge" follows the sun-shadow line in the picture above for 1300 ft. of moderate snow and rock, to the summit of Pk.2800+ located at the southern end of Crater Lake.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLhiiKUJc2G4JbmeGU0dP3cYTwxhmFFTztFbJTTU9g21hXt6S6wq4V2XU6J-97CaqOxJlO5HBTTyeU5WYowfE32H6H84t39f_cLT0GPIO47bgCyyzIut6FVShCrHiLd_dNutfxXHp8tK/s2048/Central+Water+Company+Ridge.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLhiiKUJc2G4JbmeGU0dP3cYTwxhmFFTztFbJTTU9g21hXt6S6wq4V2XU6J-97CaqOxJlO5HBTTyeU5WYowfE32H6H84t39f_cLT0GPIO47bgCyyzIut6FVShCrHiLd_dNutfxXHp8tK/w640-h480/Central+Water+Company+Ridge.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Keane Richards on Company Ridge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> There's <i>something</i> about the camping place at the north side of Crater Lake. Morphogenetic resonance from the tent city that existed there 115 years ago makes it the de facto campsite of Grand Central Valley. People looking for a camp in Grand Central tend to seek out Crater Lake. The 115 year old carriage road which can still be found leading up Grand Central goes straight to Crater Lake, a base of operations in the old days for the Wild Goose Pipeline that boomed, and fizzled, over a century ago in this valley. Not only can ghostly voices of long-departed Teamsters and miners be heard on the wind, but nice planks of old-growth redwood lie strewn about in abundance, and Kitchen Rock provides a windbreak as well as worthy bouldering lines.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPD6kNOuzE6s2sYOZHA2MxXnXJKfPcd4EXx7oktFv3GqSbxE9wce3-6z_0T4es07j2N2I37aiuEM0-XLIvr8fbtGBKWC0YZTKG9bKKgckkcLxpLNeZFO2tvRsm58v5MEfG8Sxr5u8D0RX/w640-h480/Central+Company+Ridge+belay.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Keane is visible belaying from the gendarme. In the background is O<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">oquienuh (Mt. Osborn, Pk. 4714).</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPD6kNOuzE6s2sYOZHA2MxXnXJKfPcd4EXx7oktFv3GqSbxE9wce3-6z_0T4es07j2N2I37aiuEM0-XLIvr8fbtGBKWC0YZTKG9bKKgckkcLxpLNeZFO2tvRsm58v5MEfG8Sxr5u8D0RX/s2048/Central+Company+Ridge+belay.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> Spring of 2019:</span></b><span style="font-size: large;"> early days of the pandemic. Not much tolerance </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">for the risk yet in those days. I lay awake at night preparing for slow death by oxygen starvation. The only safe place to be, it seemed, was outside in the ultraviolet. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> A Spring crust had been on for weeks. By early June, a thin crust remained, enough for dogs and sleds. In their first Spring in the Kigs since moving to Nome from Tok the previous Fall, Keane and Sarah Richards, plus intrepid younglings Rosalie and Amelia, plus Sarah's electron cloud of dogs hitched up into a couple of teams, plus myself, trailored our whole kit and caboodle up the Kougarak Road on the weekend and mushed up Grand Central to an awesome family camp in fine weather, highs in the thirties by day, lows in the twenties at night. </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="1324" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMV9zFSFDDKMJm2F7t9rfWpyjl4MJ4a1elSbkVpq96oqKfUEJwuox0Lyt5frCSqRLFoOumm0kDFjQ_Vj9N3JLmBIHaLs9pMsZKJWEIz7l2jB2R3Nm-_3DMugwFJiMyTog5iZ9q2g1Wgdmj/w640-h624/Crater+Lake+Area+Map+Pk.+2800%252B.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Company Ridge marked in yellow</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> The first night, we figured 5 am was adequate wake-up call. By 8:30 am, after we reached the middle part of the climb, the rocks began to whizz down like a sniper warming up over morning coffee.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> "We shoulda left at midnight," I deprecated.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span> <span> "OK, let's come back at midnight," Keane said </span></span>commonsensically.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOEFBqsaRhAhyphenhyphen-nBNnh2ghhEvNLZfo0JuLMfspbKObesIGnh2EiSXkgPiisR_ersIDFNNQPaP0QdssOkJ0P4sAMKyLwX3qtwYGEzbD-HAmOMI_o81cCfoFd66AQe4w7MnzI0La9tb9MZD/w640-h640/Dog+Mushing+Grand+Central.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Sarah and Amelia about to give the signal to mush. Keane, Rosalie, and I rode the iron dogs.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOEFBqsaRhAhyphenhyphen-nBNnh2ghhEvNLZfo0JuLMfspbKObesIGnh2EiSXkgPiisR_ersIDFNNQPaP0QdssOkJ0P4sAMKyLwX3qtwYGEzbD-HAmOMI_o81cCfoFd66AQe4w7MnzI0La9tb9MZD/s2048/Dog+Mushing+Grand+Central.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We swarmed all over Grand Central for a Saturday. Even if you do leave a trace, such as a snow-machine track, such a trace ceases to exist in the snow after a short time. Keane and I left at midnight on schedule. Rock solid was the snow, with a breeze at ten.</span></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvNYS4wd-kSXf8zsPOrCEjWSvGF1BKs0lbzefshRNVzFjrOnSABiFEwdtRgGDNZfk-D15CTEoGCwS2jHcLU3buiBA0MSttiS7SXLH4hhEBnzBT0LtHureCqSeasr6JnntLLkB7jmFTpUR/w480-h640/Crater+Lake+Camp+Boulder.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Keane, Rosalie, and Amelia bouldering in the nice warm thirty-degree temps at Crater Lake Camp.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvNYS4wd-kSXf8zsPOrCEjWSvGF1BKs0lbzefshRNVzFjrOnSABiFEwdtRgGDNZfk-D15CTEoGCwS2jHcLU3buiBA0MSttiS7SXLH4hhEBnzBT0LtHureCqSeasr6JnntLLkB7jmFTpUR/s2048/Crater+Lake+Camp+Boulder.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The climb was easy enough to simul-climb the whole way, but steep enough to justify the rope. Mostly we put in pickets, (long dastardly aluminum stakes,) which went into the snow easily, yet felt totally bomber. A few pitches of 45° snow led to the crest of the ridge, where an abyss dropped from our feet off the northwest side. Kicking steps in snow, we climbed past some steepish rocky kigs, banging in an occasional piton or picket. The wind picked up as we neared the top. A crafty tunnel led through a rock buttress, followed by a steep pitch with some good whacks of the ice tools into exposed tundra. The last move was an easy mantel onto a little pointed summit.</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmj-AP2Bgm-xcerLP1GmAODXYccFCesb6kSWPJBVpnx51KnPgQo0fNCpuWWtIlM3Ufu2EXu0tSxePf3crVDwAVheg9xD4qM2U0ZK3_iCLmrbDBk85VrRAgGaN1UlrDox4u-48v6fBB-Fo/s2746/Crater+Lake+Spring+Camp+2020.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2746" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmj-AP2Bgm-xcerLP1GmAODXYccFCesb6kSWPJBVpnx51KnPgQo0fNCpuWWtIlM3Ufu2EXu0tSxePf3crVDwAVheg9xD4qM2U0ZK3_iCLmrbDBk85VrRAgGaN1UlrDox4u-48v6fBB-Fo/w640-h266/Crater+Lake+Spring+Camp+2020.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_jYdb_KP2zfnOt9AXfFB-M9PW4yFrVbG2Pl0K_h_qxHNTACvBvpZJRMCFagUJTjP9dK3ymvmW9N8-G6WJm-oRATFYT0fnp_A0ehAhy4P5_V42FZhLspzKSwUWGU-0wwpCUzHE-2yJinz/s1328/Crater+Lake+tent+Camp.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="1004" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_jYdb_KP2zfnOt9AXfFB-M9PW4yFrVbG2Pl0K_h_qxHNTACvBvpZJRMCFagUJTjP9dK3ymvmW9N8-G6WJm-oRATFYT0fnp_A0ehAhy4P5_V42FZhLspzKSwUWGU-0wwpCUzHE-2yJinz/s320/Crater+Lake+tent+Camp.png" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;">"Not only can ghostly voices of long-departed Teamsters and miners be heard on the wind, but nice planks of old-growth redwood lie strewn about in abundance, and Kitchen Rock provides a windbreak as well as worthy bouldering lines."</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Somebody climbed the Company Ridge before us. There were bear tracks all over the climb. What I've seen all over the Kigs is that these critters definitely like to play games on snow structures in the early Spring, sliding, jumping, and climbing. Awakening from winter sleep, they step on to the front porch of their lairs, which are located high on the hillsides in skiing and climbing territory, and they mess around on the snow slopes in the nice warm sun before going back in their cave to hit the snooze button just one more time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Keane and I were forced to search a bit for a viable way down to Crater Lake. We finally started down a gully, but it was a trifle steep, so like some kind of gumby I called for the rope. We would down-simulclimb on pickets.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> I went down first, kicking front points in to the steep snow, and stabbing my picks in <i>piolet canard </i>position<i>. </i>The ground was steep enough. If you fell, you'd go whizzing down for quite a ways at a reasonable velocity I looked over to my left and saw tracks, 5 pinpoints in the ice. I could practically see the bear front pointing down next to me, claws forward, my mirror image, with my exact same simian climbing posture on the steep hard snow.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQn6IPXKKv1dilMdR2_pg6mGWHq3na7Nf1lgZ8BkcRlomTu2HhfZl2rIFHs7h0KbtibXCDmW3AwbhkNeN5Kw8mlmolkK2CzIRELMh1FcQ_d5t_tASK0qJ4gegIhojkDoVLKGY967uh4CF/w640-h480/False+Tigaraha+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Looking southeast from the summit of Pk. 2800+ across Thompson Creek at Pk. 3207, the true high point of False Tigaraha, the peak mistakenly marked as Tigaraha on the map. To surmount that little summit kig there on 3207 requires one rather fearsomely exposed fifth class move. In the background, Pen Tri Cwm can be seen.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQn6IPXKKv1dilMdR2_pg6mGWHq3na7Nf1lgZ8BkcRlomTu2HhfZl2rIFHs7h0KbtibXCDmW3AwbhkNeN5Kw8mlmolkK2CzIRELMh1FcQ_d5t_tASK0qJ4gegIhojkDoVLKGY967uh4CF/s2048/False+Tigaraha+Summit.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Today, road penetration threatens the Kigluaik Mountains. What if, someday soon, Grand Central is repopulated back to the demographic it showed at the turn of the 20th Century during Wild Goose Pipeline days? A consummation devoutly to be unwished, in my estimation. But if it were so, I have no doubt that Crater Lake would be the locus of the alpine climbing scene. A nice little cirque of miniature peaks surrounds the lake. This mountain wall would lend itself well to endless scrutiny, and feats of derring do, by the legions of climbers, skiers, and boarders who would congregate there at the end of the day, and its features and chutes and walls would become animated with the legends that would accrue. We'll build a hut out of the redwood planks. The bears will probably be driven out by the arrogant humans.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> If this comes to pass, let the Central Water Company Ridge be entered as the first excrescence, a line drawn on a mountain. I predict it becomes an alpine classic, for its moderate nature, and ease of access from Tent City at Crater Lake.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi324AXB2Qa1gN99SBLc4G5AOuykH_pJbbTEkLgyVmXq4M9nU5J4tEV2hkohZ645Sw0a4AH4-PYiuVuiY3bGJHEOTblk5TugucO2NMzBdLENdNh5kJsqqjDIsJzW8yDW-XWY-6KLamBEz8Y/w640-h480/Z-Couloir+Pk.+3050%252Bjpg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Pk. 3050+, around the corner from Crater Lake in the West Fork of Grand Central, showing the number one most desirable first descent remaining to be skied in the Kigs: the "Z-Couloir," which is visible snaking down between the two ears.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi324AXB2Qa1gN99SBLc4G5AOuykH_pJbbTEkLgyVmXq4M9nU5J4tEV2hkohZ645Sw0a4AH4-PYiuVuiY3bGJHEOTblk5TugucO2NMzBdLENdNh5kJsqqjDIsJzW8yDW-XWY-6KLamBEz8Y/s2048/Z-Couloir+Pk.+3050%252Bjpg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><div><br /></div>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-60872694568818595622021-07-23T16:36:00.003-07:002021-08-05T14:49:16.256-07:00Moon Mountain Geopsychic Survey<p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaa7S0TGnEBgdvovjM7Y56w44GGLIwFLIfc58VHwq6OoaeljMlUEwNV7qFG9qJ051TgGsWR1FyBiF1F-xWDhvNF1RCA-EE8j6VCDc1ZJEBU7SjWQ7IMhDZJyDHGMzxsNRJfX9DU5ya6rS/w640-h480/IMG_0666.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick Treinen on Pk. 1781, Moon Mountains, Seward Peninsula</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div><p></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Zooming back from the Moon Mountains down the Norton Sound coast on my spanking new SkiDoo Expedition Ace on the weekend following our conquest of Peak Grand Union, I felt confident in my new sled, the first example of a modern-style 4-stroke push-button machine I have ever ridden. Until, that is, I slammed head-on into the shimmering, invisible, outer envelope of a "phase-variation vortex" that lay in wait out there by the Cripple River mouth, sort of like an electromagnetic, tidal rip, causing my new machine to malfunction immediately, stop dead in its tracks, and stop working altogether. </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was perturbed; you don't expect this kind of behavior from a brand new machine. The thing started again, it stopped again, it was confused, then stopped for good. In the old days, I raised the hood and might well have been able to fix the problem, but with the new push-button machines, all I could really do was contemplate my button. Not until many months later would I finally discover the truth about the malfunction. Read this post until the end, because you won't find about this potential product hazard anywhere else but kigsblog.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh93lL0BRBSvcs_s0H8jEcycQGCopGiJYcj-tMjnkji9D2SFgUC4dCSPFz2w_kKIDEBYsk-R7msZFqLh7NfGiyG_WpsG76hB3HiS0GiJlviUs2qiLxU32XqUEECy7wpfk-ZnmpQfWLfgLg/w640-h480/moon+mountain+ski.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telly the Moons</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh93lL0BRBSvcs_s0H8jEcycQGCopGiJYcj-tMjnkji9D2SFgUC4dCSPFz2w_kKIDEBYsk-R7msZFqLh7NfGiyG_WpsG76hB3HiS0GiJlviUs2qiLxU32XqUEECy7wpfk-ZnmpQfWLfgLg/s2048/moon+mountain+ski.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> The gimmick was to find a viable approach to the fabled Moon Mountains. You hear a lot about the Moons because their name conjures shades of Edgar Allen Poe and Lunar Modules, but in fact, they're called the Moon Mountains mostly because of weird-looking tundra, or the lack thereof, basically an eroded pile of magic minerals where not much grows. However, the actual magic of the area comes not from the lunar color of the landscape but the geo-electromagnetic bends and folds that ebb and flow around this region of coast, which makes the Moon Mountains worthy of Poe after all, a spooky place. My Numinosity Scale Ratings showed the PHI to be out of control at certain moments, which I am now positive had something to do with the mysterious demise of my snow-machine.</span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglW87r_BGW0At5ikXA_cuN1kx87bVKnDIegKEQBSFeEbnyiW1OvV-TZdMTfFMyad1cFVwwSe3iHsJYuNjjqgbAAHvDUNiuQsfuGVBZW5Mg8a9CDwYkSyqBd4jGV5YgBhKkkDtJ-6UfT82q/w640-h480/Moon+Mountains+looking+west.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking South</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglW87r_BGW0At5ikXA_cuN1kx87bVKnDIegKEQBSFeEbnyiW1OvV-TZdMTfFMyad1cFVwwSe3iHsJYuNjjqgbAAHvDUNiuQsfuGVBZW5Mg8a9CDwYkSyqBd4jGV5YgBhKkkDtJ-6UfT82q/s2048/Moon+Mountains+looking+west.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></a></div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> How to access the Moon Mountains was Nick's gimmick, one he eventually cracked the following summer by <i>packrafting</i> to the Moon Mountains down the Sinuk River from the Teller Road bridge, and then walking the coastline back to Nome! </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> "Zer are no mountains zer vort climbink," (</span><span>Anderl in <i>The Eiger Sanction</i>),</span><span> but it seemed like easy pickings in the big snow year of 2018</span><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span>to just blast into the Moons on snow-machine, scratch the Moon Mountain itch that everybody seems to get, ski around for a day, attain the high point, and fill out some NRE's (Numinosity Rating Estimate) to get an overall assessment of the PHI levels in the region.</span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOuag0idsPlc36zrf_Ok8l0xSPkUuK3j8kbKsrjhoB8NhrH623T5rV5tbJgMo6syhqtTiB9dexQHjI3E0SbD247kT9_m1DOW06HcDWL3RGasU3CSjEyk8Mt1SiSgni8rVbwrHlC5D4Qyv/s2048/Moon+Mountains+Seward+Peninsula.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1454" data-original-width="2048" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOuag0idsPlc36zrf_Ok8l0xSPkUuK3j8kbKsrjhoB8NhrH623T5rV5tbJgMo6syhqtTiB9dexQHjI3E0SbD247kT9_m1DOW06HcDWL3RGasU3CSjEyk8Mt1SiSgni8rVbwrHlC5D4Qyv/w640-h454/Moon+Mountains+Seward+Peninsula.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norton Sound coast between Nome and Woolley Lagoon. The Moon Mountains is the<br />gray patch towards the left. Looking at about thirty miles of coastline here.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Criteria for Sentience of Landscape</u></span></b></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: x-large; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">For a defined region of the Earth's surface, sentience may be supported by the presence of one or more of the following phenomena.</span></b></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Geological discontinuity</span>: a rift, upheaval, clash, or upwelling within the Earth's crust </b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>2. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">A rich human or animal history</span>: artifacts, ancient crossroads of culture</b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>3. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Electromagnetic flux</span>: mineral-caused, position or variation in the Earth's magnetosphere</b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>4. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">A distinct landform</span>: prominence, uniformity, analogue, definition of structure, nonentropy</b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 42px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>PHI resonance is a by-product of these phenomena so is not included on the list of causes. PHI is also a system of measurement. PHI bears a relation to sentience as something like voltage does to electricity: unit of measurement to elemental force.</b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Elevated PHI-resonance levels will usually be scaled when the phenomena mentioned in these criteria.</b></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSL_FxKx1WlitdRTUcDB0dUaRX-QNxv4hgqDgK5vlTzLhDyHaSXBpdxVv0CyNYF9Il5XjGnCSJbPrW9HWVipfssvu8hmMSGFFBRoxqa4Ucjqq6HZLbg9AZ8IEK2HWLgUP63SBEM9kr6KZ/s2048/Moon+Mountains+Seward+Peninsula.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSL_FxKx1WlitdRTUcDB0dUaRX-QNxv4hgqDgK5vlTzLhDyHaSXBpdxVv0CyNYF9Il5XjGnCSJbPrW9HWVipfssvu8hmMSGFFBRoxqa4Ucjqq6HZLbg9AZ8IEK2HWLgUP63SBEM9kr6KZ/w640-h480/Moon+Mountains+Seward+Peninsula.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Over the Mountains of the Moon, / Down the Valley of the Shadow...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> My own gimmick was the usual one, fabricated, as usual when there are is no real climbing to be had: the High-pointing Conceit. The plan was to conquer, nay, </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><span>subdue</span></i></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span> the Moon Mountains by climbing to the highest elevation point. Nick agreed to this reductionist goal</span></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">—</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> but at least high-pointing provides a white man structure in a wilderness of choices. The Moon Mountains do not qualify as mountains, but as hills, and Pk. 1781 was not slated to be </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><i><span>Piolet d'Or</span></i></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> material.</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">. </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">We could easily have driven snow-machines to the top, but it is necessary to kill the engines in order to conduct geopsychic research, so we skied around on the excellent 2018 snow cover, and skied to the top of the Moons' high-point. Our PHIDs crackled with activity, but absent of the near-death experience associated with real, death-defying climbing, little of which exists in the central Moons, I was unable to achieve triangulation off the death attractor, and my Numinosity Scales went flat, despite Nick and I having a once-in-a-lifetime, beautiful day in a sacred, charged, and powerful place.</span></span></p></div></div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBiOwwvF09jJYvxiNjAkufX3_I0-Jw-DUX6MUB1jf5FH_hCQJRL2yTSDphSNMkd4zxKrP65niHmqMVJXb2QWGjUMFyT-RmtR-mUZ4rDqeEx_HDHJ1LyqKQI1aUegaMMOUsdP6COTdN-IZK/s2048/Mountains+of+the+Moon+near+Nome.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBiOwwvF09jJYvxiNjAkufX3_I0-Jw-DUX6MUB1jf5FH_hCQJRL2yTSDphSNMkd4zxKrP65niHmqMVJXb2QWGjUMFyT-RmtR-mUZ4rDqeEx_HDHJ1LyqKQI1aUegaMMOUsdP6COTdN-IZK/w640-h480/Mountains+of+the+Moon+near+Nome.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ride, boldly ride," the Shade replied, / "If you seek for Eldorado!"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And what of the brand-new Expedition Ace? Well, I have a theory...</span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> The section of Norton Sound Coast where the Moon Mountains meet the sea, located between the mouth of the holy Sinuk River and Woolley Lagoon, is a confusing section of coast. At least for me</span>— when you live in Nome, you get used to thinking of the coast as a direct east-west line, but in fact, if you get about 15 miles down the beach west of Nome, the coast begins to imperceptibly curve to a northwest-southeast asymptote, but a Nomeite like me fails to notice, and still assumes they are heading due west. I mention this only because it relates to an understanding of what caused the CPU in my brand-new SkiDoo to suddenly malfunction. </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Picture a map of the Seward Peninsula coastline overlaid not with weather data, but energy data, specifically, electromagnetic energy, but calibrated down to the level of atomic event horizons, (we are hunting for the patterns that will prove synchronicity somewhere in the rubix cube of leptons, hadrons, and quarks) calibrated with a time exponent that I don't think has quite been discovered yet but will be any day. What do you see? The overlay resembles auroral activity, which is plasmic energy. Remember, it's out of phase with our normal definition of time since it's occurring at the event horizon level. Also, just as land and water structures exert a considerable influence over the weather patterns of the region, so the land and water exerts an influence over this out-of-phase energy map we are viewing. Back to the subtle curvature of this section of the Norton Sound coast: it is this bending of the coast that makes it susceptible to tiny, almost infinitesimal rips in the fabric of the quantum foam that makes up our universe.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My snow-machine encountered one such geo-electromagnetic rip, as I was happily speeding along at excessive speeds heading home to Nome from the Moon Mountains that day. Muons, gluons, bosuns, gravitrons, God knows what other wave-particles, all started piling up somewhere in a very small dimension embedded within this dimension, a lot like a multiple-car pileup on the expressway at rush hour, causing a tiny variation in electromagnetic potential which was just barely enough to trip one of the micro-processors in the Central Processing Unit of the snow-machine existing in this physical universe, upsetting the programming in the CPU<span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">, some zeros getting changed to ones in the portion of its brain that handles automatic shutdowns, initiating weeks and weeks of frustrating malfunctions during which time my snow-machine was fated to leave me stranded multiple times, in several lonesome valleys, always promising full function at the beginning of the trip, and then growing confused and being unable to start once deep in the wilderness. </span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Fortunately, after Nick and I returned double-riding to Cripple River on a subsequent day, and limped, dragged, and cajoled the thing back to Nome, never quite fathoming the nature of the malfunction in this modern, pushbutton-type machine, the good folks at SkiDoo bought my story. They replaced the Ace's brain that had been damaged by excessive PHI in the Moon Mountains with another brain, on warranty. </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://spoiledbysupercub.com/2015/09/22/the-moon-mountains/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Spoiledbysupercub's post about Moon Mountains in summer showing how they really look like the lunar surface</span></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><br /></span></p>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-28661224236609590862021-06-13T02:17:00.002-07:002021-06-13T02:17:45.293-07:00The Siege of Peak Grand Union <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IyylTLeu8BbNvDlemd3Q8Pps_BuasCvA9OaOyMYRO_SSDWVvzAwfIciDE3gBumsnOTQkntwtEDfWKIGCuN_Ex9e-i0QZmNr2ZEgHz5yrzIlRjbK1bn9VbYmGo056kFIygYS7udAY0u3n/s2048/peak+grand+union+summit+photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IyylTLeu8BbNvDlemd3Q8Pps_BuasCvA9OaOyMYRO_SSDWVvzAwfIciDE3gBumsnOTQkntwtEDfWKIGCuN_Ex9e-i0QZmNr2ZEgHz5yrzIlRjbK1bn9VbYmGo056kFIygYS7udAY0u3n/w640-h480/peak+grand+union+summit+photo.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick Treinen chilling at summit of Peak Grand Union (Pk. 4500+), March 31, 2019.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></b></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: Courier; font-size: 18px;"><b><i>Scroll down for a reproduction of an article that appeared in </i></b></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: #042eee; font-family: Courier; font-size: 18px; text-decoration: underline;"><b><i>Scree, the monthly publication of the Mountaineering Club of Alaska.</i></b></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: Courier; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px;"><br /></b></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px;"> </b><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Never in Kigsblog history have so many bails been registered, nor resources squandered,for so nebulous a quarry as Peak Grand Union. Here are links that provide evidence of the drawn-out siege:</span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/09/zero-for-seven-on-peak-4500-part-1.html">Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Pt. 1</a> </span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/09/zero-for-seven-on-peak-grand-union-part.html">Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Pt. 2</a> </span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2018/11/zero-for-nine-on-peak-grand-union.html">Zero For Nine on Peak Grand Union</a><br /></span></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></b></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2020/01/ditch-of-ditch.html"><span style="font-family: courier;"><b>Attempt Twelve on Grand Union</b></span></a><br /></p><p style="font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbY3d351Jg_JsKlcE0A3BAOgBB5kDJK_tPAmXsCOc4z55hMhIfK-wlOde-G6dlpN5xYFW1QnVri_EqZ7ubkEc0sJznRJvlqLB9eL3tgNsZi4cDFfCl1ty4_7tlAMUbS9KTMrnUYueXDza/s2048/nick+treinen+peak+grand+union+climbing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbY3d351Jg_JsKlcE0A3BAOgBB5kDJK_tPAmXsCOc4z55hMhIfK-wlOde-G6dlpN5xYFW1QnVri_EqZ7ubkEc0sJznRJvlqLB9eL3tgNsZi4cDFfCl1ty4_7tlAMUbS9KTMrnUYueXDza/w640-h480/nick+treinen+peak+grand+union+climbing.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick, with skis stashed at col, heads for the long-awaited triumph</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: 18px;"></b></div><b style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The Kigs remained formless, an undifferentiated mass of bumps and ridges, until one summer when bean-counting, list-keeping,<i> peakbaggers </i>from Washington came to the Seward Peninsula and showed the locals the way of the Marilyn. Now armed with a rudimentary knowledge of the laws of prominence, the Kigs could be devolved into a series of definable summits. Down the Vin Hoeman rabbit-hole I fell, doomed to take the easy walk-ups from the south instead of north walls and real routes.</span></b><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhof1ZT-N1EqcXLmhcHgXijwIYWisrV4e-nt-YN2bZIhoVxlPxpsDQnOvJfPdXaBuIVdQw-rRQV9aeLgU7Mq5oS9KCjA8oRlEBSIFXQqMwdvZyMVeT9SKfUFcGm6KHeBnFxQ8Fj0Mo-sB0G/s2048/kigluaik+north+side+jamie+safhaffie+shot+jpeg+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="2048" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhof1ZT-N1EqcXLmhcHgXijwIYWisrV4e-nt-YN2bZIhoVxlPxpsDQnOvJfPdXaBuIVdQw-rRQV9aeLgU7Mq5oS9KCjA8oRlEBSIFXQqMwdvZyMVeT9SKfUFcGm6KHeBnFxQ8Fj0Mo-sB0G/w640-h334/kigluaik+north+side+jamie+safhaffie+shot+jpeg+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Central Kigluait from North with Grand Union River drainages</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Peak 4500+, formerly a mere northwest shoulder of Mt. Osborn, emerged under the spotlight of prominence as the second highest summit in the range, a veritable “K2 of the Kigs,” except that it’s an easy walk-up from the south. It suddenly seemed desirable, and worthy of a grand name, “Peak Grand Union” because it’s the high point of the six-forked Grand Union River drainage to the north. The formula for climbing Grand Union would be: make many failed attempts over several years until a high snow year comes, snow-machine north 35 miles over Mosquito Pass, hang an east off the Cobblestone flats, and take advantage of the big snowpack to access the five-mile long “West Cwm of Osborn” from where Grand Union looked to be an easy, blue-square run from the the south.</span></b></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilP1QrRhQKdYsUAQ69iMwYox3Mrj-BW4vJfKQ97r1gfdd1vwl7jpAQtcYeEQvaaIcm_hRq2A7rwnlFxPCZ0TIHvX_Hp-kdTM-omv76mV3rSRyqt139V4GuV6SeNQIjcx5JndO_UHzx22Rc/s2048/Grand+Union+Glacier+July+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: bold; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilP1QrRhQKdYsUAQ69iMwYox3Mrj-BW4vJfKQ97r1gfdd1vwl7jpAQtcYeEQvaaIcm_hRq2A7rwnlFxPCZ0TIHvX_Hp-kdTM-omv76mV3rSRyqt139V4GuV6SeNQIjcx5JndO_UHzx22Rc/w640-h480/Grand+Union+Glacier+July+2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Westernmost glacier in North America? Remnant? This is the Grand Union Glacier below Peak Grand Union in July of 2018.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><br /></b></span><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Years of ridiculous shenanigans were eventually required for what should have been a simple bag. Twelve attempts spanned four years before Nick Treinan and I finally motored up the West Cwm of Osborn on April 2, 2018, and made the ascent of Grand Union. The reason for so many bails? Not difficulty, nor remoteness, nor weather— “GLUE of TOWN” was the reason. GLUE may be defined as a </b></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><b>force</b></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b> which attracts a climber <i>back</i> toward town, tent, addiction, car, or relationship. GLUE costs an expedition time, energy, gear, and personnel by creating friction in every phase of its execution. Eventually a bail is precipitated, a bail founded not upon exigencies of the climb itself (weather, difficulty, fortitude,) but rather, to actions made before the climb ever started, the bumbling and dithering that took place under influence of GLUE.</b></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fa1KZnyWVBUvqYLCpuxfqXLx0c0VylXI7GLs5Jh6uJvGSiygtb6dvUWTrMId2mh-UQDH8BmzGLMxSCwSomZLSjuJ919b6xtxBr0abYwYDReJtXJjWNkSPV2fQCAu2aIRWCfYMo0dxbZ_/s2048/andrew+maurer.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fa1KZnyWVBUvqYLCpuxfqXLx0c0VylXI7GLs5Jh6uJvGSiygtb6dvUWTrMId2mh-UQDH8BmzGLMxSCwSomZLSjuJ919b6xtxBr0abYwYDReJtXJjWNkSPV2fQCAu2aIRWCfYMo0dxbZ_/w200-h150/andrew+maurer.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHx7qsr7Bram4UWKB8m1DsvHNnS6X00gaix6xAZGhOQwaAt-GhsnJmPlppPdGsuyel4WEuQpTpFtG6PRIoffAM-I-jpSiaj93n6ie28CFpuCXKp6DhwGPSfGajRopo9sLyKgnDG5JxlxW/s2048/andrew+maurer+in+southwest+cwm.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHx7qsr7Bram4UWKB8m1DsvHNnS6X00gaix6xAZGhOQwaAt-GhsnJmPlppPdGsuyel4WEuQpTpFtG6PRIoffAM-I-jpSiaj93n6ie28CFpuCXKp6DhwGPSfGajRopo9sLyKgnDG5JxlxW/w300-h400/andrew+maurer+in+southwest+cwm.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew Maurer up the wrong cwm <br />on a Grand Union attempt</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In Nome, partners phase in and out. Drew was a true GLUE Master, entangled in webs of Front Street chaos, his entropy and dissolution exceeding even mine, but he had an old snow-machine, and had skied the steeps on St. Lawrence Island. Drew was to form the first phase of Peak Grand Union expeditions. We were rumpled and disorganized. Nome retracted us time and again like the big GLUE POT it is. Expeditions never departed before 2 pm. On our first attempt, we went up the wrong cwm of Osborn. On the second attempt, Drew became obsessed with penetration of the West Cwm proper by snow-machine, a feat he finally achieved through hideous effort in the bushes that I witnessed from the opposite wall of the valley, having been wise enough to leave my snow-machine below on the Cobblestone. We climbed the wrong mountain (Pt. 3800+) that day. A ground blizzard came on. We tried to leave, but the West Cwm had already closed around Drew’s machine like a phagocyte around a foreign particle. We abandoned the sorry thing in its sub-nivean pit and rode double all the way back home through raging sketch-weather on my trusty Bearcat. Third trip was a rescue mission wherein any Grand Union attempt was eclipsed by the Fitzcarraldian epic of digging Drew’s machine out of the Cwm. Fourth trip, we never made it out of Nome, languishing instead in the fleshpots of Nome, the mountain far away, with GLUE Index Levels at maximum.</span></b></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZm1MZMTkQ7uc1zwlQAaqSe4desYULVJlFZlmWr_UisXx2SH_cdpV4nWEw0VHIElr7xV30-FagPZPlCP7r_4EAbItlEFXeszF3kgUCz84w1cSCxydFwqfOceviT3I3vA3yS2OgnFYTdY1o/s2048/david+panepinto+west+face+osborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZm1MZMTkQ7uc1zwlQAaqSe4desYULVJlFZlmWr_UisXx2SH_cdpV4nWEw0VHIElr7xV30-FagPZPlCP7r_4EAbItlEFXeszF3kgUCz84w1cSCxydFwqfOceviT3I3vA3yS2OgnFYTdY1o/w640-h480/david+panepinto+west+face+osborn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Panepinto in the West Cwm of Osborn</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></div><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>David formed the next phase of Grand Union attempts. A less entropic partner than Drew, it still wasn’t enough to overcome the friction of impedimenta. Our strategy was to camp on the Cobblestone and ski (David skiing on a splitboard) the five miles up the Cwm, obviating the need for snow-machine penetration. But a subtle interface of HOUSE GLUE and JOB GLUE retarded initial velocity on Friday night of our first attempt. On the second attempt, we stayed too long in the tent discussing<i> Princess Bride </i>which chain-reactioned a bail from near the summit later in the day, like Wiessner and Gombu high on K2. There were other bails. Never could the GLUE be cut. Peak Grand Union took on white whale status even though it had started out as a mere shoulder of Osborn.</span></b></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvxtCA8MTJn2sKTjG8ErGn7zFNz6_oY6GUr9JQBlDw8pqEAg40qEuTzKO1NOxQyMr5VbKrhcxEjyNSHPIbcbZhF-V5egjqAM6oBLArbEQN9jO8a8IYiZWu39y0e2iBB5Wi14qU3JCWu1N/s2048/IMG_0627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvxtCA8MTJn2sKTjG8ErGn7zFNz6_oY6GUr9JQBlDw8pqEAg40qEuTzKO1NOxQyMr5VbKrhcxEjyNSHPIbcbZhF-V5egjqAM6oBLArbEQN9jO8a8IYiZWu39y0e2iBB5Wi14qU3JCWu1N/w400-h300/IMG_0627.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick stops to scavenge</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b></b></span></div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaLFrgXrN9mOWmxL_fTLzz4Xut5FhPAUeiJ9ZjyKwuVQIpx06DMm9ZOa2Bep6zQ_7s78X3AsEw-xBfPqees9EUeC8djcZOpLZ1fvkLsx7zBVB0Iu4coz-8A-IzlYXOeJn652mNybBoYN9/s2048/grand+union+creek+east+fork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaLFrgXrN9mOWmxL_fTLzz4Xut5FhPAUeiJ9ZjyKwuVQIpx06DMm9ZOa2Bep6zQ_7s78X3AsEw-xBfPqees9EUeC8djcZOpLZ1fvkLsx7zBVB0Iu4coz-8A-IzlYXOeJn652mNybBoYN9/w400-h300/grand+union+creek+east+fork.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Known center of Kigs universe may lie down this drainage,<br />the West Fork of Grand Union</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> </span></b></span><p></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Finally, the Nick phase brought success on Grand Union. Nick had found a line in William Oquilluk’s <i>People of the Kauwerak</i> that seemed to indicate the known center of the Kigs universe was located on the flanks of Peak Grand Union at some kind of giant eagle feather, and so agreed to go on a snow-machine mountaineering trip in April, 2019. Something about Nick’s free spirit, unfettered by peak bagging epistemology and nomenclature, caused the GLUE to lift like clouds over Kigs, plus the huge winter snowpack that permitted snow-machine access to the West Cwm <i>sans</i> Drewlike epics. The last few hundred feet were a little too icy for skiing off the top. Nick tellied from near the top, and I lower down. On the summit, Nick asked me if I felt elation at our eventual success after so many attempts, but I had to explain that the whole Peak Grand Union thing was really just kind of a grim joke to ameliorate the giant carbon footprint I made over an insignificant bump on a ridge, though the peak does look nice from the north, and we did have a ton of fun, justification enough. Nick and I motored back to Nome, where the GLUE of TOWN drew us back in with its subtle but persistent gravity. </span></b></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbaKfAKMkW_QxmGNsjwNwXo-tvl6V_ARh6z7T_tWJvI1II5Q8meJHpmX0GSU72_EllallMAZNUOuJ-sZU_T_1EW2SJ44X_SYv6-jIImYbOnaKjOLxDSsIrQLLa8Yul0C_Kvd2gp6VTQXL/s2048/west+cwm+entrance+%252719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbaKfAKMkW_QxmGNsjwNwXo-tvl6V_ARh6z7T_tWJvI1II5Q8meJHpmX0GSU72_EllallMAZNUOuJ-sZU_T_1EW2SJ44X_SYv6-jIImYbOnaKjOLxDSsIrQLLa8Yul0C_Kvd2gp6VTQXL/w640-h640/west+cwm+entrance+%252719.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Success came in 2018 because it was a high snow year. Unlike previous attempts, we were easily able<br />to access the West Cwm of Osborn by snow-machine, which made reaching Grand Union a snap.<br />The red arrow in this picture shows the high shoulder on the right that allowed us to creep into<br />the valley on machines. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></b></span></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7x5nDMxCGrkNR90oM7-13igpTodwNHjkt2Fx9nVEUt9_0O1ptWk1oGjltTPEe_zsiPhfFw_S-EFpdLRmrYxnf5uFkbwF4UeKtxqkIVDcWcxSkfFZmQG0r0i76sps7O-TAUP-oa2CnRdmQ/s2048/osborn+north+ridge+from+pk+grand+union.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7x5nDMxCGrkNR90oM7-13igpTodwNHjkt2Fx9nVEUt9_0O1ptWk1oGjltTPEe_zsiPhfFw_S-EFpdLRmrYxnf5uFkbwF4UeKtxqkIVDcWcxSkfFZmQG0r0i76sps7O-TAUP-oa2CnRdmQ/w640-h480/osborn+north+ridge+from+pk+grand+union.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking along towards Osborn. A lot of last great kigs-problems given away here. North Ridge of Osborn, plus look at that hourglass shaped ski run.. but it's an avalanche trap.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span></p>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-60317512548111609292021-03-19T16:20:00.001-07:002021-03-19T16:25:23.498-07:00Early Winter Superposition <p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>The intent of Kigsblog is to follow the seasonal cycle: rock in Summer, mixed in Fall, ski in Winter, and alpine in Spring. To have the reader scroll down through cycles of white and gray, chronologically revolving like a true weblog. Currently, we are taking advantage of "compositing" to resolve the tremendous BLOGLAG (the time interval between the present and current post) afflicting Kigsblog by representing segments of linear time in superposition, aligned by season, in order to reign in BLOGLAG without compromising seasonal cycle. The following post, which depicts a wedge of time from October through December, carries a valence of three years, 2018, 2019 and 2020, making it a Covid overlap.</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>FOX MOUNTAIN</u></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBeoe4Dz8oAscLVzEiH4AsCR1V0aZsGkIMQhmw8lBo_geYMPIfj2sRFYfOF5-fVqUSQ-eJHHmi5-dIWfutRSp96QG27iBMXrKtZ0nZihmeY17Vw1-Pu3WBKQKI7GQV0P_zxoNU-VJ4ahT/s2048/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+2018.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBeoe4Dz8oAscLVzEiH4AsCR1V0aZsGkIMQhmw8lBo_geYMPIfj2sRFYfOF5-fVqUSQ-eJHHmi5-dIWfutRSp96QG27iBMXrKtZ0nZihmeY17Vw1-Pu3WBKQKI7GQV0P_zxoNU-VJ4ahT/w640-h480/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+2018.jpeg" title="Fox Mountain Bluff" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Author at Fox Mt. Bluff,</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsJTy-AqAMk7oVlWrcHGdBTn-GESO8hnCMCzVQvRB6RwOFPt-sss3xHFvjsnlg-Hs0wDHtG_CYIBpmnKt6uR1jZ4Ndtku1cBFOP7cqb3C2_oXbZFGyID2bs1S0G6ao2Vqgq8k6HrSHhfR/s2048/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+choss.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsJTy-AqAMk7oVlWrcHGdBTn-GESO8hnCMCzVQvRB6RwOFPt-sss3xHFvjsnlg-Hs0wDHtG_CYIBpmnKt6uR1jZ4Ndtku1cBFOP7cqb3C2_oXbZFGyID2bs1S0G6ao2Vqgq8k6HrSHhfR/w320-h243/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+choss.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbmQteuWm3FWd0IraRfLBjyw2pyfa5Il2ysjC1_K2iec9ZO6Ldt0EqIsQadIK-eluizpZQveGdmPu4CJBAR7tWfk9PW0Cgm4exKu_Zp1JQ3Xhb-Ygien6S1PKvVQbTaDkmpLYwe4bcmoC/s2048/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+2019.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="cliffs of Nome" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbmQteuWm3FWd0IraRfLBjyw2pyfa5Il2ysjC1_K2iec9ZO6Ldt0EqIsQadIK-eluizpZQveGdmPu4CJBAR7tWfk9PW0Cgm4exKu_Zp1JQ3Xhb-Ygien6S1PKvVQbTaDkmpLYwe4bcmoC/w195-h320/Fox+Mt.+Bluff+2019.jpeg" title="Fox Mt. Bluff" width="195" /></a></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuO8KNS2T5t3nVh2pI3wo_90Dxr2Jonajvt3kf00dYGZb7oT0nIe7AxAf0YH7dgq6V5l4zs1SWMTbm1LxR4w9HSdGO1h7zuyRV43t8-ULxdwMDGl1TEiMN4R6zLur47mR1JtE4yECaKPL/s2048/John+Gregg+Fox+Mountain.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuO8KNS2T5t3nVh2pI3wo_90Dxr2Jonajvt3kf00dYGZb7oT0nIe7AxAf0YH7dgq6V5l4zs1SWMTbm1LxR4w9HSdGO1h7zuyRV43t8-ULxdwMDGl1TEiMN4R6zLur47mR1JtE4yECaKPL/s320/John+Gregg+Fox+Mountain.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Splitboard John on Fox</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnQQM_F9XeIPkXkSM9KYASsG_QJTYneiBzvygumXhRK0G_pk_WmuJwuWj_GkEOI1M7iP_bpui23zkd1mpCJoMxpA5tKkyX8uh4h1z6gI_CHzsxam-TiaHNjE8_xxQSxFP_7tdRetVTgc2/s2048/dog+alpine+climbing.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnQQM_F9XeIPkXkSM9KYASsG_QJTYneiBzvygumXhRK0G_pk_WmuJwuWj_GkEOI1M7iP_bpui23zkd1mpCJoMxpA5tKkyX8uh4h1z6gI_CHzsxam-TiaHNjE8_xxQSxFP_7tdRetVTgc2/w640-h480/dog+alpine+climbing.jpeg" title="Alpine climbing dog" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot the dog<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtMmOAT3Mw8bHkTzaL18Oe2W-ZisUJOi3FHuq6dAzt9Uh1aeZuEupuafjawt4NBpVmYjNuvHO3yBD1T6siU8XdO7uHiasDleZxrXI3X3yYMCb-kZQcwBFBUzTMgeCDdFxjSO-Fz0NJckd5/s2048/Fox+Mountain+north+of+Nome+Alaska+2020.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtMmOAT3Mw8bHkTzaL18Oe2W-ZisUJOi3FHuq6dAzt9Uh1aeZuEupuafjawt4NBpVmYjNuvHO3yBD1T6siU8XdO7uHiasDleZxrXI3X3yYMCb-kZQcwBFBUzTMgeCDdFxjSO-Fz0NJckd5/w640-h480/Fox+Mountain+north+of+Nome+Alaska+2020.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fox Mt., near Mile 27 Kougarak Road, January 1, 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RPb6GCNIdF50a6pwkaCkbo8JYYd_YfPbbERcpRWQob-s28CISbTCHZsfwB1kfhYIFn7gbA-fSQDGdLr58rfp-0d2oO__nLYo272gGDp-zSsSU6Rh3wzV-fT_-gaZuuZnj0Db8DwBXyNi/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25233.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RPb6GCNIdF50a6pwkaCkbo8JYYd_YfPbbERcpRWQob-s28CISbTCHZsfwB1kfhYIFn7gbA-fSQDGdLr58rfp-0d2oO__nLYo272gGDp-zSsSU6Rh3wzV-fT_-gaZuuZnj0Db8DwBXyNi/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25233.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><u>ANVIL MOUNTAIN</u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">At the base of Anvil Mountain lie great mounds of dirt which make a wonderful "alpine climbing gym" for busy urban climbers who don't have the time for real mountains. The <a href="https://www.tailings.info/index.htm">tailings</a> have been extensively reworked the last few summers by heavy machinery, making the Anvil Mounds a strangely transitory medium upon which to climb in the same way that ice climbs are transitory. Each year, in late Fall, the big Excavators are parked for the season, and the coast is clear for climbers to sneak in there and confront a whole new configuration of dirt climbing problems formed by the awesome amounts of dirt moved by the miners. "Mud Mounding" is a brutish form of climbing, highly dependent on weather patterns and the saturation and temperature of the mud. The climber must whack their precious and expensive ice tools into frozen mud. At its best the mud behaves like water ice, but at its worst, the mud has the consistency of concrete which no delicate flick of an ice axe can penetrate. It is fun to wander in the fading light of an early winter day and scamper about in the mounds, canyons, bowls, cliffs, slabs, the whole playground likely toxic. Adrenalin is available upon request. Kigsblog avows any knowledge of climbing on these grounds and everything written above is merely speculative, however, there has been documentation of this changing, reimagined landscape from the state right-of-way. Here is a double-conjunction composite of Mud Mound shots from the previous two years.</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RPb6GCNIdF50a6pwkaCkbo8JYYd_YfPbbERcpRWQob-s28CISbTCHZsfwB1kfhYIFn7gbA-fSQDGdLr58rfp-0d2oO__nLYo272gGDp-zSsSU6Rh3wzV-fT_-gaZuuZnj0Db8DwBXyNi/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25233.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RPb6GCNIdF50a6pwkaCkbo8JYYd_YfPbbERcpRWQob-s28CISbTCHZsfwB1kfhYIFn7gbA-fSQDGdLr58rfp-0d2oO__nLYo272gGDp-zSsSU6Rh3wzV-fT_-gaZuuZnj0Db8DwBXyNi/w320-h240/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25233.jpeg" title="Climbing Tailings" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLqMB9743HWdCkrU4y0OfCqf_faMKh1gQBsFCyODNlkjp8Zipgu_uOib17c-Cb2Qu36FDVaw9ErFOy7V6MFsGUo65ftsAbXKS3TsdgFo0RvoHREqneuq764VAARxPSn6JvMCPd8sfdPCb9/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+22020+%25234.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLqMB9743HWdCkrU4y0OfCqf_faMKh1gQBsFCyODNlkjp8Zipgu_uOib17c-Cb2Qu36FDVaw9ErFOy7V6MFsGUo65ftsAbXKS3TsdgFo0RvoHREqneuq764VAARxPSn6JvMCPd8sfdPCb9/w254-h351/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+22020+%25234.jpeg" title="Anvil Mountain" width="254" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqCViBkXDsP5shhIG8TQMtksU6i8bHhxb_BfN0YLbHgwoFP9f2D_RrfqQwMqsEoU4fFqOCnB0JlTkdVZgwGaoalTfm1ddptDDzvnkaz4gsdBHheS4FSoR-HfJqufSbz3jg2q_JZ_b8bKM/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25232.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqCViBkXDsP5shhIG8TQMtksU6i8bHhxb_BfN0YLbHgwoFP9f2D_RrfqQwMqsEoU4fFqOCnB0JlTkdVZgwGaoalTfm1ddptDDzvnkaz4gsdBHheS4FSoR-HfJqufSbz3jg2q_JZ_b8bKM/w200-h150/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25232.jpeg" title="climbing frozen mud" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWlOMl40MJL0E7bx8FOk9NtgjuDA9EuNAil2I_wOU0HZV8Ayy6IHTV2hXS43uO8lobimfvSjPRsnDP_upXq5ySzEM0Q_p_frnywBE0ftw-l1lF6YmtUGC1pXT1fy5c-kmNp2Eda6SjZWX/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25231.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWlOMl40MJL0E7bx8FOk9NtgjuDA9EuNAil2I_wOU0HZV8Ayy6IHTV2hXS43uO8lobimfvSjPRsnDP_upXq5ySzEM0Q_p_frnywBE0ftw-l1lF6YmtUGC1pXT1fy5c-kmNp2Eda6SjZWX/w200-h150/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2020+%25231.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipZJh1E7gvfA3i2gAvG2V5M2r-tH5Yq56QT_080T8WFGp6_rOnhB21pHYUbGi1xgSZl-5d4FngwDu4HbdhRysYZzuW4Q0X7pZcHCiXNiKHzecDfVYKKLH_tphivddTXiSPTXJ_0OYebGM/s2048/Anvil+Mt.+Tailings+2018+.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipZJh1E7gvfA3i2gAvG2V5M2r-tH5Yq56QT_080T8WFGp6_rOnhB21pHYUbGi1xgSZl-5d4FngwDu4HbdhRysYZzuW4Q0X7pZcHCiXNiKHzecDfVYKKLH_tphivddTXiSPTXJ_0OYebGM/w240-h320/Anvil+Mt.+Tailings+2018+.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmGhlPPco_foloMN0kypwy_KydbzAENsiQ-6ox-WB8MfoWmdbRxNBbb1oBaBgSgvYGfuE2Y2fDeyoNVSKQtCf3fc7UkoWfcFg6aaP6Y9hULY1DRVUWErzLabwdbzDLuo-M8_qwqNfQtY1/s2048/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2018+%25232.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmGhlPPco_foloMN0kypwy_KydbzAENsiQ-6ox-WB8MfoWmdbRxNBbb1oBaBgSgvYGfuE2Y2fDeyoNVSKQtCf3fc7UkoWfcFg6aaP6Y9hULY1DRVUWErzLabwdbzDLuo-M8_qwqNfQtY1/w200-h150/Anvil+Mountain+Tailings+2018+%25232.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5btLLOPtwTD3gAIesA6AqpAXec4HqWjvUTRHrrbT4pUxeqLOPQCHca6zDBAiNMG4KJF4FlIJ1LT_lGqJKQa1yIiZ_ayYUJEjXhGwvCo_jwXBN1mMpxPJZi2-TnEMjzLMRa0pJvSRlY7iU/s2048/Anvil+Mt.+Schist+dry+tooling.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5btLLOPtwTD3gAIesA6AqpAXec4HqWjvUTRHrrbT4pUxeqLOPQCHca6zDBAiNMG4KJF4FlIJ1LT_lGqJKQa1yIiZ_ayYUJEjXhGwvCo_jwXBN1mMpxPJZi2-TnEMjzLMRa0pJvSRlY7iU/w640-h480/Anvil+Mt.+Schist+dry+tooling.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Higher on Anvil Mt., Vince is hooking schist<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1JRWvk7tIKEkBOYDU8K4muXyLjW1qHWDlSKxxUdexw53H7WdOYGhTc3YmOWauZHJ9c_nDEivSaT6QLctUhLzUUwKHqSRlORheUBkMgKkUeDn1MvsWinYSyw1dz99zw0RlcR__huf-2q1/s2048/King+Mountain+2020.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1JRWvk7tIKEkBOYDU8K4muXyLjW1qHWDlSKxxUdexw53H7WdOYGhTc3YmOWauZHJ9c_nDEivSaT6QLctUhLzUUwKHqSRlORheUBkMgKkUeDn1MvsWinYSyw1dz99zw0RlcR__huf-2q1/s2048/King+Mountain+2020.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1JRWvk7tIKEkBOYDU8K4muXyLjW1qHWDlSKxxUdexw53H7WdOYGhTc3YmOWauZHJ9c_nDEivSaT6QLctUhLzUUwKHqSRlORheUBkMgKkUeDn1MvsWinYSyw1dz99zw0RlcR__huf-2q1/s2048/King+Mountain+2020.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1JRWvk7tIKEkBOYDU8K4muXyLjW1qHWDlSKxxUdexw53H7WdOYGhTc3YmOWauZHJ9c_nDEivSaT6QLctUhLzUUwKHqSRlORheUBkMgKkUeDn1MvsWinYSyw1dz99zw0RlcR__huf-2q1/w640-h640/King+Mountain+2020.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vince demonstrating there IS such a thing as "Dry Tool Bouldering" on King Mt.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><u><span style="font-size: medium;">KING MOUNTAIN</span></u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1JRWvk7tIKEkBOYDU8K4muXyLjW1qHWDlSKxxUdexw53H7WdOYGhTc3YmOWauZHJ9c_nDEivSaT6QLctUhLzUUwKHqSRlORheUBkMgKkUeDn1MvsWinYSyw1dz99zw0RlcR__huf-2q1/s2048/King+Mountain+2020.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>KOUGARAK ROAD CORRIDOR ICE </b></span></u></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Many years ago during his young turk phase, Mr. Collins reported to me that he and another young turk, Graham, had climbed a low angle "ice fall" above the road opposite where you park for Dorothy Falls. It came in again during this band of time. Mostly just a minor, unnamed, frozen creek, it's not even steep enough for a WI rating, but here, I will dress it up anyway with all the trappings of a big time second ascent for all my sponsors to view:<i> Quayagit </i>(He Almost Slipped), WI 0.5 So much fun to poke around the draws above the Kougarak Road in early winter hunting for ice that seldom or never forms, past the end-of-the-road signs that have been put up for the end of the season.</b></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR-GvgnGiFTzDdvEptsDcVtiVXJns4A-j9T76tmdsM11xOlcwT1zqtQ_IL4Cqkxp66M0q3ZfUM3YTnhMnvShDWPQsdREN1MmkKQSnS2lTCPmkd_o1pYifzdgsE4ieLaRAo4j-_TSHlsl-/s2048/QuayaGit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR-GvgnGiFTzDdvEptsDcVtiVXJns4A-j9T76tmdsM11xOlcwT1zqtQ_IL4Cqkxp66M0q3ZfUM3YTnhMnvShDWPQsdREN1MmkKQSnS2lTCPmkd_o1pYifzdgsE4ieLaRAo4j-_TSHlsl-/w640-h480/QuayaGit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Quayagit </i>(He Almost Slipped)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ_Ad74QD0DPa3fafQn_EmiuJLJN8LiTpJRyOZ_RiG97qI2KwiDTfEnnIiDs05HViUsZYdhZYz2LaL7flRnpveGAPVErt4QyOBML7sf3QEaLC_NTJhvx7hXLt7pcRZuGsoLZaryM8oEIZ/s2048/Dorothy+Falls.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ_Ad74QD0DPa3fafQn_EmiuJLJN8LiTpJRyOZ_RiG97qI2KwiDTfEnnIiDs05HViUsZYdhZYz2LaL7flRnpveGAPVErt4QyOBML7sf3QEaLC_NTJhvx7hXLt7pcRZuGsoLZaryM8oEIZ/w300-h400/Dorothy+Falls.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben at Dorothy Falls</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwsT0_bmUyHakpQfi8FqsVsnqq5fGFnEUk3Cgppdc1GUJ2kxB1ekD8rl71fwRaCUV-1WGwPRr4SrUXQKdbhK4Zrl86JXu2Wd6Zttep6K1OIgQzIqyz3VeV056MuqeR8XxfXX0Sj2_cHVg/s2048/Nest+Left+Engstroms.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwsT0_bmUyHakpQfi8FqsVsnqq5fGFnEUk3Cgppdc1GUJ2kxB1ekD8rl71fwRaCUV-1WGwPRr4SrUXQKdbhK4Zrl86JXu2Wd6Zttep6K1OIgQzIqyz3VeV056MuqeR8XxfXX0Sj2_cHVg/w300-h400/Nest+Left+Engstroms.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nest Left, Engstrom's, (M4.) Great climb, but <br />off limits due to nesting Eagles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><u>AYASAYUQ</u> </b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Here, embedded within the interference patterns of this post, lies another <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2018/09/ring-of-ayasayuk.html">Ring of Ayasayuk</a>, viewed through a valence of two years. Water finds its pathway down the tiers of the Cape Nome quarry and forms ice climbs. But just like the Anvil Mud Mounds, the quarry gets worked by machinery during the summer season and Fall finds an entirely new scarp for which climbers to practice absurd derivations of Mixed Alpine Climbing. The temperature gradient dropped a little too succintly this last Fall into the sub-freezing zone and the ice was scant, but previous years did better. The quarry is Bering Straits Native Corporation property and Kigsblog disavows any knowledge of climbing within the boundaries but will offer that the giant scar is a fascinating little ecosystem unto itself with its own awareness, moods, and ectoplasmic resonance from the past.</b></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeIa3a6qVfqne_MwrkkoHUrcUtfhpSOlXDQUJ_YhoIJJtsPjyqFAazXmC64lnL5eIDpD6NBjJ5EQ_R0Z00qjBWZJXzcz8LTJqv_b5iYvtKLcwHBa831hh7akX2U_WY2ADitd9KMDzeP5c/s2048/Nick+Treinen+Cape+Nome.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeIa3a6qVfqne_MwrkkoHUrcUtfhpSOlXDQUJ_YhoIJJtsPjyqFAazXmC64lnL5eIDpD6NBjJ5EQ_R0Z00qjBWZJXzcz8LTJqv_b5iYvtKLcwHBa831hh7akX2U_WY2ADitd9KMDzeP5c/w400-h300/Nick+Treinen+Cape+Nome.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick 2018</td></tr></tbody></table></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU9giTvw_DV6HvmH3Wf45MjPWVaJX2Qu5XHAsotQmzcfJ8Sca0ViTH6IX5hnSIxro_Q2IHUsRqp5e8ie4rPXhG72FIoD_8BBqdGniibHtfBsCMy3jA_1-dCBnViC3ji-yNFpDA_r9P7HW/s2048/Cape+Nome+Ice+2019.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU9giTvw_DV6HvmH3Wf45MjPWVaJX2Qu5XHAsotQmzcfJ8Sca0ViTH6IX5hnSIxro_Q2IHUsRqp5e8ie4rPXhG72FIoD_8BBqdGniibHtfBsCMy3jA_1-dCBnViC3ji-yNFpDA_r9P7HW/w400-h300/Cape+Nome+Ice+2019.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ayasayuq 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCALA36_szQxLelpDLoanndWNSgwLMGqYL9sB_uMh6GfjxgH3_9e4zwzvFeYzq87izkrJ92gPRF1HLc4jHB_k_qsHzU_1TVhkEpCcBwWeEUPQ7zXBWs9YyK0V-uDChSUp7pHXm4VRIhHe/s2048/Cape+Nome+quarry+2018.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCALA36_szQxLelpDLoanndWNSgwLMGqYL9sB_uMh6GfjxgH3_9e4zwzvFeYzq87izkrJ92gPRF1HLc4jHB_k_qsHzU_1TVhkEpCcBwWeEUPQ7zXBWs9YyK0V-uDChSUp7pHXm4VRIhHe/w400-h300/Cape+Nome+quarry+2018.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iteration 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-59495277110837002472020-06-27T20:48:00.007-07:002021-04-11T22:26:35.685-07:00Fall Bouldering Interferometer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">UPDATE: New entries from 2020 have been entered as an update rather than a new post in order to create a <i>triple conjunction </i>of Fall bouldering, which only throws into relief the severe nature of the BLOG-LAG afflicting Kigsblog at this time</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>ANVIL MOUNTAIN</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Pelitic, Porphyroblastic, Graphitic, Micaceous Schist</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEX-lEI-0UNnwFJPGntvPGwpiX3oVyvH00ICTNwlRcyDfOxuX0mf0lDe_W0O5easKuNY9J0U4fFLM-9g3U4ZUS4yZc6G34vtZn0_pZtEPQTnn8O5-dRxpjAXlsB3Y_tqzhHg0kFdgaVpk/s2048/Anvil+Mt.-The+Alley.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEX-lEI-0UNnwFJPGntvPGwpiX3oVyvH00ICTNwlRcyDfOxuX0mf0lDe_W0O5easKuNY9J0U4fFLM-9g3U4ZUS4yZc6G34vtZn0_pZtEPQTnn8O5-dRxpjAXlsB3Y_tqzhHg0kFdgaVpk/w480-h640/Anvil+Mt.-The+Alley.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Limestone Band, Brooks is embarking on Alley Traverse (V2, peemarked by author in 2004) spotted by Vince. The new wave of Nome bouldering brought in with the Fall influx. Notice the evidence of pad infection.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>LOST CREEK</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><b>Massive Marble</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOxwT7PLkVpEkK5_vyNX40EXDg0ytaU-kvq-U-REq-hgC4keAkjY-1qRsDVE_3_a1OnXe5CQwEfdSrEZl0wXWGPoEMZlUmxoAfuZWuB5RMY5Mr71eKm8g9ZORFcWypn1jOm58O7rlQn0B/s2048/Lost+Creek+roof+.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOxwT7PLkVpEkK5_vyNX40EXDg0ytaU-kvq-U-REq-hgC4keAkjY-1qRsDVE_3_a1OnXe5CQwEfdSrEZl0wXWGPoEMZlUmxoAfuZWuB5RMY5Mr71eKm8g9ZORFcWypn1jOm58O7rlQn0B/w640-h480/Lost+Creek+roof+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lost Creek is an awesome new find of a bouldering area discovered by Keane in 2020, who stumbled upon this bouldering garden out behind his home in Triple Creek Subdivision. I say "discovered" because this marble somehow evaded my detection all these years. It was nice to have a new area on which to lay down fresh peemarks. Here we see Silas Wade seeking to unlock one of the harder lines that remains uncranked at Lost Creek.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qUT0dpBtYIkiIrhlZiGXYK06rq4lLQQqBsAUbxy8XeWDOx77Yi1TUNaJEr8D9We8bLv9UiUDI3-uA0pftRWRtD52MZLe3KX_x3GzbM5h9r4QsCsmf0_5lycBz77aw46NXwfQXp36q7Zp/s2048/Lost+Creek+Nome+Alaska.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qUT0dpBtYIkiIrhlZiGXYK06rq4lLQQqBsAUbxy8XeWDOx77Yi1TUNaJEr8D9We8bLv9UiUDI3-uA0pftRWRtD52MZLe3KX_x3GzbM5h9r4QsCsmf0_5lycBz77aw46NXwfQXp36q7Zp/w640-h480/Lost+Creek+Nome+Alaska.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice Fall evening at Lost Creek, the room where it was happening in 2020.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>SINGTOOK GRANITE BOULDERS</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><b>Leucocratic fine to medium grained biotite granite and granodiorite</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoqRTVA4xBAEg0DT3LHi0Pc_sqNd9PtoMWUS7_csEERm_uRKxuUNT0FO6nO2SNU21Dv4BVk_n7aNwUh8ql_O06SHArOTb7KvnQOPcwHEfvgi28-9iogxAIIksZSDt0cjWfSkgrkIPeltU/s2048/grand+singatook+granite+boulders.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoqRTVA4xBAEg0DT3LHi0Pc_sqNd9PtoMWUS7_csEERm_uRKxuUNT0FO6nO2SNU21Dv4BVk_n7aNwUh8ql_O06SHArOTb7KvnQOPcwHEfvgi28-9iogxAIIksZSDt0cjWfSkgrkIPeltU/w640-h480/grand+singatook+granite+boulders.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Several times over the years, lost and wandering on the flanks of the Grand Singatook, Pk. 3870, the most climbed three-thousander in the Kigs out by Mile 45 Teller Road, I've stumbled upon a hanging garden of granite boulders with nice sandy landings. Vince and I visited these boulders in Fall of 2020, (in the vicinity of Pt. 1748 on the North Fork of Crete Creek) and we had a mega-fun day peemarking boulders that carry the distinction of being actual, unmetamorphesized, igneous granite, rather than the usual metamorphic gneiss. Felt good to be climbing granite again.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>HUNDRED_YEAR OLD ROCKFALL - MOSQUITO PASS</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><b>Highly resistant coarse grained pelitic paragneiss and schist</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam491b4pw8ce20K1n7fvyMJeJ4B52xv3uJWi52zzA2CVCiQXJ-MP3CuYMQRv7_bnhNkIC_TewNQglFq3NcxR_DVxaEA0u7j8pVreABIZc4vpKa9lY9fhP629YlZk5a2sfUWzaqVy0ApTG/s1962/Hundred+Year+Old+Rockfall+bouldering.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1962" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam491b4pw8ce20K1n7fvyMJeJ4B52xv3uJWi52zzA2CVCiQXJ-MP3CuYMQRv7_bnhNkIC_TewNQglFq3NcxR_DVxaEA0u7j8pVreABIZc4vpKa9lY9fhP629YlZk5a2sfUWzaqVy0ApTG/w400-h228/Hundred+Year+Old+Rockfall+bouldering.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best bouldering area in Qaweraq lies by Mosquito Pass <br />where a massive rockfall crossed Windy Creek. A "hundred years"<br /> is just a name based on a crude estimate.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfxeZbXfUzEqWsJ2uQLRkwI3uQ7fr81nIwGhUZcbosWO82KYmTqZFEToU7UXYRQEvW9JedYWVUAbJpd7ceswHBPEQFUIlZfHes__wrScGuWk4WLEOYAY_bTqjaSSPslJC7UVm3HcSkyzr/s1486/Mosquito+Pass+Area+climbing+Nome+Alaska.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1486" data-original-width="948" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfxeZbXfUzEqWsJ2uQLRkwI3uQ7fr81nIwGhUZcbosWO82KYmTqZFEToU7UXYRQEvW9JedYWVUAbJpd7ceswHBPEQFUIlZfHes__wrScGuWk4WLEOYAY_bTqjaSSPslJC7UVm3HcSkyzr/w254-h400/Mosquito+Pass+Area+climbing+Nome+Alaska.png" width="254" /></a></div><br /><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">----------------------------------------------------------------</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">BLOG-LAG: nearly 2 years. Fall bouldering seasons 2018 and 2019 in superposition. Veracity and objectivity may be affected by in-phase interference. Because featured boulders occupy private inholdings, obfuscation will be loaded in filters. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">BANNER RIDGE (Windmills)</span></b></i></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><i><b><span>Graphitic Schist and Quartzite</span></b></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0fcTet4g5zI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0fcTet4g5zI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>VIDEO!! Turn it up!</i> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> "Courtyard Arete" best done in early Spring when snow in courtyard forms crash pad for bonebroke landing. Not quite maybe "V1" as video claims, but <i>kigsblog</i> cinematographer Raina liked the ideophonics of the rating so left it in. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Lowball Girdle" refers to complete circumnavigation by lowball traverse of entire northern rock clump at <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2011/11/borehole-traverse-windmills.html" target="_blank">Windmills</a> for which the cracking of crux north-facing segment is captured in video. Jug visible in my face at crux must be off-routed as it attaches to gruesome 800 lb. detached block threatening supine climber with body-crushing panini. (Choss dispensations are key to longevity in Nome bouldering.) Almost sent all 360 degrees of Lowball Girdle but pumped out at second crux on Courtyard Jut. V1 rating seems fair in this case factoring in endurance required to circumnavigate entire girdle. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbDWsb1AXfPH1j7pfNQM5TUAqGIn_qoAMc3bB0h3h-LR0jS9R2229EHUFIMD44QEvPSkLeJqLSMUGWeR5XcOvzV8ILU1lYJpJnoeKBhHEG3p-dp05f_v-8K6UC3d0SgSMRYtVJXGqEYjW/s1600/Emily+Riedel.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbDWsb1AXfPH1j7pfNQM5TUAqGIn_qoAMc3bB0h3h-LR0jS9R2229EHUFIMD44QEvPSkLeJqLSMUGWeR5XcOvzV8ILU1lYJpJnoeKBhHEG3p-dp05f_v-8K6UC3d0SgSMRYtVJXGqEYjW/s640/Emily+Riedel.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Emily Riedel pulls down metamorphic choss at Windmills, Fall 2019. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzIQStPBClortgZvfUc_cq_WTOuOMZM1BHaRScn1fBagLexpjOOSe7E1majZgqdcAAx7bn9gv_hYYaSrrw4lc8RFXU7ZMFWV8haia-9ufhJCpXhtclXnsbGpsQlv3pRViiBm2a82_HObz/s1600/Upper+Windmill+Hill+Wheat+Thin.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzIQStPBClortgZvfUc_cq_WTOuOMZM1BHaRScn1fBagLexpjOOSe7E1majZgqdcAAx7bn9gv_hYYaSrrw4lc8RFXU7ZMFWV8haia-9ufhJCpXhtclXnsbGpsQlv3pRViiBm2a82_HObz/s640/Upper+Windmill+Hill+Wheat+Thin.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"<i>Aniyanaq</i> (Handle With Care)" (5.8) sits among this conjunction's harvest of new problems at upper Windmills.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><u>PENNY RIVER CRAGS</u></b></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i>Pelitic, Porphyroclastic, Micaceous, Graphitic Schist</i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3H_siY3esqsyQCePw4WtxwOueQXDSFsFtqpg6aA8_Zt2g0kiSSUFlV4JSJlj1Ny9MPi15NBpxxzPz5Fc6MEIms_fxPKYRtagT5hLUdvv00PSX_g6DXO_Kgv6e70inaGNULO_tHZbTj7U/s1600/Penny+Crags.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3H_siY3esqsyQCePw4WtxwOueQXDSFsFtqpg6aA8_Zt2g0kiSSUFlV4JSJlj1Ny9MPi15NBpxxzPz5Fc6MEIms_fxPKYRtagT5hLUdvv00PSX_g6DXO_Kgv6e70inaGNULO_tHZbTj7U/s640/Penny+Crags.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">"<i>TuNniqtuq</i> (Leans Against the Hillside)." Author Allapa high above Penny River.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuLQ7mlTUu8vFPb98CYdqjuxZJh7cnDpRT2leEjD5lcE3yFWIgdlDdeQJ9S8idhObopixT_EGP-MI75RHZQk9O_4fEpiCtmmoURJGGROtfpsB8G_yTq0N-4Ol9heeaAy5geXwxLLhlqxZ/s1600/Nick+Treinen+at+Penny+River+Crags.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuLQ7mlTUu8vFPb98CYdqjuxZJh7cnDpRT2leEjD5lcE3yFWIgdlDdeQJ9S8idhObopixT_EGP-MI75RHZQk9O_4fEpiCtmmoURJGGROtfpsB8G_yTq0N-4Ol9heeaAy5geXwxLLhlqxZ/s640/Nick+Treinen+at+Penny+River+Crags.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> "<i>Tuyuun</i> (Something Sent)." <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2011/11/peemark-penny-crags-pk-1460.html" target="_blank">Penny Crags</a> lean against steep hillside of Pk. 1460 simulating exposure.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><u>SUNSET ROCKS</u></b></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i>Pelitic, Porphyroclastic, Micaceous, Graphitic Schist</i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh537_vHLqXC5su5IxAvXBTr_byWmTKChzh0c1v7mUsn87JNyN0tFrLVFjWWKGRvQfyL8opszOU5B6KkZSc9Oxr0_UQfaYr-s1_EGe6fd4gw7_SF7zb2nNI1WW9o8L5u5UV8D3Pz3CohVee/s1600/Sunset+Rocks.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh537_vHLqXC5su5IxAvXBTr_byWmTKChzh0c1v7mUsn87JNyN0tFrLVFjWWKGRvQfyL8opszOU5B6KkZSc9Oxr0_UQfaYr-s1_EGe6fd4gw7_SF7zb2nNI1WW9o8L5u5UV8D3Pz3CohVee/s640/Sunset+Rocks.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
"Orange Wall" (5.8), Sunset Rocks, Emily belays Nick. Gold Dredge in dry dock, freed from spell of gold, Emily's late-season psyche impelled us to climb in Fall dank.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ9KpXOmA-QhYpOvu2rAzd5fragRfgfWeXWeYWOXdZSih7YQWwKcymuoExB6vHDiBgpFWuellhTHu8ECjOiuNQCQTnMvdrGsWqPwAbjIuR81f73IaEP2Csr5TgmAL4lU_oj2AAliTGaw-/s1600/Sunset+Boulders+10%253A1%253A18.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ9KpXOmA-QhYpOvu2rAzd5fragRfgfWeXWeYWOXdZSih7YQWwKcymuoExB6vHDiBgpFWuellhTHu8ECjOiuNQCQTnMvdrGsWqPwAbjIuR81f73IaEP2Csr5TgmAL4lU_oj2AAliTGaw-/s640/Sunset+Boulders+10%253A1%253A18.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick on Orange Wall. Every crag has an orange wall. Orange lichen hog tastiest limestone. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><u>KING MOUNTAIN</u></b></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i>Pelitic, Porphyroclastic, Micaceous, Graphitic Schist</i></b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6V1-0soSfO6yFTcq-BlHrN5QmEAL9d_HWnDmFxWkF84SYmKI1Zx8LQu8Q3FlWtlSCCEQ0pk-b8jm003uNZBgQkwF0OLkjDxt1Wz3bgysYwDBqH-Sw1-tnVN4w0QOjIHCgd9kCpepXkUZ/s1600/king+mountain+z+crack.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6V1-0soSfO6yFTcq-BlHrN5QmEAL9d_HWnDmFxWkF84SYmKI1Zx8LQu8Q3FlWtlSCCEQ0pk-b8jm003uNZBgQkwF0OLkjDxt1Wz3bgysYwDBqH-Sw1-tnVN4w0QOjIHCgd9kCpepXkUZ/s640/king+mountain+z+crack.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Lightning Bolt Crack" (5.10a) or (M6). Sara tries King Mountain 25 ft. test piece. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><u><i>ENGSTROM'S MOUNTAIN</i></u></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i>Massive Marble</i></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeLTwG_j25oGKtqZK5FQ5pUMd9mfsu5wpJuh0OGM79UgVc3uRbvXWune-04GcoVVbxlQb_M4wP8n9Ao48jNq5G37k5UDACGMdxCX-pPRdXF5YcMBMiAnP8pqPAbIMgptoEsBHDc34RXYJ/s2048/Engstroms+Mountain+Nome+Alaska.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeLTwG_j25oGKtqZK5FQ5pUMd9mfsu5wpJuh0OGM79UgVc3uRbvXWune-04GcoVVbxlQb_M4wP8n9Ao48jNq5G37k5UDACGMdxCX-pPRdXF5YcMBMiAnP8pqPAbIMgptoEsBHDc34RXYJ/w480-h640/Engstroms+Mountain+Nome+Alaska.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">Fall 2020 superposition, the top layer of Engstroms through the palimpsest.<br />Brooks belays Claire on "Orange Wall" (5.10a</span>). </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXmO4A_-hgRBwatg44l4-xgClFuJAt1zJo_ANojOpQ9_w5oFhdLl0kdJQHfjMo8zk-6FuYO3z1r4eZa4Dm-Sa6CuFh-xBjQoE0916nfFOxh5coj75K3Dl0JJJbcWSzNDALdkFcqubVfMh/s1600/Engstroms+9%253A3%253A18+.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXmO4A_-hgRBwatg44l4-xgClFuJAt1zJo_ANojOpQ9_w5oFhdLl0kdJQHfjMo8zk-6FuYO3z1r4eZa4Dm-Sa6CuFh-xBjQoE0916nfFOxh5coj75K3Dl0JJJbcWSzNDALdkFcqubVfMh/s640/Engstroms+9%253A3%253A18+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>QilaNniq</i> (Shamanic Trance)" (5.6). Nick stemming anomalous patch of sound marble.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWITT47kE9YlYh39jms-KSIwBUxeJAvN8IUnTO74hf6U3qDjpEdRpliMzB055rA9ZEIKKilONpA8GRe6YVLbF3Ctgggmj_cl-fwDYCSTQQ_TOD7pPpwocOgmqhhy5lUrOHANp4wku1j2l/s1600/Engstroms+Mountain+Rock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWITT47kE9YlYh39jms-KSIwBUxeJAvN8IUnTO74hf6U3qDjpEdRpliMzB055rA9ZEIKKilONpA8GRe6YVLbF3Ctgggmj_cl-fwDYCSTQQ_TOD7pPpwocOgmqhhy5lUrOHANp4wku1j2l/s640/Engstroms+Mountain+Rock.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>SaGugaa</i> (He Skirted It)." Filtering choss to construct aesthetic movement.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqP2lMnRIJ5_ShpPBgsw9fvXS_8HKP0GP8GMyYjud0YEyuKchAJ5myvVku2UK6VCWrpHA5d-VdiEoV7XgW948RPPypwScvCcapQbudj0n84q0hZyBppPo2lWCvGQtunHWbFJs_HPu2giN/s1600/backside+of+Engstroms+Mountain.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqP2lMnRIJ5_ShpPBgsw9fvXS_8HKP0GP8GMyYjud0YEyuKchAJ5myvVku2UK6VCWrpHA5d-VdiEoV7XgW948RPPypwScvCcapQbudj0n84q0hZyBppPo2lWCvGQtunHWbFJs_HPu2giN/s640/backside+of+Engstroms+Mountain.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">"<i>Suuva Una?</i> (What Is This?)" Nick hanging like bat off kangaroo, in my estimation. Kangaroo Tor located along Engstrom's north ridge composed of coarse grained, Albite Mafic Schist.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u>ALEXANDER SUPERTRAMP BOULDERS </u>(Sinuk)</i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i><u>Schist</u></i></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oUHc_pyPQEMQ4C0d_GFYYZllcN1ZhyphenhyphenmgWOghlD0cTjmlWcmCPGSzGSgPLQc23RmKM12KESFA5Ilj0v6_BnyaJLb6JsCjdbVpplp0scVQCdEK3hQjgXsL8vArNPdTp_A_uY7JMPYchgZi/s1600/Alaska+Bus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oUHc_pyPQEMQ4C0d_GFYYZllcN1ZhyphenhyphenmgWOghlD0cTjmlWcmCPGSzGSgPLQc23RmKM12KESFA5Ilj0v6_BnyaJLb6JsCjdbVpplp0scVQCdEK3hQjgXsL8vArNPdTp_A_uY7JMPYchgZi/s640/Alaska+Bus.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"And what of Lazarus?" Personally, I was not against the bus. Every wilderness should have a <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2011/11/supertramp-buttresses-revisited.html" target="_blank">bus</a>. Better install ferry across Teklanika than move sacred portal. Dimensional interface only happens if bus is in middle of nowhere. It won't be the same in museum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclcTN8ZtbwGFFp2TDD_qV4JVAPXdWK344ZvJCO5RMz4tgtNONaP06ZwyzqjX08UVj02nRgWOqCv9jn1ytr8Pdj4J620lKOPCJCugnRWuJxgx-gn3Mtwg0Zi-C6hnl7XvaF9eHcYDkZAmC/s1600/ahngala+%2528I+pretend+as+I+play%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclcTN8ZtbwGFFp2TDD_qV4JVAPXdWK344ZvJCO5RMz4tgtNONaP06ZwyzqjX08UVj02nRgWOqCv9jn1ytr8Pdj4J620lKOPCJCugnRWuJxgx-gn3Mtwg0Zi-C6hnl7XvaF9eHcYDkZAmC/s640/ahngala+%2528I+pretend+as+I+play%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>Sriksrik </i>(Squirrel)" (V0). </span><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2009/09/sinuk-river-alexander-supertramp-bluffs.html" target="_blank">Once or twice over the years I've pulled that lip</a><span style="font-size: small;"> but usually fear of crushage inhibits send. Recently, in the 2020 layer, I spotted Vince as he pulled through the power pinch for a send. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8FXP98wStY7Pjfg-UZcuPsoN-TnqG1W5f4L3-3CD45ndBeHA16tEEBT0qfCST8yT3FVcikcpuIy07uwmLabu3RzDYy0M4mIouO3mU46w27nO4FIxZBK7GkZkHSJNwaHaLgzXZc6keeX9/s1600/Kauniaq-Reach+into+a+cleft.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8FXP98wStY7Pjfg-UZcuPsoN-TnqG1W5f4L3-3CD45ndBeHA16tEEBT0qfCST8yT3FVcikcpuIy07uwmLabu3RzDYy0M4mIouO3mU46w27nO4FIxZBK7GkZkHSJNwaHaLgzXZc6keeX9/s640/Kauniaq-Reach+into+a+cleft.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>Kuvuaq</i> (It Has A Striped Pattern). Supertramps a nice bouldering area.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiZx9O0LOGj2V_aLP9ry1OUbHczjN_FHtjPTP3A9Ki9yQFxi9rnQFrOdeQdR5vgf4AVUpzImI2Z_8ntH7KcIIA_FJMYMH8u-IASw4tKbXjgmvDmKR5Jz1bjigSRwZaaGG3SkpQ1ble3rR/s1600/Puktaiga+%2528I+floated+it%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiZx9O0LOGj2V_aLP9ry1OUbHczjN_FHtjPTP3A9Ki9yQFxi9rnQFrOdeQdR5vgf4AVUpzImI2Z_8ntH7KcIIA_FJMYMH8u-IASw4tKbXjgmvDmKR5Jz1bjigSRwZaaGG3SkpQ1ble3rR/s400/Puktaiga+%2528I+floated+it%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n2jsguFP4Fd28HHcgs1eW4esT1HH1hyphenhyphenprWPJ0q5uV3AIe19Bk85Yqpd2NfvH57IKJZcKHzEMc6lHJ3HGV0H4CaZrJlA1Yrdguhr20RGEnCOSWXVT9O4ymhYafnKfiDLJo4biKoOI4-v3/s1600/puktaiga+qimmiGtimayuqtuNa.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n2jsguFP4Fd28HHcgs1eW4esT1HH1hyphenhyphenprWPJ0q5uV3AIe19Bk85Yqpd2NfvH57IKJZcKHzEMc6lHJ3HGV0H4CaZrJlA1Yrdguhr20RGEnCOSWXVT9O4ymhYafnKfiDLJo4biKoOI4-v3/s400/puktaiga+qimmiGtimayuqtuNa.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>Mayualaktuq</i> (He Climbs Up To Look Around)" (5.7). The tundra is a long way down.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsfjuRcU-SY6aLwObmPOav0LlZC30ZjMSyiqs0mdsdtcr2cnjhqt48Lku1hsJ3KrxCFusMb897AjVGKhxwCQavtFuMdZNfAPj3VFZ2EY9GqW0NrUWZwpyEEQWikQ0VH5rlij8a87zqdwp/s1600/overextended+stem.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsfjuRcU-SY6aLwObmPOav0LlZC30ZjMSyiqs0mdsdtcr2cnjhqt48Lku1hsJ3KrxCFusMb897AjVGKhxwCQavtFuMdZNfAPj3VFZ2EY9GqW0NrUWZwpyEEQWikQ0VH5rlij8a87zqdwp/s400/overextended+stem.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzheDZYmIKeDdt20YimXcYhyphenhyphen0gCtxQu8i8yTk0D3XD0ti4hNHWAM20DaVE8G1d51uRAZpEwHNC1mQB3-IiMWRbto1rYKngd3PBQl-GXJmE4ADBFRm7SXecwYepyRoLy_P3TjqM6e5edE2a/s1600/navigia-I+am+cut+in+half.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzheDZYmIKeDdt20YimXcYhyphenhyphen0gCtxQu8i8yTk0D3XD0ti4hNHWAM20DaVE8G1d51uRAZpEwHNC1mQB3-IiMWRbto1rYKngd3PBQl-GXJmE4ADBFRm7SXecwYepyRoLy_P3TjqM6e5edE2a/s400/navigia-I+am+cut+in+half.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">"<i>Kikkaq</i> (Empty Space Between Things)." What starts as innocent bridging problem ends in awkward conundrum: there's no easy way to exit the bridge. One becomes trapped in full-body stem position.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EAFvWS5v2YzyW-ME9U4NrIo9EXhwcdBCLLVgvNYYL_TGkfLTI5lvOOaHWMbRs2wJShtcsHSQFi_-53W7Yzyq8CeGWZk_HmczO33Ovr36lpsXjFulKQjuXY0pzPyMhMslz9KLAo5kHOa5/s1600/Alexander+Supertramp+Boulders+9%253A8%253A18.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EAFvWS5v2YzyW-ME9U4NrIo9EXhwcdBCLLVgvNYYL_TGkfLTI5lvOOaHWMbRs2wJShtcsHSQFi_-53W7Yzyq8CeGWZk_HmczO33Ovr36lpsXjFulKQjuXY0pzPyMhMslz9KLAo5kHOa5/s640/Alexander+Supertramp+Boulders+9%253A8%253A18.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The fragility of crystal is not a weakness but a fineness." Chris McCandless</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u>OLIVER PERRY SMITH ROCKS (Solomon)</u></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><i>Schist</i></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezL4u39dUTN6BxmdbayWrhKrTN1-J2piIs2hrPeAi9baFOz50XRbMDWnqqaQ5rxftVwv7Shag-NacPa49n7gR5f0EaYVAnYcUsSDLQHTwypd0YonvZczlW2eP7wwpbX-kKpMUDTlhVq_N/s1600/oliver+perry+smith+boulders+tiNmiaLhuziq.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezL4u39dUTN6BxmdbayWrhKrTN1-J2piIs2hrPeAi9baFOz50XRbMDWnqqaQ5rxftVwv7Shag-NacPa49n7gR5f0EaYVAnYcUsSDLQHTwypd0YonvZczlW2eP7wwpbX-kKpMUDTlhVq_N/s640/oliver+perry+smith+boulders+tiNmiaLhuziq.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Wavy Crack" on <i>Aaqsuq. </i>Unsent by us but probably sent by <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2010/09/return-to-oliver-perry-smith-boulders.html" target="_blank">Johnson</a> in 1906. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKIlVnPdLS_Ksxmahpaul5sBr5FwkJBfH7EV3wREl0taovZl2AX4lIilSAH2K6ey3UAxpXJLJzrF27HAokVErv4MM9fq0xuDcMApNbjrUKuAfxKfBynm59Fd7LIDxWA1t__gSVidD2sCn/s1600/Solomon+River+bouldering+.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKIlVnPdLS_Ksxmahpaul5sBr5FwkJBfH7EV3wREl0taovZl2AX4lIilSAH2K6ey3UAxpXJLJzrF27HAokVErv4MM9fq0xuDcMApNbjrUKuAfxKfBynm59Fd7LIDxWA1t__gSVidD2sCn/s400/Solomon+River+bouldering+.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5x1Ld-OBhljN8suR-MrKdi19AovWLsbunKXWYfRzO0A2IR943x6vWFUOKdLcArbSSYJBTXv3hfqbDCzdF3A8cONzKyzbE2e1BjbKPe-gfZsmwq44je-f4oD26MWvTi3n8s-OOa7VFzI8/s1600/agiaGutirut.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5x1Ld-OBhljN8suR-MrKdi19AovWLsbunKXWYfRzO0A2IR943x6vWFUOKdLcArbSSYJBTXv3hfqbDCzdF3A8cONzKyzbE2e1BjbKPe-gfZsmwq44je-f4oD26MWvTi3n8s-OOa7VFzI8/s400/agiaGutirut.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>SanniNaruq</i> (It's Positioned Sideways)." Couldn't quite solve traverse that day. Rules say don't touch ground or top rail.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EdJVqSOF_0kXNKvGqx2j07eqWnnSibyujmLJZGJWu36kqjPFBrAvI4gddelyZd195Kzm_ON_eLGAVuK-oOaMIE9dW3arc-q3jk88JVCtEyfW2YyUopoFPNeB57tLPGzEjbVD3TkzQLf6/s1600/Council+Road+Rock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EdJVqSOF_0kXNKvGqx2j07eqWnnSibyujmLJZGJWu36kqjPFBrAvI4gddelyZd195Kzm_ON_eLGAVuK-oOaMIE9dW3arc-q3jk88JVCtEyfW2YyUopoFPNeB57tLPGzEjbVD3TkzQLf6/s640/Council+Road+Rock.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>Aaqsuq</i> (Raising Block)." Champion fell runner Nick got defaulted into Bouldering Game during his time in Nome through association with nefarious Allapa but Nick is always happy just to be out there. His gravitational influence clearly exerts itself upon the interference patterns of the twinned life phases documented here. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7L6r7WE0xFuc1fAKMMwOaxXjFJdIlcuYlO5fMHtAfYKDPpwmSuUqDu3xxh3uF-znVwNReLk4YAB0XUVk7DYIRRBnVtqMn4-Dw8gcMSpHZ3jIWVXZ8BWN1VDQQBfMQW7w_fQi3XnVCrOO/s1600/tor+in+beringia.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7L6r7WE0xFuc1fAKMMwOaxXjFJdIlcuYlO5fMHtAfYKDPpwmSuUqDu3xxh3uF-znVwNReLk4YAB0XUVk7DYIRRBnVtqMn4-Dw8gcMSpHZ3jIWVXZ8BWN1VDQQBfMQW7w_fQi3XnVCrOO/s640/tor+in+beringia.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>Ahngala</i> (I Pretend As I Play)" on the <i>Tiksraq </i>at Oliver Perry Smith Rocks<i>.</i> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMDE72Nfo8UmW-TwLXTqa6DZT-UgHMcIX7bWlfo1MhxUQI31plVA_yOAJr_PljeEKMTtTxWXzaL045WEFw91E-GvlRn_fvVTezWcgziJmTFLorVhFdxV13hMivtQ74tSnFS4LivDM-T9E/s1600/dog+climbing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMDE72Nfo8UmW-TwLXTqa6DZT-UgHMcIX7bWlfo1MhxUQI31plVA_yOAJr_PljeEKMTtTxWXzaL045WEFw91E-GvlRn_fvVTezWcgziJmTFLorVhFdxV13hMivtQ74tSnFS4LivDM-T9E/s640/dog+climbing.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Other dog bailed but Lucy climbed to top.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Rock gardens dot Beringia as far as eye can see across both sides of Bering Strait. Leg has been lifted on featured problems in this post creating blog heterodyne from two waves of Fall bouldering, but only for outings on which camera was used, leaving the majority of Fall bouldering events to escape without peemark, ego stamp, or even remembrance. Absurdist Calculus is required to render a boulder problem from the flow of climbing into a static, quantifiable event. Thank you to "Dictionary of King Island Inupiaq" compiled by Lawrence D. Kaplan for the route names which in no way are meant to be taken seriously, at least not as names for bouldering problems. Thank you to "Preliminary Geologic Map of the Nome Mining District" by T.K. Bundzten et al. for the geologic help with local outcrops. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-18317517958559735532020-01-11T20:23:00.000-08:002020-01-11T20:57:07.285-08:00Ditch of a Ditch<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 72px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<b>Ditch of a Ditch</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMSLjaXdO43FrloyX2U9zZt4QCqImafK0Y08Bvc6mXrImwW8sHK50D1g14_OwvkuxK8aAjv1qL-qSg_ep0bMLo3myi6AnbldcwEALO2CHdOsB7AgtH4894gKuO6OOrhcriFE9vcKCz9qC/s1600/Grand+Union+Glacier+July+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMSLjaXdO43FrloyX2U9zZt4QCqImafK0Y08Bvc6mXrImwW8sHK50D1g14_OwvkuxK8aAjv1qL-qSg_ep0bMLo3myi6AnbldcwEALO2CHdOsB7AgtH4894gKuO6OOrhcriFE9vcKCz9qC/s640/Grand+Union+Glacier+July+2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Grand Union Glacier</u> on the Middle Fork of Grand Union drainage, July 2018</span> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i style="font-size: 24px;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-size: 24px;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-size: 24px;"><i>July, 1911</i></i><br />
<i style="font-size: 24px;">Grand Central Valley</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i>Kigluaik Mountains, north of Nome, Alaska </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Johnson makes contact with a new friend</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was this one coolie that kept looking up to catch Johnson's eye. Coolies didn't tend to look you in the eye, which is why Johnson noticed the man. Johnson had seen him, marching with his coolie gang, shovel in hand, at various locations up and down the mucky trails of Grand Central Valley. Always the fellow looked uncharacteristically up and outwards over the surrounding bevy of bent-over heads, to make eye contact with Johnson, as if expecting something. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Now, just as Johnson was about to execute an escape attempt— he intended to sneak away from his work post for a two-day pleasure trip to the north side of the mountains to investigate a glacier his friend Henshaw had told him about— just as he was ready to make the move, here came the same, strange little coolie, separated from his gang, trundling a barrel across the meadow at Thompson Creek. His trajectory seemed deliberately calculated to intersect Johnson's.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
This particular moment was freighted with peril for Johnson. It marked the crux move of his escape: the critical exit into deep brush. What with the chaos and misdirections of the work operations in Grand Central, where you really couldn't be sure which ditch was which, or whose ditch you worked for, or how water was supposed to flow uphill, Johnson was pretty sure no one would notice his absence from the operations. However, if some Teamster were to actually observe him at his moment of egress into the deep brush, word might get around he was shirking his duty. Johnson had already taken two previous vacations in this same way and gotten away with it clean, but this time, the queer coolie was mucking it up. To make matters worse, Johnson carried a somewhat conspicuous bundle over his shoulders stuffed with two days supplies (in a custom Swiss rucksack he had brought all the way from Zurich to the Territories). But the strange little coolie seemed more inquisitive than ever, to the point that he actually set his barrel upright upon the ground, leaving it behind, and continued in Johnson's direction, keeping his head low, his cap pulled over his eyes.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
There was no way to avoid the pesky coolie. Then, the little guy spoke: "Please, sir, may I accompany you..."<br />
He spoke quietly, in perfectly measured English that contained no traces of European, American, or Alaskan accent, certainly not Asian. Johnson was quite taken aback, but did not slacken his pace in his commitment to abandon his post. Impulsively, not knowing why he did it, Johnson gestured for the coolie to come along. In a flash, the two men had vanished together in thick brush, swallowed by willows. Instantly, the two became hidden away. Johnson now felt free to pursue his two day recreational hike to the north side of the mountains, confident that no one in the mucked-up operations of the Wild Goose Pipeline would notice he was gone.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4gk93ij3c5AQIlZpFgY5rvm00tp5v6DWTbDikupkU6EyLPQUfVEb0SK3DCy7UTkk8kKePsR78d6ldA__Rp7uGX_jPAT6s6t10QhV_RP3vLlfj9rWTsGKAL1ffMTND1u4RUobK783Izob/s1600/Grand+Central+North+Fork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4gk93ij3c5AQIlZpFgY5rvm00tp5v6DWTbDikupkU6EyLPQUfVEb0SK3DCy7UTkk8kKePsR78d6ldA__Rp7uGX_jPAT6s6t10QhV_RP3vLlfj9rWTsGKAL1ffMTND1u4RUobK783Izob/s640/Grand+Central+North+Fork.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Rick Anderson slogging northwest up the <u>North Fork of Grand Central,</u> July 2018. MacPherson's rogue ditch crew lay hidden in the folds of the hillside ahead.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Johnson and the Coolie investigate an erratic</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wordlessly, the two men skulked along the gravel bars of Grand Central, hidden by species of alder and willow. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">It was strange</span>, thought Johnson, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">this coolie</span>. No matter how Johnson lengthened his tall, lanky stride, Johnson could not shake the little dude. As they reached the deserted North Fork of Grand Central, the pressure of discovery was dissipated, somewhat. No crews would be working up here to witness their insurrection. Still, neither man said anything for a long time. Johnson clung to the assumption the coolie could not speak English, even though his well-formed English phrases still rang in Johnson's ears.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
As they hiked, he considered a visit to the erratics. Johnson always stopped at the North Fork glacial erratics for some acrobatic climbing on the compact granite. But today he felt too exposed, too self-conscious in front of the coolie. What would the heathen make of Johnson's gruntings and gyrations once he assumed the postures of rock climbing taught him by the masters of the Elbsandstein in Eastern Europe? Johnson decided to skip this opportunity to climb on the boulders, and just continued up the curving North Fork of Grand Central.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Out of nowhere, the coolie spoke again, in the same, pitch-perfect English: "Friend-- might we make a detour to the <span style="text-decoration: underline;">erratique glaciarie</span>?" . </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dumbstruck, practically sputtering, Johnson no longer doubted his hypothesis that this was no normal coolie. How would a coolie know such a term as "glacial erratic?" <span style="text-decoration: underline;">What, exactly, was going on here?</span> thought Johnson. He knew of no one else in the entire territory of Alaska besides himself who had read Dr. Forbes' theories on mountain building and glaciation— except, of course, Henshaw, his pal on the Survey.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Chor'," was the only thing Johnson could think to say, in his thick, German/Scandinavian brogue.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They cut over to the boulders. The coolie surveyed the quartz grains in the stone with interest, his hand unconsciously twisting his little black beard as he did so. Johnson feigned his own interest in the granite, instead watching the coolie out of the corner of his eye. The dimunative fellow appeared every part the academic, lacking only a pair of spectacles to complete the impression. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Pretty thick beard for a Chinaman</span>, thought Johnson. Normally, Johnson would have cranked off a few zero moves to the top of the boulder before moving on, but this coolie had spooked him shy. Besides, their position was still too exposed to observation. Both deserters were happy to continue up the valley into the empty Northeast Cirque of Mt. Osborn at the top of the valley.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssaJmK1J_I2XQupXJCRBTWSYCDvYiecd0togPrYOXsgvVVkr0d7mpLyRicujeF7h_N46GRAKff_YtvOXdwI_dNR-T4jQz04oytOitAbofdGoeHIea4-cxdNYVV2Ocu9ZxWjkWnrrRqx9M/s1600/Grand+Union+Glacier+hike+2+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1360" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssaJmK1J_I2XQupXJCRBTWSYCDvYiecd0togPrYOXsgvVVkr0d7mpLyRicujeF7h_N46GRAKff_YtvOXdwI_dNR-T4jQz04oytOitAbofdGoeHIea4-cxdNYVV2Ocu9ZxWjkWnrrRqx9M/s640/Grand+Union+Glacier+hike+2+.jpg" width="628" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Map of Upper Grand Central Valley / Grand Union Drainage.</u> <br />A. Grand Union Glacier, Middle Fork Grand Union<br /> B. Middle East Fork Grand Union Glacier (or remnant) <br />C. Chevron Gulley, East Fork Grand Union<br />This shows where Rick and I went in July, 2018. The Elevation Head of the Wild Goose Pipeline, and evidence of its operational confusions, can still be found in this area.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpk8ZYXFfcd4nQUyQWp-LBsVr00Khyphenhyphen2FVNwE3x020dw2u_fca4klr4A97tWSxBiklFN4o7vjcPng_G2PIx70OlUhd01ivmRa9W43CioXKwrHmheFaStx0afI8kJmJwuYsZKQOXXmkZ-Err/s1600/Grand+Central+Valley+Road+Nome+Alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpk8ZYXFfcd4nQUyQWp-LBsVr00Khyphenhyphen2FVNwE3x020dw2u_fca4klr4A97tWSxBiklFN4o7vjcPng_G2PIx70OlUhd01ivmRa9W43CioXKwrHmheFaStx0afI8kJmJwuYsZKQOXXmkZ-Err/s400/Grand+Central+Valley+Road+Nome+Alaska.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Map of Grand Central</u> showing a hike from a previous year. Red line shows the hundred-year old carriage road, indicated as a dashed line on old USGS Maps. Purple line shows how to hike <u>above</u> the beaver ponds that have intervened since the Pipeline days. The road starts within 30 ft. of the present-day Grand Central bridge. Swaths of the road now lie under hundred-year old willows, and the entire valley is essentially a swamp, nevertheless, staying strictly on the road is the best way to hike into Grand Central. The blue arrow marks the easy pass that Rick and I hiked over to access the north side of the Kigs in this post.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">in which Johnson encounters a rogue ditch operation in Grand Central</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
They turned the corner and came to a sight that filled Johnson with consternation. "Vat de—?" escaped his lips. He was so confused by what he saw that Johnson forgot to stay hidden.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">A ditch crew was up here in the North Fork. Johnson was sure that operations had been discontinued in the North Fork, following a contentious discussion between engineers to which Johnson had been privvy. But here was a crew anyway, hidden from view of all the workers in the lower valley, ploughing out a little six-footer along the east rim of a small gorge. The clack of metal shovel blades against rocky ground sounded through the breezy air. The crew appeared to be composed of Teamsters, working only with shovels. There was not a single horse or piece of machinery to be seen, just human bodies bent over the landscape. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson saw the foreman, a squat, pugnacious man leaning on his shovel, lording it over his crew. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">McPherson!</span> grimaced Johnson to himself. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">That explains it</span>. Johnson disliked the stubborn Scotsman. Everyone called him "the Troll" behind his back. The man seemed to think he owned the entire Grand Central Valley. At the meeting of engineers, Johnson himself had come out in favor of no more ditches up the North Fork. The water hoist up to Crater Lake had been a flawed idea to begin with, and the proposed span across the West Fork was proving costly and problematic. A majority of the engineers had agreed, except for a small faction, led by MacPherson. "A hoist be exactly what those big wigs in Nome are lekking for," the Scotsman had railed at the group. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Standing there in the North Fork with MacPherson's crew just ahead, Johnson surmised that the stubborn Scotsman had gone rogue. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Ten to one the boss don't know he's up here</span>, thought Johnson. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Probably adding to his footage at twice the rate</span>. This certainly wasn't the first rogue ditch in these hills. As a matter of fact, ditches were spreading in every direction, up, down, sideways. It all seemed a little crazy, given that water is supposed to follow the path of least resistance. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson spat a projectile of saliva into the tundra. The coolie looked on silently, seeming to disapprove also. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">The only good fortune</span>, thought Johnson, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">is now that bastard MacPherson can't rat me out, or I'll do the same to him.</span> So Johnson and the Coolie boldly continued along their way up the narrow valley, in full view of the cantankerous foreman building his ditch to nowhere, who stood on his shovel, pretending not to notice the two deserters hiking up the valley.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkn2iCZ-cLJmpaDc3tIrhe6P9AcOFzAG2DuIWGXv6Ma4gTDcQqSf4sPntATH0U2GxPKkRjZCDJurmi-5uf4ty_jDEE4AN0GuVqshO0RKk-lLLqFGRvrFlKhBHc8tlyyqRXQ9qk5vkxH1a/s1600/aaaMt.+Osborn+northeast+cirque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkn2iCZ-cLJmpaDc3tIrhe6P9AcOFzAG2DuIWGXv6Ma4gTDcQqSf4sPntATH0U2GxPKkRjZCDJurmi-5uf4ty_jDEE4AN0GuVqshO0RKk-lLLqFGRvrFlKhBHc8tlyyqRXQ9qk5vkxH1a/s640/aaaMt.+Osborn+northeast+cirque.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>The Rogue Ditch</u>. Ditchmania gripped the hills north of Nome. For a moment, water was worth more than gold. But where to run the ditches? Opinions varied. Northeast Wall of Osborn rises ominously ahead.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemKo755hXAOV512EcfjPaBIwsvfADA3NuP9nrxLWtDVQja_WplsAthsTowV-PFjhZs3hyphenhyphentZD7JkePvB9zUNqO-t4KIUoP6bCxVa9pFy5yB1V-NyfMaBl8-nVoUbc-iNVS5jcCxWokM7Ga/s1600/grand+central+north+fork+feeder+pipe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemKo755hXAOV512EcfjPaBIwsvfADA3NuP9nrxLWtDVQja_WplsAthsTowV-PFjhZs3hyphenhyphentZD7JkePvB9zUNqO-t4KIUoP6bCxVa9pFy5yB1V-NyfMaBl8-nVoUbc-iNVS5jcCxWokM7Ga/s640/grand+central+north+fork+feeder+pipe.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Feeder Line #2</u>, a faint line in the brush at center, a fully-enclosed pipeline made of redwood staves coming out of the North Fork of Grand Central. Photo is taken from Crater Lake, facing northeast. The Feeder Line does not make it across the deep ravine of the West Fork of Grand Central, which is visible bisecting this photo horizontally from west to east. The pipe goes down into the ravine but does not make it back up to where I am standing taking the photo. The planners intended to build a hydraulic water-hoist to get the water back up to Crater Lake, but never got around to it before the whole Wild Goose Pipeline fizzled out. I'm betting they had already scrapped the plans for the hoist by 1911, which is why MacPherson is a renegade, hiding in the North Fork with his crew, madly building his boondoggle ditch to nowhere, fully aware the plans have been scrapped.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><b> in which Johnson begins to entertain suspicions</b> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
The upper slopes of Mt. Osborn were turning their own unique shade of metamorphic burnt umber as the sun rolled like a ball along its northern ramparts. Johnson and his strange companion still walked together, almost in lockstep as they approached the boulder-strewn pass at the top of Grand Central North Fork. After a short afternoon of hiking together, the strangeness of the situation was wearing off, and Johnson had settled into a monologue as the two men hiked, in part to scare the bears away, but also because it was his way, like many a Sourdough hermit of the North, to talk to himself incessantly, and the Coolie's relative silence seemed to Johnson an encouragement of his own palaver.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But then, out of the blue, apropos of nothing, punctuated for dramatic effect, as if his mind had suddenly apprehended an obvious fact that had been dangling in front of him, Johnson exclaimed: "Chou ain't no Chinee." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson possessed an often distracted mind. This evinced in him a kind of innocent joy, as if he were forever stumbling upon things for the first time, elated with the discovery. For the space of a few strides, only the sound of the two men's heavy breathing could be heard.<br />
"Come on, now. Admit it," continued Johnson, directing his words at the Coolie, "I know a heathen when I see one. And you ain't no heathen." <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
"That may be true, sir," said the Coolie, his own flood gates of speech opening up at last, to Johnson's astonishment. "Though in the last mile you have served enough racial epithets so as to make a man such as myself a trifle wary of informing a man such as yourself my true tribal affiliation."</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson stopped dead in his tracks, causing a corresponding cessation of locomotion in his companion. Slowly, as if he had been struck a blow on the head, Johnson turned to peer at the Coolie... or whoever, whatever, he was. Johnson still had not expected such an outflow of English to come from this man he had assumed was a Chinese railroad worker. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The man began to speak in earnest. The cessation of motion caused him to look in Johnson's eyes as he spoke. "Despite the coarseness of your, how do you say it, palaver, yes, you appeared from afar to me to be a man of intellect, upbringing, and sensibility. I have decided to entrust you with a confidence I have every faith you will not betray. I have no power, sir, to enforce your secrecy by threat or means. Only my strong intuition that you are a man of both openness and digression, as well as my eagerness to share open discourse with another human being after months of deprivation, allows me to reveal to you my true identity." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Recused, Johnson lapsed into silence. Johnson possessed a flexible mind capable of switching modalities easily. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Here is a man of education</span>, Johnson realized. This odd little Chinese fellow who had followed him right up the North Fork of Grand Central, was surely not what he appeared to be. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKix1ke86Tzjj-EakKBEqkQiKJNiRHB9dy7Uz45I_nUeM2b8mGUBJQXjzaLTuf-sTPur74QDK-rjGm1fPyiLdCtMVc0e4yvPCd1w0gFP8_HS5vMsmJkE-F44c2zmM7Cm4_jkEgOP-iudK5/s1600/Grand+Central+North+Fork+Pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKix1ke86Tzjj-EakKBEqkQiKJNiRHB9dy7Uz45I_nUeM2b8mGUBJQXjzaLTuf-sTPur74QDK-rjGm1fPyiLdCtMVc0e4yvPCd1w0gFP8_HS5vMsmJkE-F44c2zmM7Cm4_jkEgOP-iudK5/s640/Grand+Central+North+Fork+Pass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Looking west from unnamed pass between North Fork Grand Central and East Fork Grand Union.</u> At center of photo is another nearby pass that provides direct access from Grand Central to the Middle-East Fork of Grand Union, and is probably only hideous Class 3 from this side.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<br />
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><u>in which the floodgates of conversation are opened</u></b></span> </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
The two men continued to hike together as the glow of the midnight sun suffused the arctic landscape. The bugs had died down under the midnight cool-down, allowing conversation to take place. Now that Johnson's modality was switched, and a few of his prejudices dismantled, there were plenty of topics on which for the two to converse.<br />
Johnson's new companion, it came out, was indeed no indentured servant. He had been a man of means in Europe. He let a woman-- a Prussian Countess, if he were to be believed-- draw him into "complications" that eventually forced his expulsion to the "farthest corners of the world," meaning, of course, Nome, Alaska Territory. This much information Johnson was able to get out of the man, but the fellow was elusive when pressed for details. His enemies, the man explained, were "everywhere." His detractors-- debtors, Johnson suspected-- had people planted in the "farthest corners of the world," which is why the man placed the utmost importance on his disguise— that of an indentured servant laboring on a ditch gang for the Wild Goose Company-- "or the Pioneer Company, or whichever the hell company has currently pressed us into labor."</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
"But now," continued the Coolie, "out of the greatest irony, I've come to actually enjoy the work. I've never felt so hale and well in my life as I do at this moment, though I must say, I am finding it a distinct relief to converse with another man of learning, such as yourself, in a European tongue." The Coolie spoke four or five languages, he admitted, thanks to a stern and well-traveled governess who hammered him with Latin.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Well, don't d' oder coolies get a little suspicious o' ya?" asked Johnson.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No, not in the least. They just take it for a fact that I am one of them."</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Well, I'll be doggone," said Johnson, his own English accent an amalgam of German and Swedish influences, difficult for the other man to understand.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
The two men continued up the North Fork of Grand Central, ascending steep glacial moraines towards the pass at the head of the valley, and crossing over into the unnamed valley to the north. As they walked, a conversation developed in a mixture of English, German, and Latin. Johnson found the range of the man's knowledge considerable. The Coolie had studied at Leipzig, at the same time Johnson was flunking out at Dresden. It had been Johnson's wild period, when he spent his study hours climbing on the sandstone cliffs of the Elba River with nefarious characters instead of applying himself at the library. The coolie knew the same professors as Johnson, the same theories, the same tedious exercises of Academia. And so, furiously, like castaways drinking fresh water, the two men began to talk back and forth with increasing animation. Whether Johnson would admit it or not, the situation was very much as his new friend had stated-- after so long among the plebes in the diggings, it was indeed pleasurable to talk in a European tongue with another learned man. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Without a word, as if bowing to some unseen cue, the two men ceased their walking. The Midnight Sun had dipped well below the northeast horizon. The mosquitoes had dropped completely. Both men's feet ached from miles of tussocky walking. A tacit agreement passed between them: time for a little snooze. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Not sixty seconds they had lain there, when Johnson stirred. He had the kind of a slow-processing, subconsciously-wired mind that made him susceptible to after-the-fact outbursts.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Hey!" exclaimed Johnson. His voice was muffled. He had formed an intricate breathing tube out of clothing to slow the mosquitoes' advance. "Chu' ain't no Chinee... Chor' a Heeb!"</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
From deep inside his own handkerchieves, the other man seemed to sigh, as if awakening from early sleep. For his part, the Coolie's attitude towards Johnson, his new friend— this Swede, whom, the coolie gathered, called himself Franklin Johnson— was that the Swede posed no threat. The man was harmless, just another Alaskan man-child. Despite his apparent racialism, Johnson displayed that carefree disingenuity so common on the frontier, as if he would probably never remember any of the details confided to him in conversation, and if he did remember, carried not enough weight of firm judgment within him to act in prejudice against another man. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltDIXEHRbGxo7-1ODcCRPvY6Hhqy1Jjrd1Ux3D2BCQCUkZ2L_KN3v9OsuQKe8CzTxknW1SRyYUuZWcPpkgE9SelxomAEQadabPXOuWGu09Vy4V7AvLFAEBHYN4vmRDyJKFYMQiTHIp8Ki/s1600/Obelisk+north+side+of+Kigluaiks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltDIXEHRbGxo7-1ODcCRPvY6Hhqy1Jjrd1Ux3D2BCQCUkZ2L_KN3v9OsuQKe8CzTxknW1SRyYUuZWcPpkgE9SelxomAEQadabPXOuWGu09Vy4V7AvLFAEBHYN4vmRDyJKFYMQiTHIp8Ki/s640/Obelisk+north+side+of+Kigluaiks.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>World-famous trail hiker Rick Anderson</u> in the East Fork of Grand Union Creek (as near as I can tell, that's what this drainage is) heading for the Chevron Gulley in the upper right-hand quadrant of the photo, with the curious rock obelisk perched above it. I forgot to climb the obelisk. It's short and solo-able from the backside. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Applebaum reveals his true identity</b></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: 24px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
There followed an awkward pause. "I am a man, sir. My name, it happens, is Noah Applebaum. I trust you will not take this confidence lightly. As I have stated, my enemies may in truth be posted anywhere..."</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Ja... Ja," replied Johnson. He suddenly felt ashamed, for reasons beyond his ken. Johnson's mind had, to his credit, a flexible membrane. Unaware, the bubble of his known experience was bulging outwards. He felt unable to sleep, but constrained to continue feigning sleep. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">This situation is bizarre</span>, thought Johnson. He, a Highland Pipe Foreman, lying out here on the tundra in close proximity to this weird polymath, this Applebaum fellow-- a disinheritor of considerable fortune and disgrace, Johnson suspected, possibly a member of some intelligence organization-- disguised as a coolie in a Nome ditch gang... and both of them on the lam from their jobs in the valley behind. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There followed another long pause in the conversation, the kind of conversational pause that might lapse back into sleep. But Johnson's guilty and restless mind drifted back, to a time six years earlier, to his Bacculaureate days in Dresden, Germany... to the sandstone towers of Saxony... mostly, to a man named Rudolph Fehrmann, the man they called Petrus...</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JWsb56f1maXb9QBv3PYdbaJIEl9TcFEIm7lNAjLR1cXq19nlckT4xm1eAKkOcJ7pCx8Fg1KD8Lje0He2fbitId_-VmKfdr-OUekrjkKV_XyW_AE-oDeRVKqQ_hiJM6WOWRuqYHKgXvsu/s1600/Chevron+Gulley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JWsb56f1maXb9QBv3PYdbaJIEl9TcFEIm7lNAjLR1cXq19nlckT4xm1eAKkOcJ7pCx8Fg1KD8Lje0He2fbitId_-VmKfdr-OUekrjkKV_XyW_AE-oDeRVKqQ_hiJM6WOWRuqYHKgXvsu/s640/Chevron+Gulley.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Looking up the Chevron Gulley</u> chosen by Applebaum to facilitate the passage from the East Fork of the Grand Union to the Middle-East Fork. The name comes from the patterns of the meta-igneous intrusions on my Amato-Miller "Bedrock Geologic Map of the Kigluaik Mountains" for this area.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Johnson remembers his climbing days in Europe</b></span><b> </b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
It was 1904 when Johnson came into contact with Fehrmann. Johnson had signed up for a climbing class, but unbeknownst to him, the University Climbing Club had been taken over by a rebel group, the Schwarzer Kamin, known as the "Black Sweeps." Johnson had expected the usual accouterments of a University outing club: alpenstocks, long dresses, short ropes, bumptious, pipe-smoking guides. But he knew something was awry when he saw the "Schwarzer Kamin" Deaths-Head patches on the jackets of the trip leaders, shining with silver skull-and-crossbones.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Right off the bat, they picked Johnson out of the Lorry queue to sit in the back of Perry Smith's sportscar. Johnson had heard of Oliver Perry Smith, but never imagined he would be riding in the badass American's Bugatti. Fehrmann, whom everyone seemed to call Petrus, sat shotgun. They had picked Johnson out of the lorry line because of his sturdy, compact frame. "Oliver-- hatten wir unser neue Sicherungsmann?" Fehrmann had remarked. Johnson climbed into the Bugatti and Perry Smith sped off toward the countryside, beerskins raised, following the flanks of the Elbe River down at breakneck speed, leaving the Lorry far behind in the dust. Johnson fought down the urge to vomit into his shirt as the Bugatti drifted through the curves.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">When they arrived at the cliffs, Johnson perceived that the structure of the Schwarzer Kamin trip would be "every man for himself," no matter if he were rank beginner. The guides, rather than conducting classes, began simply to </span><span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">solo</span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> up the towers, which appeared to the students impossibly smooth and steep. Any student who did not attempt to follow the masters upwards opened themselves to verbal ridicule offered from above.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
The one they called Petrus radiated a palpable charisma. Johnson caught a glimpse of Fehrmann 80 feet above, straight above his head, slithering across a blank spot in a traversing sandstone ledge. One slip would have sent his body whistling straight down through the air to explode next to Johnson on the cobbles as a water bag explodes when it hits a stone floor. But Fehrmann managed the blank spot through a marvelous sequence of bodily adjustments, fluid, yet precise. On the far side of the ledge, eighty feet above the plebe, Johnson, Fehrmann perched, and waited. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Steigen der butt crack!" he yelled down to Johnson, employing the word of the day, an Americanism pilfered from Perry Smith, which indicated Johnson should begin to ascend the intergluteally-shaped chimney leading up to the guide's terrifying perch. Johnson, a gentleman by nature if not by pedigree, already specially picked by the Master to ride in the Guide's car, really had no other option but to climb: he wedged his body into the butt crack and began to wriggle upwards.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Climbing the butt crack, in fact, did indeed remind Johnson of the defecatory process as he painfully extruded his body through the narrow, sandstone aperture. Soon, blood flowed from Johnson's knuckles and knees. Pieces of felt from his natty new knickers drifted like snow down the chimney. But the acolyte persevered, 80 vertical feet, and in due time emerged onto the traversing ledge where Fehrmann perched airily to the side twenty feet away. Below the two climbers, the yawning butt crack aimed to dump them into cavernous depths. Between them hung the blank spot in the ledge that Fehrmann had crossed. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
"Leicht!" spoke Fehrmann. Easy. This one word put forth a do-or-die challenge: Johnson was expected to slither across the same move Fehrmann had made. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">This is insane</span> Johnson remembered thinking. He was old and wise enough at the time, barely, to know when he was being manipulated through apish predisposition, but not old enough to resist. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Was he not a man</span>, after all? <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Get it over quick</span>, thought Johnson. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He jacked himself down into insect position. Once committed, the move, a hand traverse, proved much easier than expected. Though footholds were non-existent, large and solid rails appeared for the hands. If Johnson just didn't think about the air below the butt cleft, the butt cleft didn't exist. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Cogito ergo sum</span>.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Kinderleicht," gasped Johnson, flopping onto the ledge next to Fehrmann. Fehrmann's Death Head patch flashed in the sun. It was <span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span>, at this precise moment, Johnson became a climber. Boom, like that. <i>Klettern</i> would hereafter exist for him as a lifelong occupation. He was destined to take climbing with him to Alaska, to Nome, to the unnamed valley north of Nome where he now lay out on the tundra with the strange, educated Jew, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">practically sleeping with the fellow, come to think of it</span>. But sitting on the ledge that day eight years before, next to Petrus, Johnson felt a freedom he had never known before or since. He wasn't dead. Which made him feel so very much alive.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: 24px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">Fehrmann and Johnson scampered a few feet more to the top of the spire. Fehrmann shook Johnson's hand. At that very moment, a foot appeared on the ledge just below, followed behind by the gangly form of Perry Smith spidering up out of thin air to join the other two on the summit.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 24px;"> "Petrus," remarked Perry Smith, somewhat breathlessly. "The gooder Knobs are gesteegen."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 24px;"> Initially, Johnson had found the American coarse and boorish, (</span><span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">ironic</span><span style="font-size: 24px;">, thought Johnson as he lay sleeping: </span><span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">given my own transformation into that most coarse and boorish specimen, the Alaskan Sourdough,</span><span style="font-size: 24px;">) but there in the spire-top world of the Elbsandstein, Oliver Perry Smith was transformed into a gentleman of noble spirit, a demi-god, almost, of formidable military demeanor. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The three men perched close together on the sharp tip of the needle. A friendship was kindled that day. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Yes</span>, thought Johnson, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">a friendship that cost me my Diplom</span>. The climbing lifestyle had not proved beneficial for Johnson's matriculation at college. He was forever plucked from the core of his studies by the Bugatti, wicked grins upon the faces of Petrus and Oliver as they roared out of the village, wineskins lifted, madly intent on some single piece of sandstone in the distance. Fehrmann needed only invoke the high principles of art, commitment, and reckless derring-do to make Johnson fall in line, for after all, Fehrmann channeled rock-climbing's past and future, and knew he did. The knowledge was already pre-written in the movement across stone, the kletter-epistemology of climbing itself, but while Europe rose sluggishly from the slogs and bogs of the Hobnail Era, Fehrmann had already foreseen sport climbing coming eight decades ahead, already sought to protect the sacred Elbsandstein from sport-climbing's impurities. Funny when drunk, profound when scared, Fehrmann's climbing spoke volumes. He often quoted Nietzche. His eyes had a glow. Soon Johnson wore a Deaths-Head on his own sleeve. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> <u>The bad thing</u>, Johnson now remembered, happened on the down-climb. Remembrance of the incident made Johnson's body shift uncomfortably against the tundra where he lay next to Applebaum. The three climbers, moving not far apart, had reversed the summit moves to reach the long horizontal ledge above the Butt Crack. Fehrmann climbed first across the blank spot, while the other two perched like gargoyles on the ledge. Just then, Fehrmann espied a junior member of the climbing party on the ground below, milling about. It was one of the fellows that had ridden the Lorry, a clumsy, bumbling Plebe whose name Johnson no longer remembered. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Something</span> about this Plebe seemed to enrage Fehrmann. His face locked in a scowl. He maneuvered across the ledge with remarkable agility. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Oliver," spoke Fehrmann, conspiratorially. "Pass auf! Das Stein!" </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As he spoke the word "Stein," Fehrmann nimbly, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">and quite deliberately</span>, Johnson had always thought, kicked a large, loose rock into space. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Over, and out, through the airspace beneath the butt crack, sailed the rock. "Stein!" screamed Perry Smith. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
The rock missed the Plebe by inches, exploding into dust cloud and fragments. The smell of melting sand wafted up to the ledge. Johnson was silently horrified, but also, puzzled and confused. His new mentor and hero had, apparently, just tried to kill one his own students. Down on the ground, the Plebe barely knew what had almost killed him.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And then Petrus, out of earshot from the ground, but audible to his partners on the wall, began to utter what sounded like a hiss-- a long drawn out "ee" sound, out of which gradually emerged a single epithet: the word, "Heeeb," repeated over and over again, in the manner of a low wheeze. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Oliver remained on the ledge, a gunslinger smirk on his face, amused with his friend's tirade, but otherwise inscrutable. Johnson, younger and more impressionable, more follower than leader, simply assumed that here was an example of how the locals behaved: real climbers (with Petrus the arbiter and standard for what constituted a real climber) must despise the Jew, and drop rocks on them from above. In the years that followed, Johnson had occasion to witness other anti-Semitic escapades at the cliffs. "If the Jews climb," Fehrmann was heard to say, "Sport Climbing will come rushing in along with them." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson was not clear if he had ever personally known a Jew. He had never understood the ethnic delineation, nor paid much attention to the ancient Scriptures, and in truth, had led a sheltered life. It was true he had learned more about life from Rudolph Fehrmann than he did in all his engineering classes at University. So it was that Johnson, through his years of climbing the Elbsandstein with Petrus, was indoctrinated into the strictest code of rock climbing ethics the world has ever seen, but never understood Fehrmann's anti-Semitic rants. What shall be the judgment on Johnson? Could he be laying there in the unnamed drainage north of Grand Central, an older and wiser man, laying judgment on <i>himself</i> right now? </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaupC7iJso-GeszHw38dJn_9KGQjekFG_P0p2uRSZahpFetBfTLVnXPIPv1hpKynEORBafLRniJnKAvMnJUQ44O79sp6yaQcrZIeF2qntVrW4_RzgahZgRINfZHbqp8-OLefb-vXgk8zXi/s1600/Grand+Union+East+Fork+Glacier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaupC7iJso-GeszHw38dJn_9KGQjekFG_P0p2uRSZahpFetBfTLVnXPIPv1hpKynEORBafLRniJnKAvMnJUQ44O79sp6yaQcrZIeF2qntVrW4_RzgahZgRINfZHbqp8-OLefb-vXgk8zXi/s640/Grand+Union+East+Fork+Glacier.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Middle-East Fork Grand Union Glacier, July, 2018</u>, looking southeast from Johnson's high point where he experienced an awakening to his own racial biases. Don't know if a glaciologist would say it still qualifies as a glacier. Also don't know if this drainage should really be called Middle-East Fork.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_nbUOIxPSwVFJuhi8UyqEzrv3jpfpn_6TA49uRAJ7EMAUe7zwAjmxlH5vXbZU9Yhtz337awzY9lfWRvhYK-wC54IZG41m1Cnm09tQMKhkTPhs6X7ehcf03vMiOP995Lqx51MrSw7SPxJ/s1600/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork+glacier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_nbUOIxPSwVFJuhi8UyqEzrv3jpfpn_6TA49uRAJ7EMAUe7zwAjmxlH5vXbZU9Yhtz337awzY9lfWRvhYK-wC54IZG41m1Cnm09tQMKhkTPhs6X7ehcf03vMiOP995Lqx51MrSw7SPxJ/s400/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork+glacier.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Another look at<u> Middle-East Fork Grand Union Glacier (July, 2017)</u> from the other direction, taken from the pass between Grand Central North Fork and Grand Union Middle-East Fork. If it's still a glacier, it seems like a doomed one. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Johnson reveals his true name</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
His Fehrmann years passed when Johnson flunked his final exams and, in disgrace with family and benefactors, boarded a steamship for America. Since then, the New World— San Francisco, Seattle, Alaska Territory, Nome— had changed Johnson's worldview. "Judge a dog runner on his stripes," was the creed of the Territories. A man was either Sourdough or Cheechako, skookum, or not skookum— these were the only delineations necessary between people. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Usually a person was too deep under their parky hood to make their nationality, anyway</span>, thought Johnson. It struck him suddenly how far he had travelled from the cloisters of Europe. Perhaps this is the reason why, as we return to his form curled on the tundra under the midnight sun next to Applebaum, Johnson was tossing and turning uncomfortably, guiltily, remembering his escapades with Fehrmann six years before.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The mosquitoes, rising back up along with the sun, forced Johnson and Applebaum out of their slumber at an early hour. "Fine day for continuing our walk, sayest thou?" the latter declared. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson only grunted in assent. He had forgotten to make room in his rucksack for coffee, tea, or cookpot. Miraculously, Applebaum produced from deep within his tunic a plug of the finest tobacco, and a small, ivory pipe inlaid with tiny ornate designs.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Be forewarned," remarked Applebaum, striking a match. "I obtained this instrument from a coworker." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Oh... ja, ja..." said Johnson, distractedly, not understanding. Soon, the two wayfarers were stretching their legs out, heading in the opposite direction from their jobs, which they had deserted in the valley behind. Johnson clung to the notion he must locate the Grand Union Glacier, "the westernmost glacier in North America" according to Henshaw's tip, Johnson's original objective, and reason for leaving his post. Johnson's original conception of the hike had been to entirely exit the mountains to the north, walk west across swamps, and then make a left turn back into the mountains to reach the glacial cirque affixed by Henshaw. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Does not," questioned Applebaum, gesturing with his arm toward an opening in the steep hillside to their left, "this gullet provide an early tack to your next valley? A 'short cut' to your gletscher?"</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson had already been eyeballing the same gully. It led steeply up velvet steps through savory granite slabs and boulders and would indeed provide a shortcut to the next valley. A curious and prominent granite obelisk crowned the gully, hanging out directly over their heads like a Chamonix <i>aiguille</i>. In fact, Johnson and Applebaum had discovered the "Chevrons of Orthogneiss" that transect the northern uplift of the Kigluaik Mountains in this area. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
"Let's chust take it," said Johnson with enthusiasm. They started up Applebaum's gully. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson forgot to be self-conscious around his companion, and bouldered with abandon on their way up the hillside. While Applebaum confined himself to the tundra walkways that led steeply upward, Johnson perched instead on knobs and cracks to the right or left, grunting and contorting his way up the gully by a synthesized means of self-gratifying gymnastics on rock. At one constricture, in order to continue their upward progress, both climbers were forced onto a bare granite slab above an uncertain landing, which Applebaum climbed with perfect aplomb, much to Johnson's satisfaction. As they emerged at the top of the gully, they flushed a wolverine, which skulked away indignantly. Johnson carried a pistol in his rucksack, but knew damn well its action was rusted and useless. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">I'll stash it under a rock,</span> thought Johnson. The great obelisk which had hung over them like an <i>aiguille </i> proved nothing of the sort. It was more like a dike protruding from the chevron, only twenty feet on the back side. They shared a lunch of stale flapjacks, hitting again from Applebaum's tainted pipe.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They continued west at rapid pace into the next valley, past granite tors that begged Johnson to be climbed, but would require the use of ropes and trickery with knots, Johnson figured. As they gradually crested the wide ridge, their view emerged of a small glacier nestled below them at the head of the next valley. At the top of the glacier, a bergschrund was visible. Above the schrund, walls of rock, snow, and ice streaked upwards to pointed summits. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Does justice to the Kaisergebirge</span>, Johnson reckoned. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Your gletscher, sir?" spoke Applebaum, in his voice a trace of reverence. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Nein, nein. I mean, ja, it's a gletcher, OK, but it's not d' one dat Henshaw zaid. Ve go one more valley after zis van." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Down they went, gleefully skidding down snow slopes into the next valley, two men freed from the cares of the world. At the bottom of the valley— we can identify it as the East Fork of Grand Union Creek—they loitered near the terminus of the tiny glacier on mats of tundra and wildflowers. The two men had fallen now into the habit of conversing fervidly as they covered ground on foot. Applebaum, Johnson learned, was a polymath of considerable proportion, with pretensions of being a naturalist— he struggled in vain to name the proliferate species of alpine wildflower. His facility for languages, he told Johnson, was the influence of an enlightened governess who helped raise him, his father, a Kleindeutscher with a comfortable position at Leipzig. However, when the conversation turned to the Duchess who had precipitated Applebaum's downturn in fortune, he was less than forthcoming, only muttered dark epithets, and spoke vaguely of castles and impalement. Johnson sometimes got the feeling the man was an operative, but by what agency, he could not imagine. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In turn, Johnson shared his own personal history, which had taken him from his precocious school days in Svealand, to a scholarship at the Technikum in Dresden, and now, following his complete disillusionment with Western Civilization, to North America, to this obscure valley in Alaska, where he felt fortified from all human consideration.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"And how did you come to be employed with the Pioneer Company?" inquired Applebaum.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Nein, nein, I'm wid d' Wild Goose," replied Johnson. "I got a cousin which keeps company wid Mr. Lane hisself. Got d' job right outer San Francisco."</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Come now, <i>Franklin</i>," said Applebaum, with a dramatic pause. The two men had reached a penumbral zone of deeper intimacy, like two people made to share a compartment on a long train ride. "Why don't you tell me your true name?"</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Oh, vat? Ja, ja, vy not? Ich heisse..." Johnson hesitated. He had forgotten his own patronymic. "Bjorn Ulvaeus." Even as he spoke it, Johnson thought it sounded funny to hear his name after all these years. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdswpjTEoXu4d_apFaQddk3VGaYU5Xrc5dNEzSaTYqlWHK5bnlCSW3UVEZqOkneQ-0hsBbdxQ-FX7XM_hylSEdEKzc3K_ltsZTcIGLf8MQZXCgDHJLU-TttRjurGVq2s67gSB2o7TyVueM/s1600/tor+in+the+kigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdswpjTEoXu4d_apFaQddk3VGaYU5Xrc5dNEzSaTYqlWHK5bnlCSW3UVEZqOkneQ-0hsBbdxQ-FX7XM_hylSEdEKzc3K_ltsZTcIGLf8MQZXCgDHJLU-TttRjurGVq2s67gSB2o7TyVueM/s640/tor+in+the+kigs.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Jabba the Tor</u>, on divide between East Fork and Middle-East Fork Grand Union. Lacking a rope, I was not bold enough to find a way up this long, Hut-shaped piece of gneiss.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>in which Johnson and Applebaum split up for a time, and Johnson discovers the Grand Union Glacier</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"So, vee muss cut over vun more hillside ta get to da big gletcher."<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
"I would be remiss," spoke Applebaum in apology, "if I did not inform you that I suffer occasionally from the condition known as vertigo, which, I regret to inform you, is acting upon me at this moment. I'm afraid I must wait here, happy in this alpine splendor, while you complete your mission." </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So Applebaum waited in the tundra meadow while Johnson went up alone, making short work of it to the crest. As he topped the ridge, the view suddenly opened to the east, west, and north. Johnson could look all along the limestone shield that fronts Mt. Osborn to the north. At last he could look down upon the Grand Union Glacier, his reason for coming, in the next adjacent valley to the west. Unlike Windham arriving for the first time at Montenvers Station, or Professor Forbes himself looking out upon the Mer d' Glace, Johnson gazed down upon the glacier, nestled in the adjoining valley to the west. Johnson had been to the Brenva in Italy. The Grand Union Glacier was only a pipsqueak, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">but just as beautiful, and more wild</span> thought Johnson. Each one of these little cirques, he realized, contained a pipsqueak glacier, and they were all shrinking, shrinking, shrinking away. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Exactly which fork of the Grand Union River this glacier headed, Johnson could not determine-- many forks of the Grand Union drained the mountains to the north, at first in straight lines downhill, then curling round upon themselves at the sea level line of the Imruq Basin to disappear in a tangled knot of waterways— a "grand union" of waterways in the vicinity of Mary's Igloo, configured just as the so-named railcar switch, where a boatman may switch between the "rails" of the Kuzitrin or Pilgrim rivers.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieK5KGpvGUj8wANXTuTgGBS9ogQMxh7Oge5tRCz-Tj4Cfj36I8fy3p2RTe9lpQjXO9RboYXr6fXYcScAVuxcXksq3jhK3guMWSaO9rc-FeP6IKs0JmnMXRKCow37Ti8XzTkw42DkKnrdQb/s1600/grand+union+creek+confluence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="1600" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieK5KGpvGUj8wANXTuTgGBS9ogQMxh7Oge5tRCz-Tj4Cfj36I8fy3p2RTe9lpQjXO9RboYXr6fXYcScAVuxcXksq3jhK3guMWSaO9rc-FeP6IKs0JmnMXRKCow37Ti8XzTkw42DkKnrdQb/s640/grand+union+creek+confluence.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Map showing confluence of Grand Union Creek and Pilgrim River</u>. I have a strong theory that Grand Union Creek is so named due to this knot of waterways, which sits east of Imruk Basin in the vicinity of Mary's Igloo, and its resemblance to a classic "Grand Union" rail track junction. (see below) Just south of this map, Grand Union Creek forks out into five branches, the eastern two of which are covered in this post.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0JyUqyk3-HOlxFfSR21XKhYr4FWqBrmtQ7rnCAY8rqvsJ-JB3nh405FSEIjc9TDX5CJ8F0mQE0pAsEY5S3d53Rw1eQAc7gQky5XzyBn8RgDWW9O6Lngjk5AC_qvkaAhl4kHm21oLHYnV/s1600/grand+union.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1230" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0JyUqyk3-HOlxFfSR21XKhYr4FWqBrmtQ7rnCAY8rqvsJ-JB3nh405FSEIjc9TDX5CJ8F0mQE0pAsEY5S3d53Rw1eQAc7gQky5XzyBn8RgDWW9O6Lngjk5AC_qvkaAhl4kHm21oLHYnV/s200/grand+union.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<u><span style="color: blue;">Grand Union" rail track junction.</span></u><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-size: 24px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
On the south, the ridge upon which Johnson stood turned into a rocky spine leading to a pointed summit. Now, it was Johnson's turn to suffer vertigo at the thought of continuing to the summit, up this spine, with what looked to be Grade 1 or 0 moves, as Fehrmann would have exhorted him to do. But Johnson was well-prepared with reasons <span style="text-decoration: underline;">not</span> to climb. He had brought no axe nor creepers for the hanging snowfields that would come into play. The <span style="text-decoration: underline;">zing</span> of falling stones was plainly audible through the warm air. But chief among his reasons, he had to admit, was his new friend, Applebaum, awaiting his return in the meadows below. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">The prospect of returning to the strange fellow's company—</span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">Johnson could see him down there on the alpine tundra, a tiny dot waiting patiently among the rocks— seemed more preferable to the prolonged terror of a Dresden-style death climb. </span><span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">Been on too many trips alone</span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> thought Johnson. Down there in the meadow existed a rare occurance in these hills: another human being. Not only a human being, but a possible friend, a fair and learned companion. No matter how heterodox their encounter, Johnson reasoned, it was the miracle of companionship. And the man had some amazing tobacco.</span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson decided to do the hardest thing a climber can do: <span style="text-decoration: underline;">not</span><u> climb</u>. He turned his back on the summit. He allowed himself the chicken out. The climb of the arete would have to wait for another day. Immediately, however, the voice of Petrus rose up in his head exhorting him to climb, to face the challenge, to transcend human weakness... but Fehrmann had been exposed, somehow, on some level, as a fraud. Johnson felt happy as he headed down the mountain, and discovered a nice steep strip of summer snow on the way, and had one of the best foot skis of his life. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pPQlQTgK1F2O525NG3TRPQsRQHynzdOJNSWHCwu51qHzUTSNcqhf7LVQvzwXPJZqcZBildEft0y35v3jrkU72YzcJKHkdtHgQF1M7TpX2rLKxjnr0k8KuBFD2RimX7Q9N-cNf_SunX78/s1600/Peak+Grand+Union+from+the+north.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pPQlQTgK1F2O525NG3TRPQsRQHynzdOJNSWHCwu51qHzUTSNcqhf7LVQvzwXPJZqcZBildEft0y35v3jrkU72YzcJKHkdtHgQF1M7TpX2rLKxjnr0k8KuBFD2RimX7Q9N-cNf_SunX78/s640/Peak+Grand+Union+from+the+north.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>North Face of Peak Grand Union (Pk. 4500+)</u>, second highest peak in the Kigs. I finally skied up the backside (south side) of this thing in April, 2019.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></b>
<br />
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></b>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8niStO_z1gZTTp-IcsphTZwJUcyaJShjkTbLR5i10lGoPaMMwVFyBLLYfgQsPOk-2EBXrx88QNd0SltUnlslMbJAltQ_o5vY136-bWvdL_llMqEHV0vE6yjB0yDJK6d6PzY0zObG1B5V/s1600/kigluaik+north+side+jamie+safhaffie+shot+jpeg+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1600" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8niStO_z1gZTTp-IcsphTZwJUcyaJShjkTbLR5i10lGoPaMMwVFyBLLYfgQsPOk-2EBXrx88QNd0SltUnlslMbJAltQ_o5vY136-bWvdL_llMqEHV0vE6yjB0yDJK6d6PzY0zObG1B5V/s640/kigluaik+north+side+jamie+safhaffie+shot+jpeg+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Kigs from the North</u>. A. Middle Fork of Grand Union Creek B. Middle-East Fork C. East Fork. I put a dot at Johnson's high point. I stole this segment of photo from Jamie Saghaffi's iconic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kigluaik_Mountains#/media/File:Kigluaiks.jpg" target="_blank">Wiki Page shot of the Kigs from the North.</a> Only the East Fork provides an easy pass over this portion of the mountains.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></b><b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyPGOn5ePi1RQL8A2LqsbWSU0Kh-2gpPlLCetToQrZ03UpP6hxyyJ-c2-DEvmxkOZpFuNe2eeOUApte8ujxfG89p7mhxP28ZkuwQCZEToR0Rnj3usf3qxpU1PGpIQajPQ68NlKSoQ2ChW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-01-06+at+6.49.38+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="904" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyPGOn5ePi1RQL8A2LqsbWSU0Kh-2gpPlLCetToQrZ03UpP6hxyyJ-c2-DEvmxkOZpFuNe2eeOUApte8ujxfG89p7mhxP28ZkuwQCZEToR0Rnj3usf3qxpU1PGpIQajPQ68NlKSoQ2ChW/s640/Screen+Shot+2020-01-06+at+6.49.38+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Another stolen shot: <u>"Grand Union Glacier, 1983"</u>, by Darrell Kauffman, University of Northern Arizona. Included here to verify the identity of the glacier glimpsed by Johnson in this post. After all, Kigsblog was under indictment for misidentifying this glacier in the Anchorage Daily News.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"></b></div>
<b style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;"><b style="font-size: 24px;">in which Johnson and Applebaum return to their company </b>jobs in Grand Central</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>From the ridge, Johnson had glimpsed a shortcut back to Grand Central, a high pass leading directly from the Middle East Fork Grand Union Cirque to the Northeast Cirque of Osborn, but Applebaum could not be persuaded to scale its precipitous slopes. "That stalking predator, acrophobia," he explained. So the two truant workers began the arduous hike back to their jobs, back the way they had come, over the pass where they had flushed the wolverine, past the top of the "Obelisk," which Johnson forgot to climb so engrossed as he was in social discourse, down the Chevron Gully which held a few steep spots itself but seemed to meet Applebaum's specifications, up the Unnamed Valley (East Fork Grand Union?) that led back to the North Fork of Grand Central, where the force field of their workaday lives began to reassert itself upon their consciousness.<br />
Johnson could already spot MacPherson's renegade crew in the valley below, tiny figures toiling on their ridiculous mission to run water under the stage. The ever present tinkle of hammers tapping on rebar floated audibly over the breeze. Voices, smoke, and industry filled Grand Central, where one day soon, only silence would reign. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">It will be easy,</span> Johnson figured, <span style="text-decoration: underline;">to get back on the Ditch line unnoticed.</span> </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Sir. We may not wish to be seen entering dieser Tal together," Applebaum voiced the unspoken thought. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Nein. I vas chust zinking d' same ting," replied Johnson, thinking how he would soon depart Applebaum's tobacco.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And just like that, the odd bedfellows separated into the bushes without a goodbye, each to their own morainal corridor following the hillside down, Johnson into a thicket of willows that concealed him entirely for a mile or so until he popped out at the same place where he had popped in, twenty-four hours earlier.<span style="font-size: 24px;"> Applebaum's barrel still stood in the meadow where he had left it. Applebaum himself had vanished, never to be seen again. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 24px;"> Through all his years to come in the Nome diggings, Johnson would scan the work gangs for the mysterious coolie Jew, but would never make him out again, and furthermore, would always suspect his own complicity in Applebaum's sudden, abrupt disappearance. Many a time Johnson wondered, </span><span style="font-size: 24px; text-decoration: underline;">Did I dream the man?</span><span style="font-size: 24px;"> He asked around, but no one had any news of any European intelligence agents embedded in the Ditch Project that were accompanied by Asian security teams disguised as a Chinese railroad gang, which was the theory Johnson eventually settled upon. But Nome is, and always has been, a crossroads for wild, improbable characters, and soon Johnson's memory of Applebaum became layered over, and inseparable from, all the other improbable characters he would meet.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkhw0NPvLDAkIKVXzF5G29kVyVBEECEfbznOwDQMBotxRO3byGH-v2uzwXO8P73TzMV5KFdD8CN-Jox4ohIWTP9lmUNM7MuBYxkWmNuFu6vhLaBRJUrBtlK4raBzyQubmRNu22wZqKtSB/s1600/Crater+Lake+bouldering+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkhw0NPvLDAkIKVXzF5G29kVyVBEECEfbznOwDQMBotxRO3byGH-v2uzwXO8P73TzMV5KFdD8CN-Jox4ohIWTP9lmUNM7MuBYxkWmNuFu6vhLaBRJUrBtlK4raBzyQubmRNu22wZqKtSB/s320/Crater+Lake+bouldering+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsiOKwKy6NZ09hK0eRSL5xgkGryMZaYemkqNG3N36J0yTLQEKpLnHGlfrs63gyioLFIgDS4RP_puXTv28AQSs9nkUfcn13mUNZK0KSjLCI3w9F7IflD2YyWHrU9rO5vKZ7fw3Jz4s-b2X/s1600/Crater+Lake+bouldering1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsiOKwKy6NZ09hK0eRSL5xgkGryMZaYemkqNG3N36J0yTLQEKpLnHGlfrs63gyioLFIgDS4RP_puXTv28AQSs9nkUfcn13mUNZK0KSjLCI3w9F7IflD2YyWHrU9rO5vKZ7fw3Jz4s-b2X/s320/Crater+Lake+bouldering1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Bouldering at Crater Lake</u>, Grand Central Valley. Many a night, Johnson bouldered on this rock. This rock formed a windbreak for one of the sites at the Crater Lake encampment.</span> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Postscript:<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<b>Nome, Alaska</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<b>January, 2020</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Johnson is the guy that's done all my climbs before me. These days, your average, ego-mongering, white-recreationalist skier-climber arrives in Nome and assumes the area has always been the empty, windswept wilderness he finds now, assumes Qaweraq is a blank canvas upon which to record his important feats of modern-day, lightweight exploration, assumes his adventure is a first ascent, a first crossing, a first descent. What he may not realize is that a hundred years ago, or more, the area was crawling with more people than generally crawl there now, due to both the Nome Gold Rush at the turn of the century, and the consolidation of native people in villages following the flu epidemic of 1918. So I invented Johnson to constantly remind myself, I am not the first. Maybe this boulder problem, or that Kigluaik peak, has already been done, done during a time before social media or spray. </i></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 24px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre;"> </span><i style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 24px;">This puts Johnson in the same fictional nether world as Paniptchuk, true first ascenscionist of Mt. Osborn, who dog-mushed to the summit during the early Holocene Age when the mountain was only a thousand-foot nunatak poking from an </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: large;"><i>ice field</i></span><i style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 24px;">. </i><br />
<i style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 24px;"> </i><br />
<i style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 24px;"> </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: large;"><i>MacPherson, the rogue ditch foreman, is fictitious, though not his ditch, and we've all met his real-life antecedent out there by Sampson Creek.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Applebaum, of course, is also fictional. His invention was necessary to absolve Johnson from judgment of his association with Rudolph Fehrmann, a founding member of the Nazi Party, during Johnson's earlier years. Applebaum's embedment in a gang of Chinese railroad workers raises the interesting question: were Asian indentured servants present in the construction of Nome's ditches? The only supporting evidence I could unearth was, they </i><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><i>must </i></span><i>have been.</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 29px;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Other names, places, and circumstances are meant to be factual. I took liberties with Henshaw: I don’t know if he ever identified the Grand Union Glacier as such, or even if Henshaw was familiar with the latest theories on glaciation at the time. Rather, it is Kaufmann, later, I think, who suggests the Grand Union is the westernmost glacier on the continent. (A kigsblog survey is currently in play to assess each northside cirque of the Kigluaik Mountains for a glacier or glacial remnant, an ongoing result of the “North Side Mandate” placed upon Kigsblog by its own internal Kigscourt as of several years ago.) Huge liberties were taken with Rudolph Fehrmann. It may have been completely unfair to fabricate his behavior towards the Jewish bumbly, yet Petrus must answer historically for his behavior in the lead-up to World War II. </i><br />
<i> I have no idea how this blogpost got onto this tack. Johnson needed to be washed of his associations with a proto-Nazi, and this plot became the conveyance. It was a weird place to be writing from. As I read this post over, I see that Johnson's absolution remains ambiguous. </i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i><u>References:</u></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i>1. <u>Nome River Water Control Structures</u>, Howard L. Smith, BLM-Alaska Open File Report 62, April 1997</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i>2. <u>Banner Creek Station</u>, book(?)</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<i>3. John Gill's excellent Climbing History Website: <a href="https://www.johngill.net/" target="_blank">https://www.johngill.net</a> </i></div>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-49753060560965954142019-07-24T10:29:00.001-07:002019-07-25T00:55:20.492-07:00The Case For Tigaraha<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This article is from the <a href="http://www.mtnclubak.org/index.cfm/Scree/" target="_blank">July 2011 Scree, the magazine of the Mountaineering Club of Alaska</a>. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqfC9NlOZspWskHyvw8Ec0iWtU5hqAU46N0TnnSF8KzAEWqchoSJHm3ZCOc0B6foy664LddJgXMf2S8lhZ99Pn54Wdsmy7zirylmQOVW7G7MLYMiyOlbth32trqLmYGKpbnoKYZD9M6QN/s1600/tigaraha+east+arete+crux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqfC9NlOZspWskHyvw8Ec0iWtU5hqAU46N0TnnSF8KzAEWqchoSJHm3ZCOc0B6foy664LddJgXMf2S8lhZ99Pn54Wdsmy7zirylmQOVW7G7MLYMiyOlbth32trqLmYGKpbnoKYZD9M6QN/s640/tigaraha+east+arete+crux.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The author engaged with 5.8 crux of the East Arete route where it climbs up to gain the "Sidewalk".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 16pt;">The Case For Tigaraha<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> Most maps of the Seward Peninsula give three names for single mountains in the Kigluaik Range, north of Nome. "Mt. Osborne" (4714) gets to have a name because it's the highest. The "Singatook"(3870) gets to have a name because people have always used it for a landmark. The third mountain is "Tigaraha." Why does Tigaraha get to have a name? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> Not knowing what I know now, I set off one summertime in the early two-thousands to find out. The map showed "Tigaraha Mountain" to be within four miles of the Kougarak Road, so it seemed the simplest form of research to simply drive there and climb it. The mountain proved little more than a long, brown, ridge. The highest bump on the ridge (identified on the map as 3207) did sport a 15 ft. summit block necessitating a 5.4 move hoedadding fingers in rhizoid clumps over yawning choss slabs. Other than this one move, the climb had been a Class 2 walk-up. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> As I pulled onto the summit, my attention was immediately grabbed by a new prize revealing itself to the west: a great, granite-looking spike, eight-hundred feet high, a veritable mini-Arrigetch. <i>Aarigaa! </i>But why did this lumpish ridge on which I was standing get to have a name, and that splendid mountain over there didn't?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPb_iOurWsvizLyPpjaDz5JnPJQkvTnCdlrOtJsN-WqbcQRpgH3SgDUaMUn37Kord3cbuHEif7tJUS86HUVeoWY1-R4RAEUYSaTxaYJrWF1fmELmA3cgWHYFbBJZex2BaY6V50My_F1g_D/s1600/tigaraha+approach+from+Sinuk+River+pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPb_iOurWsvizLyPpjaDz5JnPJQkvTnCdlrOtJsN-WqbcQRpgH3SgDUaMUn37Kord3cbuHEif7tJUS86HUVeoWY1-R4RAEUYSaTxaYJrWF1fmELmA3cgWHYFbBJZex2BaY6V50My_F1g_D/s400/tigaraha+approach+from+Sinuk+River+pass.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending Class 4 slopes towards the south face<br />
of Grand Tig. This is the crossing from the Sinuk<br />
drainage to the Windy drainage approach .<br />
A rappel might be necessary from the point where<br />
this picture was taken.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;">Back in town, I voiced my suspicions to those in the know. They glanced away, gruff, non-committal, muttering. Finally, I asked my friend Francis, an original King Island speaker of Inupiaq, about his knowledge of the Qaweraq word, "Tigaraha." <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> "<i>Tigara</i>," repeated Francis, giving me the finger. Not the middle one, but his forefinger: "<i>Tigara</i>," he said again. A Qaweraq dictionary I had found spelled the word this way, T-i-g-a-r-a, but due to inupiaq vowel-sounds and prosody in the second syllable, Francis' (King Island being similar to Qaweraq) pronunciation came out sounding like "teeg-aha-rah"— precisely how R.H. Sargent, in the 1912 U.S.G.S. survey, chose to spell it. This, then, is my main piece of evidence: Francis holding his finger aloft. "Tigaraha," meaning "forefinger," could only apply to the obvious insignitor located on the divide between the Sinuk and Windy river drainages, not the long, slug-shaped ridge between Sinuk and Buffalo drainages, as indicated on most maps. </span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6OgxY_fTDj47LCY9OQuPkXz1Lei9n3DrpHB50oCSKZMPkxrkuT49WPztidAWe2k2Ti8XDk2pT7MhfLZjgHrKI_0uKPluDNIW01LHWaLA-zUV3sEIf8xvsrxwDY0TD7T18rdkW_FQ-FWf/s1600/Mikey+Lean+on+Tigaraha+approach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6OgxY_fTDj47LCY9OQuPkXz1Lei9n3DrpHB50oCSKZMPkxrkuT49WPztidAWe2k2Ti8XDk2pT7MhfLZjgHrKI_0uKPluDNIW01LHWaLA-zUV3sEIf8xvsrxwDY0TD7T18rdkW_FQ-FWf/s400/Mikey+Lean+on+Tigaraha+approach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mikey Lean approaching Tigaraha from the Sinuk side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> Regardless of appellation, the new mountain needed climbing, whether or not it had been before. Around Mile 28.5 on the Kougarak Road there is a cut-bank gravel pit on the west side of the road; this has always proved a good place to stash vehicles and begin the excellent nine-mile hike west towards Mosquito Pass. So began my Tigaraha years; many a partner was lured from Nome to the towers, only to be crushed under the absurdly high, hiking-to-climbing ratio, leaving me alone once again. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6OGPfzcHHFK8VXhD64r5cfHLGZZHTIH9gCELyUByzgYSLbeT_BgxLaKvNO22Uj9eFkOVx07yvEK3DHqFYRXW27XYzyqerLGHYb8Qtbb2wZmRxx9vynOI6KwGlLkWdtuA93_9eKJY4Fnh/s1600/Tigaraha+East+Arete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="628" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6OGPfzcHHFK8VXhD64r5cfHLGZZHTIH9gCELyUByzgYSLbeT_BgxLaKvNO22Uj9eFkOVx07yvEK3DHqFYRXW27XYzyqerLGHYb8Qtbb2wZmRxx9vynOI6KwGlLkWdtuA93_9eKJY4Fnh/s320/Tigaraha+East+Arete.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">East Arete of Grand Tig from the base of<br />
East Tig. The Sidewalk is<br />
the more horizontal part of the arete, and<br />
is quite easy. The vertical part has<br />
a 5.7 crack to gain the summit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b><br />
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Sinuk River approach generally provides the quickest access to the peak from the Kougarak Road. From the Sinuk headwaters, scramble up </span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Class 3 slopes to the crest between the Sinuk and Windy drainages, getting as close as you can to the point on the ridge where you would start climbing the East Tig tower, but then drop down via Class 4 cliffs, or a rappel, into an often snowy gully from which you can make your way over to the Notch between the West Tig and the Grand Tig, and climb Tigaraha from the Notch via the classic West Arete (II, 5.4).</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> I highly recommend the alternate Windy Creek approach for overall ease. Windy Creek has the most awesome bouldering basecamp in the Kigs at the century-old landslide that spans the valley. From the valley floor, climb up to the Notch between the West Tig and the Grand T</span><span style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">ig via the glaciated</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> valley between Tigaraha and Falcon Killer Pk., taking the steep tundra chutes on the left that lead to the Notch.</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazmUviIm8YIYxK3xAQOosWG0c5MOyPxcuPTrSO757nWPXQRFE-xUwXuNLE0UFGoQyOc-bUU6t3IBD5t5SKRV1PsMVaAnlwUmdBk_u2k6D-GgmdtoaLB0dBA-fWiZ0v_GKV-vSSPC70FjQ/s1600/Tigaraha+climbing+routes.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="883" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazmUviIm8YIYxK3xAQOosWG0c5MOyPxcuPTrSO757nWPXQRFE-xUwXuNLE0UFGoQyOc-bUU6t3IBD5t5SKRV1PsMVaAnlwUmdBk_u2k6D-GgmdtoaLB0dBA-fWiZ0v_GKV-vSSPC70FjQ/s640/Tigaraha+climbing+routes.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tigaraha climbing routes. The Notch Gully from the North is descendable in rock shoes by rappelling from snow<br />
bollards. If the gully is not snowed up, it's a real trash pile, sometimes an ice climb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> Tigaraha might well<i>have </i>been named after the bird finger, as the mountain consists of a main finger with two knuckles on either side, which I call the East Tig and the West Tig. Where you want to start the mega-classic regular route, the Northwest Arete of the Grand Tig (5.5), is the big Notch between the Grand Tig and the West Tig. This Notch can be reached from the east basecamp (Sinuk River drainage) via a 500 ft., sometimes-icy couloir festooned with hanging pianos, but it is usually preferable (if you are on the east side) to labor up Class 3 and 4 slopes and cross to the other side (to Windy Creek side) in order to traverse around the upper slopes of the mountain, and reach the Notch from the sunny south. You can cross the crest to the north or south of the mountain, but both options present tricky scrambling; once again, the kinder approach is from Windy Creek up Class 3/4 slopes. These things I determined through much laborious bumbling.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zPqbiKEto1AfVfcZGUmKIGiHuadRfgvFl07z1IApg56ortauMvjONVvedb82wpITJBKvDAx0DxLVqNinRzyPKt68EToR6StrJSMrPvuzxMGj9C5cJGJwx71HFN_nDF_p9XaBPTzVMCPG/s1600/Chimneys+of+Tiresias+Mylon+belaying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zPqbiKEto1AfVfcZGUmKIGiHuadRfgvFl07z1IApg56ortauMvjONVvedb82wpITJBKvDAx0DxLVqNinRzyPKt68EToR6StrJSMrPvuzxMGj9C5cJGJwx71HFN_nDF_p9XaBPTzVMCPG/s400/Chimneys+of+Tiresias+Mylon+belaying.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mylon Schield belaying Pitch 1, "Chimneys<br />
of Tiresias"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> The Northwest Arete of Tigaraha (5.5, II) must surely be<i>the</i>classic rock route of the Seward Peninsula. Usually the plutonic rock of the Kigluaiks is patchy, horrendous, rust-colored gneiss, but this 4-pitch friction ramp in the sky is a patch of Tuolumne. Solo it, and spare yourself the hernia of carrying a rope all the way in there, though bring your rock shoes. A handful of nuts would do for the regular route; a great deal more gear is recommended for the other routes on Tigaraha. (Racking rule for the Kigs: three equalized pieces equals one reliable piece. Also: pitons are the only damn thing that work.) Downclimb pitches back to the Notch. The first time I climbed the Northwest Arete, I found a single yellowed sling knotted behind a flake, low down. I got that sixth sense that people had climbed the mountain before. So, who's got information? I know you're reading this! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAemo4_v5h2RxCKxX3M0j6XssqMccrcdOHyP-bVUS60t7URn9CqiTSbvvtnJiOLLLaRrne-RCa-EBqhpnSCYE2G0vFRyAgsIrJ1ov4p0qh_AML76xtMPWLyVJWBW54esqbQFQ8NCjF6snD/s1600/Tigaraha+north+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAemo4_v5h2RxCKxX3M0j6XssqMccrcdOHyP-bVUS60t7URn9CqiTSbvvtnJiOLLLaRrne-RCa-EBqhpnSCYE2G0vFRyAgsIrJ1ov4p0qh_AML76xtMPWLyVJWBW54esqbQFQ8NCjF6snD/s320/Tigaraha+north+face.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up at Tiresias route,<br />
Notch Gully, and Mylon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> Until my encounter with the Crater Creek gneiss years later, I considered Tigaraha the closest granitic rock to the road. The spectacular West Tig tower succumbed to an A1 rope-solo siege, two pitches out of the Notch. The first pitch could be freed at 5.10, otherwise the West Tig could be climbed by moderate, </span><span style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">unprotected</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> slabs on the south. I hooked up with Kotzebue spider Lahka Peacock for a spectacular knife-edge cruise over the East Tig and Grand Tig (5.9, IV). Another time I tried to rope-solo a "wall" </span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">route up the north face of the Grand Tig </span><span style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">from</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> the Sinuk side, but ended up in the choss-ridden "Chimneys of Tiresias" (5.8, III). And days were spent on the quality, one-pitch "Fab Four Tors." </span></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGek5DoAURYbaZvdri9TCVAcY5N_5jyKFW0LM1hClQZR1xzEJ_y6p2a7UXpGhg6WSwJGAAKFV_XdqYvEbvPSsBz7vw3eGuXihNlY8eNT0h-lotg1VorzTvhIB39NBPZKLuaQLFWDDkIMbt/s1600/panorama-from-rocky-mt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGek5DoAURYbaZvdri9TCVAcY5N_5jyKFW0LM1hClQZR1xzEJ_y6p2a7UXpGhg6WSwJGAAKFV_XdqYvEbvPSsBz7vw3eGuXihNlY8eNT0h-lotg1VorzTvhIB39NBPZKLuaQLFWDDkIMbt/s640/panorama-from-rocky-mt.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
Looking west at Kigs. Kougarak Road corridor is in the foreground.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
1. Tigaraha 2. False Tigaraha 3. Mt. Osborn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
Which peak would you name "Finger"?<o:p></o:p></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"> Talking with a skiing buddy just the other day, I was struck by a phrase he used: "...in there by Tigaraha..." The phrase was inserted without hesitation into a stream of conversation, and we both flashed in our minds on the same image of a finger-like peak. After a while in Nome, this is how it gets to be; the denotation of "Tigahara" defaults to the peak out by Windy Creek.</span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhkMxsF2VrZpMFw3GcqD45sviGyF6JE1J1Mqxr8jwmEZd5GXukj99VQLaf5UD1jf31H6HDq1Vme1TUNtcV9og1yghY7sjpIl6yzxO52PKWLVkkCke-zrtVA2pDTM2cNhMVXTafZS87pM-/s1600/tigaraha-map-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="668" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhkMxsF2VrZpMFw3GcqD45sviGyF6JE1J1Mqxr8jwmEZd5GXukj99VQLaf5UD1jf31H6HDq1Vme1TUNtcV9og1yghY7sjpIl6yzxO52PKWLVkkCke-zrtVA2pDTM2cNhMVXTafZS87pM-/s640/tigaraha-map-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
1. Mile 28.5 Kougarak Road<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2. East Basecamp, Sinuk headwaters<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
3. Tigaraha (Pk. 3400+ ?) (<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">64°56'17.14" N / 165° 21'52.32" W)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">4. </span>West Basecamp at ancient rockslide, Windy Creek<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
5. Mosquito Pass corridor<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
6. Pk. 3207, high point of "False Tigaraha"<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
7. Grand Central Valley<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
8. "False Tigaraha" (nee "Tigaraha Mountain") (Pt. 3200+) (<span style="font-family: "helvetica";">64°55'39.9 N / 165°18'13.0" W)</span></div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviMuXfZVqDCpty5jI3CJURCMFxMTDYlsgtzjSF-wPsTuoy-lLn5tB4E9fVsuAMfi8Hh-1qDS31tmrC8uMpmGCtVN3JxtQoiv9TqyzYzfZtkFVeNzBgvR2tbJek05uFt_G4NeW9ikAdczk/s1600/382304-R1-08-15A_009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviMuXfZVqDCpty5jI3CJURCMFxMTDYlsgtzjSF-wPsTuoy-lLn5tB4E9fVsuAMfi8Hh-1qDS31tmrC8uMpmGCtVN3JxtQoiv9TqyzYzfZtkFVeNzBgvR2tbJek05uFt_G4NeW9ikAdczk/s640/382304-R1-08-15A_009.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mikey with West Tig in background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Sargent was tired that day. It was late, and the snow was about to fly, and the USGS Survey agent was impatient to get back to the fleshpots of Nome. He just didn't want to walk very far from the railroad tracks that day, so he simply estimated how many ridges and valleys to the west the spire of Tigaraha lay, and called it good on the map. He finalized the quadrangle the next day, rolled the map into a tube, and set off for Seattle on the next available steamer. </i></b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvoOoOmspcykJqNEkwDEuA6ejh461dX3l8wSVwjYJyN7CVsz2UhxI5NykljAyNnpGoUvA9Cjd4wAnM1ekBDPf5M9wk_uuBw_LzK6fuyYL3o-I5mgPi8TCTQGzf5x-XhAhJG-yElaqXJYu/s1600/P1010020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvoOoOmspcykJqNEkwDEuA6ejh461dX3l8wSVwjYJyN7CVsz2UhxI5NykljAyNnpGoUvA9Cjd4wAnM1ekBDPf5M9wk_uuBw_LzK6fuyYL3o-I5mgPi8TCTQGzf5x-XhAhJG-yElaqXJYu/s640/P1010020.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">False Tigaraha</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
</div>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-81648283133139795302019-06-19T03:28:00.000-07:002019-06-19T03:33:08.328-07:00The White Stripes Of Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3a-ThRUp5P4tfilgEmSqm1CqLwwHH4UevqVFyitVBgKe3pT07YCF3-YRtrtfvYbqUHbiDwH-r0Xq-9pJ5TuHnmvgNGCln58mKeTY4ZOhbNzZxnhqiLake3dgy3gfTE2EvPizePYtvAydp/s1600/Buffalo+Creek+%253A+Thompson+Creek+Pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3a-ThRUp5P4tfilgEmSqm1CqLwwHH4UevqVFyitVBgKe3pT07YCF3-YRtrtfvYbqUHbiDwH-r0Xq-9pJ5TuHnmvgNGCln58mKeTY4ZOhbNzZxnhqiLake3dgy3gfTE2EvPizePYtvAydp/s400/Buffalo+Creek+%253A+Thompson+Creek+Pass.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Buffalo Creek, looking west to Pt. 3270</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Due to a BLOG LAG of exactly one year, Kigsblog is currently "lapping itself." Now it's time to blog about the white stripes I skied a year ago, but they greatly resemble the white stripes I am skiing now. A resonant frequency is created in the seasonal blog amplitude between <i>action</i> and <i>writing about action</i>. A stroboscopic merging of the two streams is throwing off bright spokes of snow that blind my eyes and burn my skin, and all point to a central conclusion: this is a WARNING TALE of climate change. Skiing never used to happen in June in the Kigluaik Mountains. Now it seems a periodic occurrence.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDcN4NvXC-Fv7XKtBYV9v4aR0K6EWaTDKvvzoxLz2FcpE0hNQDdYlR0nemRuUYtCKTikVLVXNycNhAfdh5TCxVgi0WOq9tG8I4-A8yrAFs9_P0fBC3TrS43R3ahTV3Rp02getf-2z6G1_/s1600/IMG_4021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDcN4NvXC-Fv7XKtBYV9v4aR0K6EWaTDKvvzoxLz2FcpE0hNQDdYlR0nemRuUYtCKTikVLVXNycNhAfdh5TCxVgi0WOq9tG8I4-A8yrAFs9_P0fBC3TrS43R3ahTV3Rp02getf-2z6G1_/s200/IMG_4021.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pilgrim Springs area, heading for Crystal Kingdom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWizk8vzC0juIWC9ppMmXWnmhR9TvRPVHqYA5p9ux1tHqWne8l0r4_noyjbG2YhL8jZEtclylOwSGcP2M5S45WqkvfUIo98S56uTAGk8GnhiAa2hEhjcdBwWbNt6n1rP_bAZwx1h80wJL/s1600/solar+sidewalk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="1600" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWizk8vzC0juIWC9ppMmXWnmhR9TvRPVHqYA5p9ux1tHqWne8l0r4_noyjbG2YhL8jZEtclylOwSGcP2M5S45WqkvfUIo98S56uTAGk8GnhiAa2hEhjcdBwWbNt6n1rP_bAZwx1h80wJL/s640/solar+sidewalk.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking north across the Kuzitrin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>MAY 27, 2018.</b> The first stripe came on the heels of school in the form of the "Solar Sidewalk." So christened by Otis, the Solar Sidewalk is a strip of snow that winds down the Singtook (which is Peak 3870, the western bulwark of the Kigluai Mountains, the most often climbed peak in the range) and earns its name by often lingering well into June when the Teller Road is open, after most of the other snow stripes have vanished. This makes the Solar Sidewalk the ideal location for the annual Greg Stoddard Springtime Memorial Yahoo Ski Field Trip, a hallowed rite of passage that ought to be on the tick list of any Nome Fun Hog. In a good year, the Sidewalk is continuously skiable from summit to car without skis ever touching tundra.<br />
As it was for 2018. The participants were Otis Stoddard, Luke Stoddard, and me, Deke Stoddard, along with Rattler, my good dog. We drove west on the Teller Road and the Singtook drew closer. Soon we could see the mountain wore a gauzy veil of wind, and we knew that buffeting was in store for us that day, but at least there was plenty of snow cover upon which to ski after the blizzards of 2019. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0oxM1m3VCr-Xo1bdOKA1svuPxTpVRxvsRSQnQ9KqYKcyMycffKdkWEUpcssjJjs4ATnSYr6yqAjTOTpKWW7SYQpw9V-Vemk9tftGMc3v9YsOvAzeGLFkHM-gBe-KNfKyLxetujSLNcd2/s1600/nome+winter+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0oxM1m3VCr-Xo1bdOKA1svuPxTpVRxvsRSQnQ9KqYKcyMycffKdkWEUpcssjJjs4ATnSYr6yqAjTOTpKWW7SYQpw9V-Vemk9tftGMc3v9YsOvAzeGLFkHM-gBe-KNfKyLxetujSLNcd2/s200/nome+winter+2019.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snows of 2019, Nome, Alaska</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After the usual rituals, which include offerings, thanks, apologies, and justifications for white men being out there at all in the Woolley Lagoon are, we skinned to the top of the mountain in a wind so savage that rocks were blowing horizontally through the air. On the summit, looming indistinctly through whiteout, we discerned ginormous, egg shaped pods of rime ice. They had formed around the radio transmitter antennae that one sees on top of 3870. The pressure of the wind actually forces the little H2O molecules straight from a vaporous phase into a solid phase, bypassing liquid completely. Each rime pod was the size of a mansion, a giant thing that had formed from a smaller thing, like VGER in the first Star Trek movie. Ominous. <br />
Though the run down the west ridge might not have mustered an"extreme," it nevertheless required skills. The firn snow on the summit ridge was scalloped with rime peanuts as we carved between granite outcrops with a low hum of wind underlying everything, then down past the fabled 3870 lake into the fun middle part of the descent where you make S-turns down an 80 ft. wide couloir in snow that is usually friendly if it has been heated up by the day or rained on, then punch a couple of turns around a narrow isthmus of boulders at the bottom of the couloir and start the schuss down the lower slopes, preserving speed to make it to the car. The day provided a Stoddard that the three of us will remember for all time.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4bAQ0_Xmp9tPSmFfF_sWMACDvy0jTIBc7t6jBwcMNPbjzegKB-YVsUty02HHqXa0-AZnCb1uZqa0tuKgzvQfNVdAKe16pFqG6AfIyyKM87Iftb-oxEIJvDB7bkqyIfy3wQWOiu7iAFX2/s1600/IMG_3975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4bAQ0_Xmp9tPSmFfF_sWMACDvy0jTIBc7t6jBwcMNPbjzegKB-YVsUty02HHqXa0-AZnCb1uZqa0tuKgzvQfNVdAKe16pFqG6AfIyyKM87Iftb-oxEIJvDB7bkqyIfy3wQWOiu7iAFX2/s200/IMG_3975.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stoddard Bros 2018</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRg62lyozgupXxFlKqm3aLxELMGa8SuAIggC5jGPkAU9dEYFrP7IGiNGeYFR5baoUi4SzslOg9n-bWfu5HPBqbcjdL0sdamKB8TgGJZtNKybXH_cu8SmyGOplb2FBXU0Nhb8DjZlgp7fB/s1600/3870+rime+ice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRg62lyozgupXxFlKqm3aLxELMGa8SuAIggC5jGPkAU9dEYFrP7IGiNGeYFR5baoUi4SzslOg9n-bWfu5HPBqbcjdL0sdamKB8TgGJZtNKybXH_cu8SmyGOplb2FBXU0Nhb8DjZlgp7fB/s200/3870+rime+ice.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Radio Tower 3870 summit </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMSSx1BqSyEANNvdjALwHV75cxIlTUGVkksywNX_G-f57VZgi2Najgn84dmAwoXifzcRrZgUsBiWzBIy8ZDkHq6mz-U1ES5zVBAjm7hup9AsY-ZB8_wVGSAGNwmWUdzrQZ7VE3mjrnxZb/s1600/3870+summit+with+snow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ski Nome Alaska" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMSSx1BqSyEANNvdjALwHV75cxIlTUGVkksywNX_G-f57VZgi2Najgn84dmAwoXifzcRrZgUsBiWzBIy8ZDkHq6mz-U1ES5zVBAjm7hup9AsY-ZB8_wVGSAGNwmWUdzrQZ7VE3mjrnxZb/s200/3870+summit+with+snow.JPG" title="grand Singtook summit 2018" width="150" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rime lord</span></td></tr>
<tr></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TwVhEaOQ8M5HGrNlrkMJ1kSLJprYzX34X3-aQWU5MBJ8UPmFqGN22CRhaJzTIMq736Ssx4JvfLyBtngJYoox4Um0-mVO3xqfuAfBCq40WVMZjU7kinVg9uwdOwX8YzoIoSbqWIU_EbRp/s1600/solar+sidewalk+3870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="861" data-original-width="1600" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TwVhEaOQ8M5HGrNlrkMJ1kSLJprYzX34X3-aQWU5MBJ8UPmFqGN22CRhaJzTIMq736Ssx4JvfLyBtngJYoox4Um0-mVO3xqfuAfBCq40WVMZjU7kinVg9uwdOwX8YzoIoSbqWIU_EbRp/s400/solar+sidewalk+3870.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerOMhCWdsbZ_LG5BI_aTMN7OHRLJioX50Tispg9mkJcH7KP10afS1WlAg5PAkNWmG4uw4heh9PgLi13QfwMONsc6-2p03ybpqCyBOfVEo_ScW8SVeOWU9dmUFzRBprpHqNNfj9_9CXR-T/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-06-18+at+4.18.53+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerOMhCWdsbZ_LG5BI_aTMN7OHRLJioX50Tispg9mkJcH7KP10afS1WlAg5PAkNWmG4uw4heh9PgLi13QfwMONsc6-2p03ybpqCyBOfVEo_ScW8SVeOWU9dmUFzRBprpHqNNfj9_9CXR-T/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-06-18+at+4.18.53+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VGER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>MAY 27, 2019 </b> In blog time, a single scroll. In real time, another year rolled over. Once again, it is time for the Greg Stoddard Memorial Yahoo Ski Field Trip to Thirty-Eight Seventy. Otis, Luke, and me have re-manifested, along with new hotshot, Zeke, and, breaking the gender barrier, Daisy Stoddard, plus our special guest stars and local heroes the Hoog boys fresh off a classic ascent of McKinley's West Buttress, all of us heading out the Teller Road in two cars, listening to Phish and following the star of the arch telemark fiend, while the white stripes go flashing by on all sides in parallel waveforms. The familiar landmarks fall by the wayside. We cross the holy Sinuk. We pass through the disorienting Bus Vortex at the top of the hill, and cross Livingston Creek, whose Lethian properties dissolve any remaining tendrils of GLUE binding us to town. We emerge into a new, western kingdom of the Kigluait, with my discarded chrysalis steaming on the road behind us.<br />
All the Stoddards this year are either young, extremely fit, or both, except for me. No one seems any longer to exemplify the spirit of sybaritic impairment and moral decline that marked the original Yahoo Expedition to 3870 in the presence of the Arch Fiend. I have forgotten my skins, but fortunately, the spring firn is firm enough for walking, and the Stoddards only have to wait forty-five minutes at the summit for my arrival, whereupon they clap on their Euro skis and launch straight down the west face, not the west ridge, because there are copious amounts of snow once again this year and rains have made the snow rather slow and soggy and it is clearly the year to ski the face.<br />
I get out on the face in my beat tellies and duct-taped Terminators but am afraid to throw a turn on the steepness, so I traverse north on edges to where it's a few degrees less steep and I am free to start hucking huge sets of sine wave turns while the others wait below at the lake for the old man to catch up again. <br />
I can remember decades ago standing in a group of young badass friends waiting for the old man to catch up. How beautiful are life's processes that have put me back in the old man position. White stripes of the present and white stripes of the past are both perhaps present in white stripes future. Only the patterns hold, even as the details are polished away in a defective memory. It's all a blur. Hail to the spirits, and hail to the white stripes of summer. (Greg, if you are reading this, I'm really not sure why you were chosen. I think it's like one of those mundane little expedition jokes that people keep repeating over and over, but now I may have blogged into permanence...)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBdRYffvlqvLke8QCKWSWdffjdGdYjifHQ97nhVOQol7MuRGvLUg45Nt2ZjFQvQehakfBF7E5psbuKAQ5xBeHyxFkoIqIh-riAtJaEbmFgapVDo2HuwMENlNBn1uQwLPO6AVB2aOI00jc/s1600/3870+Solar+Sidewalk+Greg+Stoddard+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBdRYffvlqvLke8QCKWSWdffjdGdYjifHQ97nhVOQol7MuRGvLUg45Nt2ZjFQvQehakfBF7E5psbuKAQ5xBeHyxFkoIqIh-riAtJaEbmFgapVDo2HuwMENlNBn1uQwLPO6AVB2aOI00jc/s320/3870+Solar+Sidewalk+Greg+Stoddard+2019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stoddards, 2019. This is the only picture I took.<br />
The rest were taken by Otis. Thank you, Otis.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHEQXWDNACj899Qs5uKmojGugL-lqgIkavFMJov3eKAHDI9cgHXAW8hmkSIuhZInXaq6J2eymUcEhsZLyirVzZq4pmB-Opb8DnxBPpIIHOW8DC0kj8sEXAJBbqhvWM4d9eT8DhiBGO1he/s1600/3870+ski+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHEQXWDNACj899Qs5uKmojGugL-lqgIkavFMJov3eKAHDI9cgHXAW8hmkSIuhZInXaq6J2eymUcEhsZLyirVzZq4pmB-Opb8DnxBPpIIHOW8DC0kj8sEXAJBbqhvWM4d9eT8DhiBGO1he/s200/3870+ski+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Singtook, June 2019</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsxOp5YFUnYTpdGjThtipHby681Gf5yZv6wsW7-Qc8kICuxojfgGO5eTOF7rgTagGaEhIYTVuPtu-9Ude_bAdGALTx8KeMuHa4W7aZMhygLML4geFql6QtNBzt3POcqPbBWBQlLJO0J4W/s1600/Ski+Singtook+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsxOp5YFUnYTpdGjThtipHby681Gf5yZv6wsW7-Qc8kICuxojfgGO5eTOF7rgTagGaEhIYTVuPtu-9Ude_bAdGALTx8KeMuHa4W7aZMhygLML4geFql6QtNBzt3POcqPbBWBQlLJO0J4W/s320/Ski+Singtook+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middle section - fun couloir</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4H89yuMLpl_ItitdM3kv_ZXZNtgW3zwD8y4FdRqpVQTq9rsIQ3o4YLn3r_TM4zMY3MyvTkRQ309bFA6i23rdYIMS8pePYciCvE3SOOV7ytYzd_ldd7Y6lFExSDLwP8Ftz7exvaAPkigGw/s1600/Greg+Stoddard+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4H89yuMLpl_ItitdM3kv_ZXZNtgW3zwD8y4FdRqpVQTq9rsIQ3o4YLn3r_TM4zMY3MyvTkRQ309bFA6i23rdYIMS8pePYciCvE3SOOV7ytYzd_ldd7Y6lFExSDLwP8Ftz7exvaAPkigGw/s320/Greg+Stoddard+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of upper west ridge, Woolley Lagoon on horizon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XYggCjlXqRyB-MjVCI9W8k0RUinvQ4-xMA_eUVWkBvnmTS9_Z5mxhJqyEIg5oRDaGoEXJVvLdMLXL0_2nUnyxuZyu9WGCwtHcU3YvhhaiBtTX533WPqZa9Vr_ZcUeJ6yyiWJKM8tyQgu/s1600/ski+Seward+Peninsula.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="910" data-original-width="1280" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XYggCjlXqRyB-MjVCI9W8k0RUinvQ4-xMA_eUVWkBvnmTS9_Z5mxhJqyEIg5oRDaGoEXJVvLdMLXL0_2nUnyxuZyu9WGCwtHcU3YvhhaiBtTX533WPqZa9Vr_ZcUeJ6yyiWJKM8tyQgu/s320/ski+Seward+Peninsula.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While they party on the summit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mQTOg0LtC61iETBOW_x1lQDwgAfx82_AzgmHROGzsl2g-SorY2WwGW5L4yoLYBsFRiuhcqFn2vhqLeDLemST0b84Qpw2bCQPxV269Mvay2LnugmI0u4wmldsFT-lrWG357kTR8tQNWZo/s1600/Singtook+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5mQTOg0LtC61iETBOW_x1lQDwgAfx82_AzgmHROGzsl2g-SorY2WwGW5L4yoLYBsFRiuhcqFn2vhqLeDLemST0b84Qpw2bCQPxV269Mvay2LnugmI0u4wmldsFT-lrWG357kTR8tQNWZo/s200/Singtook+6.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here cometh an aged mountaineer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxIZWy9nu0sKBY_eJ-oJgyD7RdX5aoh2Cp36ooZN7L0vrIbQlK-9UmVg_bKV6lyHS4z2Q1Bf-iRi_d0pfDlKX4SbumgXcDUZNv7VFfelXi6YzyVMONlkF6GbOoMUd713JdlWaRPh5thrH/s1600/Singtook+Ski+May+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="1280" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxIZWy9nu0sKBY_eJ-oJgyD7RdX5aoh2Cp36ooZN7L0vrIbQlK-9UmVg_bKV6lyHS4z2Q1Bf-iRi_d0pfDlKX4SbumgXcDUZNv7VFfelXi6YzyVMONlkF6GbOoMUd713JdlWaRPh5thrH/s320/Singtook+Ski+May+2019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warm bare ground of apres ski in stripe time.<br />
The recent eskimo bros ascent of the West Butt. is<br />
a milestone in Western Alaska climbing.<br />
Their ascent reminds me of the Sourdoughs, just<br />
a pair of Alaskans getting it done, with a very<br />
rad ski to boot. Will this new generation swarm out<br />
over the greater ranges and bring <br />
their skills back home to Qaweraq?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b> </b>The superposition of wave states has my mind greatly interfered. THEN and NOW are superimposed on the oscilloscope of consciousness as I procrastinate this very blogpost by getting out into the gullies instead of staying in and writing. I drive my buggy across the three roads of life through the wavy white stripes of this year's harvest, bobble-headed for the line of the day, when I should be at home slowly carving away all this excess verbiage. I must escape this BLOGLOCK and make it to the hot, sunny mountains that wait outside this cyberspace, but the white stripes of summer must first be rendered by stream of consciousness, into which there is no other choice but to lapse. I must complete this post before I can leave for the mountains again...<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GM8sydzLISns5bTkDTF4LKfR7nX2ZxQNnM7XlB_KoLeJa-KUr41yslU9BuSWpZC6y43ZG53H5zOsEuGaCzAAbWkwL-iDf9W5Org4fC6eNYxvvaNRp6_NsLna4a3kP5BijjgEm3a7wfcI/s1600/Buffalo+Creek+June+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GM8sydzLISns5bTkDTF4LKfR7nX2ZxQNnM7XlB_KoLeJa-KUr41yslU9BuSWpZC6y43ZG53H5zOsEuGaCzAAbWkwL-iDf9W5Org4fC6eNYxvvaNRp6_NsLna4a3kP5BijjgEm3a7wfcI/s640/Buffalo+Creek+June+2019.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>Construct, </i>Buffalo Creek, diagonal at center. Only 1500 ft., great for <i>earnyourturns</i> skiing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Buffalo Creek, June. </b>Following the summer threshold of the Stoddard ritual comes the Buffalo Creek phase: big days up at Nugget Pass on the Kougarak Road, multiple zooming day trips with friends or alone with dog, speed up that Kougarak Road like Neal Cassidy or even Fred Beckey at the helm of his pink T-Bird, pull over on the shoulder by the moose signs and wallow in the glue of the car a while, then slam that door and break glue, load skis on your back or on your feet, and head up Deep Creek to vanish into the very earth of the mountain itself. Bands of parallel snow crackle all around as you ascend. A minor pass dumps you a couple hundred feet down into a brown canyon where legendary ski runs come down the wall in bars of white like paint runs, Sister Turner, the Construct, others, all manifestations of an algorithmic code that forms the Matrix.<br />
Such a great glitter of stripes, the memory is almost solid white, the sequence lost, and now is random. Can a damaged brain remember any details at all? Only the pattern which repeats...I remember good times with Otis, discovering new tors at the top of Deep Creek I never knew existed, shooting half pipes over giant sags of snow collapsing into the creek, bouldering on gneiss in Scarpa Terminators. I remember a solo camping trip in which I demotivated on continuing down into the Thompson Creek Cirque and contracted a sunburn lying around the tent so bad the tattoos lasted the rest of the summer. Half the trips to Buffalo Creek, overall, must be conducted in some degree of whiteout. Was 2018 year we skied in complete nothingness with Robin and Daisy and Luigi and the Construct got its name, but only theoretically because we could never be sure what we really skied? Do you think that's air you're breathing? But that event was outside the purview of this article, because Buffalo was white that day, and this is about Buffalo's stripes.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0s3l8Mi9OcNwCavi85Kbhao6NqMHLiqoo5xUTSTT-B8f9PZIUMZEoQRZpkR-ClpaZY7ucVud2O-c9zjV9XQ_iX5DVYHLwntpBphT5V32sX-GMCwi4FaYgYib1kAl9-nSWTGaLaLv1ePO/s1600/ski+dog+nome+alaska.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="962" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0s3l8Mi9OcNwCavi85Kbhao6NqMHLiqoo5xUTSTT-B8f9PZIUMZEoQRZpkR-ClpaZY7ucVud2O-c9zjV9XQ_iX5DVYHLwntpBphT5V32sX-GMCwi4FaYgYib1kAl9-nSWTGaLaLv1ePO/s200/ski+dog+nome+alaska.png" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Otis, Rattler, and Tor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIudsfpSvN_OdxkPZEUS2z7AvszM02l0desSdB_3FjHZdg_XDfx4A7aR_KY0UGMsxFtX4-_XN8ShUElWYmp92xmoA_HCeLE7pmPBJkBDrgYNhKLg-OF6eAEcpVWEpeHiui5WlG2kLMshI/s1600/bouldering+in+telemark+boots.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="1028" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIudsfpSvN_OdxkPZEUS2z7AvszM02l0desSdB_3FjHZdg_XDfx4A7aR_KY0UGMsxFtX4-_XN8ShUElWYmp92xmoA_HCeLE7pmPBJkBDrgYNhKLg-OF6eAEcpVWEpeHiui5WlG2kLMshI/s320/bouldering+in+telemark+boots.png" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above Deep Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6fSkrOyIXA1hqohaGH4SgT8geRmwXKkhbEpA959RKkVDutFNKqB5QXxMOMlLiGLHRjz4zAcGSA4FRmeoZQXiAWASQdWoS0lGrFI_vI50hNKsPn-6lTW5awsRmcnRVnMd43TUnKkS_pEJ/s1600/H2O+Tazlinas+and+border+collie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6fSkrOyIXA1hqohaGH4SgT8geRmwXKkhbEpA959RKkVDutFNKqB5QXxMOMlLiGLHRjz4zAcGSA4FRmeoZQXiAWASQdWoS0lGrFI_vI50hNKsPn-6lTW5awsRmcnRVnMd43TUnKkS_pEJ/s200/H2O+Tazlinas+and+border+collie.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rattler, Tazlinas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0hKS5b18_CuwxSqQ_mxA146XI7gARG6RS31aYcPNA5_LXDorbJzucpE-FojC0jbT_sTBKjYXZcbr9nCzLbF_tV6f0hI0gY8SmL8ANP-QiOYtAPHNdGWOQA64beutpfDNSJwB_PeQAwV0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-06-19+at+12.31.50+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1131" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0hKS5b18_CuwxSqQ_mxA146XI7gARG6RS31aYcPNA5_LXDorbJzucpE-FojC0jbT_sTBKjYXZcbr9nCzLbF_tV6f0hI0gY8SmL8ANP-QiOYtAPHNdGWOQA64beutpfDNSJwB_PeQAwV0/s400/Screen+Shot+2019-06-19+at+12.31.50+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep Creek is the approach of choice to Buffalo Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>North Side Bowls, Pilgrim Springs Road.</b> Just days before the road to Pilgrim Hot Springs had to be closed because every yahoo in town gummed them up by having entirely too much fun out there, Otis had the brilliant idea that the road to the Hot Springs might provide fabulous access to the mysterious and sought-after north side of the Kigs. Otis seemed to have a preexisting relationship with a few of the north-facing bowls you see to the left of the road as you're driving in to the springs. He told me the names of these bowls and I was intrigued, because to name a feature in the mountains you have to have the feature whisper its own true name to you in the old language, spoken when the mountains were new in the Distant Time, and I never knew Otis had that skill. I will need to check in with him on some of these names.<br />
We met a pilgrim out there on the road, one of these types of hot spring seekers who was just <i>feeling</i> his way towards the hot pool in a tiny car, without a whole lot of information to guide him, and only a vague awareness of where he was. "How far is it? Am I going the right direction?" He had heard there was a hot springs out here somewhere and was just following the other birds. "They'll have to close the road soon if they're letting these types in," I remarked presciently to Otis. We felt somewhat superior to the tourist because we were parking our car before the springs and heading off toward the bowls on some fat white stripes we were riding.<br />
Summer had advanced, snow had receded, and stripe navigation was complex. The trick is to stop differentiating between snow and tundra, and just churn ahead over tussocks, through willows, and across creeks, leaving your skis on as if they were giant hiking boots. Instead of swirling snowflakes, clouds of mosquitoes came at us. Instead of hypothermia, heat exhaustion. Otis and I assembled a set of meaningful ups and downs that took us across ribs and bowls. It was art: a pastiche of turns, threaded rocks, skinny snow isthmuses to link patches, swoops, forks, stripes... I was disappointed not to bag any high-value northside summits, but the summit is not the point, it's how you put together the stripes.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyiyijNLCSCAFEDEYIzVEm2aMJKm1Xp8FAvrsCzuEHFKMLu1UFNGMQPJc125UQhgVnu1WDH79uEjxZ-_LesQR_w4Jie5SiWLXGd6iZwfZr4KQuL3EhS4qK0VvtkfuhOLpuPFnQCgVMD_L/s1600/Pilgrim+Hot+Springs+Road+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyiyijNLCSCAFEDEYIzVEm2aMJKm1Xp8FAvrsCzuEHFKMLu1UFNGMQPJc125UQhgVnu1WDH79uEjxZ-_LesQR_w4Jie5SiWLXGd6iZwfZr4KQuL3EhS4qK0VvtkfuhOLpuPFnQCgVMD_L/s200/Pilgrim+Hot+Springs+Road+ski.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 Mile Hot Springs Road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOgfkda0eWWnsPruUnmuWyjG1BCni2fjTNomX8ghASwSoi1YVPwT49UBUNB8kZIMecUivjVsdPMQtApsUtisb1PXfwu-MsIvamyj4nHixt2l9OYpD_0CnKK5pPBpURmQ-sdn6MomLt8Qc/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-06-19+at+8.59.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOgfkda0eWWnsPruUnmuWyjG1BCni2fjTNomX8ghASwSoi1YVPwT49UBUNB8kZIMecUivjVsdPMQtApsUtisb1PXfwu-MsIvamyj4nHixt2l9OYpD_0CnKK5pPBpURmQ-sdn6MomLt8Qc/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-06-19+at+8.59.05+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spider Bowl, Crystal Canyon, ?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkszmKcODaskB1GU_BcGsJFgaBmIFIRD17pgU3jTxGfmQHNskQW_AD3M80UEmpRLuZ76fv4SLUIiLJa0Juy41WNkYROax-dq_zEenEIOAMs2QnTFETIz7gD3ARgJHhyphenhyphennpAuWCKT8vBK1E3/s1600/DSCF4395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkszmKcODaskB1GU_BcGsJFgaBmIFIRD17pgU3jTxGfmQHNskQW_AD3M80UEmpRLuZ76fv4SLUIiLJa0Juy41WNkYROax-dq_zEenEIOAMs2QnTFETIz7gD3ARgJHhyphenhyphennpAuWCKT8vBK1E3/s200/DSCF4395.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking northeast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdJXNeIr7LrK_V0KUWyFuJ-kEnMU-4C5Smmk8CuBmoRwfqXpJkGq7FD7NBx_sXHi522K7H3UGKLI1g-T9adPE3I481QKdw9cS9etotUWJQRiBI7VNZWaS8di0gyaJikwjKwuoKqQ-oyyM/s1600/DSCF4423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdJXNeIr7LrK_V0KUWyFuJ-kEnMU-4C5Smmk8CuBmoRwfqXpJkGq7FD7NBx_sXHi522K7H3UGKLI1g-T9adPE3I481QKdw9cS9etotUWJQRiBI7VNZWaS8di0gyaJikwjKwuoKqQ-oyyM/s320/DSCF4423.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-63987682018199093272019-02-16T15:40:00.000-08:002019-02-16T15:43:12.753-08:00Blowhole of the Mind<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVCEButeZCIdNQoli7sdatXZaAk5PSo1Pof7qMoRZs8ilPbYq4d4OldbykeV0XbeBwcRaweSoMeUjWvQcLiKSeUMg9kOrBEQN6oWssYJco0jJqiy3WGYJQL5IvJ0aQq_IFeCw9NItd5dt/s1600/Pk.+2740+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVCEButeZCIdNQoli7sdatXZaAk5PSo1Pof7qMoRZs8ilPbYq4d4OldbykeV0XbeBwcRaweSoMeUjWvQcLiKSeUMg9kOrBEQN6oWssYJco0jJqiy3WGYJQL5IvJ0aQq_IFeCw9NItd5dt/s640/Pk.+2740+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Peak 2740, Glacial Lake Peak, with Nick. We descended via a fine <i>butt glissade</i> down the gully in the middle.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"> In April of 2018, I received a grant from <i>kigsblog</i> to continue my research into <i>Mental Process, </i>enough to fund another trip to the <i>Kigluait, </i>the mountains north of Nome<i>. </i>Glacial Lake was our destination, a known energy node, the perfect place to gather electromagnetic data on PHI fluctuation, not only to expand upon the theories of Tononi, but also demonstrate that lithosphere itself is able to carry a non-negligible PHI resonance. Nick, of course, was keen to put on the PHI-SI headsets and blast out to to Glacial Lake on high-powered snow-machines for a day of fun. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK24kw07JF33KKyQ2MzWQFL7Pj6TFtzMvfnkUsahLTePcKBGBiHdG2sTiGX18ysg8cwx6fjbxc1KOxCC-0v1jXwO4hSxYTTgsCmv8SR0GxuZbmVWqfQ4lA8lPm3AU41Rq1RpBEYHe7FEGI/s1600/Glacial+Lake+Peak+Map+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1600" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK24kw07JF33KKyQ2MzWQFL7Pj6TFtzMvfnkUsahLTePcKBGBiHdG2sTiGX18ysg8cwx6fjbxc1KOxCC-0v1jXwO4hSxYTTgsCmv8SR0GxuZbmVWqfQ4lA8lPm3AU41Rq1RpBEYHe7FEGI/s640/Glacial+Lake+Peak+Map+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">We followed the Teller Road from Nome, then cut across to Glacial Lake.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The significant PHI event came not as expected at our destination, the Glacial Lake constriction, but on the way there, in the unnamed drainage west of Glacial Lake. We snow-machined into a sudden PHI-current that flowed from this valley. I immediately became disoriented, but kept my thumb on the throttle of my machine so as to keep my data register on a steady axis. Nick did the same, but we soon became separated, and I began to drive in widening circles across the firm snow in an effort to locate Nick within the psychic anomaly. Visibility was excellent on a fine day, but it seemed that Nick had disappeared into thin air. Calmly I backtracked by following our own snow-machine trails, but immediately fell prey to Heffalump Syndrome: I kept on discovering my own tracks, kept returning to the time and place I had started, no matter how hard I tried to escape. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I had lost Nick in the mountains to a Pocket Universe, a kind of temporary side universe that happened to be slicing through that valley during the time/space region we were. A Blowhole of the Mind, if you will.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3kbnZs5zNqerm6Z6Qu_WhWYSOx_KmwkFWpucSFJPj5QW0eZ8s22lMypTZujsivkz7M92igRyxU73AyVuqQXw4vpBnmboOExDwZ3n1fra-mn93Pe1_prCt1rBA2gcBSeOvBPZ2j9Q2VsW/s1600/Glacial+Lake+Peak+climb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3kbnZs5zNqerm6Z6Qu_WhWYSOx_KmwkFWpucSFJPj5QW0eZ8s22lMypTZujsivkz7M92igRyxU73AyVuqQXw4vpBnmboOExDwZ3n1fra-mn93Pe1_prCt1rBA2gcBSeOvBPZ2j9Q2VsW/s640/Glacial+Lake+Peak+climb.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Nick heading up Pk. 2740 towards the gneiss ribs.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> As landforms funnel and amplify the power of focussed wind, so do they to PHI. The </span><span style="font-size: large;">PHI wind, however, is more mercurial than atmosphere. Where and when Mind is dispersed through Causality, Mind is just as likely to stop as start, which is one of the doggone things that makes my research into Mental Process so difficult, and renders it so far below the event horizon of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle as to be total and complete bunkum.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> After twenty minutes, PHI levels subsided. Nick and I phased back into a co-universe, and I heard the reassuring sound of his snow-machine in my universe once again. We proceeded toward Glacial Lake, still two miles away, me with an agenda, Nick, to see what he could see, I presume. I cannot really know what another is thinking. Nor can I be sure it wasn't me, and not Nick, that had slipped into the parallel universe.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDnqwktVfNLjED3nBFzSr36zaR0htBh8i321FShCKw7iXDaIYSsP6ms5B-XY8NhIGNg3qmZ2X2zm11jhfN3X9Rest9N2Z3nZGFnUNgq4nq-xVo57J6DuIhIrsooCxB2urMAsE5eexrT03/s1600/Glacial+Lake+winter+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDnqwktVfNLjED3nBFzSr36zaR0htBh8i321FShCKw7iXDaIYSsP6ms5B-XY8NhIGNg3qmZ2X2zm11jhfN3X9Rest9N2Z3nZGFnUNgq4nq-xVo57J6DuIhIrsooCxB2urMAsE5eexrT03/s640/Glacial+Lake+winter+2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">The naming game is an uncomfortable game, but I propose "Peak Bering Air" for this one, Pk. 2780, located west of Glacial Lake. Does not there need to be a Peak Bering Air in the Kigs? These are the bowls where Nick and I saw the fresh <span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">heli-skiers tracks. Ben, the awesome pilot, told me (as we flew past it) that he and and his brother Russell had climbed this mountain one summer.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our <u>structure</u> was founded upon <u>intent</u> to "bag" Pk. 2780, a rather lumpen mountain that runs along the west side of Glacial Lake. But when we arrived, we saw sinusoidal ski tracks in the bowls where we intended to slog up. Human sign, now there's something you don't see often in the middle of the Kigs! Bering Air and associates must have heli-skied the mountain the week before. (Check out this cool video) This discovery, the merest sign of human impact, significantly altered the calibrations on our headsets, rendering further data collection useless. Resonance of Mental Process through stone creates an extremely weak signal. Detection requires an empty set of mountains, psychic silence, a pure, unsullied wilderness. We had accounted for the noxious presence of ourselves and our machines, but now the settings were off. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Suddenly, the peak on the other side of the valley looked more attractive, so we motored across the frozen lake to climb that one instead. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwgdQgucdJORCV6MhF7BTNuv9I5FYNbYA5vFOsmJhCr1BH3zDIoODhZTEZgT_wKqrutL0R3doUzyLzFTmPJ0Y5eTBN0ipG7TKnCLK_-CZ8h-Knm7bLOFnWv7uWF8l-3djJ_txiWFNotNj/s1600/Mount+Bering+Air+from+Glacial+Lake+Peak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwgdQgucdJORCV6MhF7BTNuv9I5FYNbYA5vFOsmJhCr1BH3zDIoODhZTEZgT_wKqrutL0R3doUzyLzFTmPJ0Y5eTBN0ipG7TKnCLK_-CZ8h-Knm7bLOFnWv7uWF8l-3djJ_txiWFNotNj/s640/Mount+Bering+Air+from+Glacial+Lake+Peak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Another look at Pk. 2780 from the summit of Pk. 2740, April 14, 2018</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> My memory console dropped down some history with the new peak, Peak 2740, indexed under the not-very-snazzy name of Glacial Lake Peak. The first time I tried to bag Glacial Lake Peak, solo, in 2005, I fell prey to a <i>nap</i> on a ledge in the warm April sun, only halfway up the mountain. Tired from teaching. But the file contained surprising affect bandwidth, no doubt from the encounter I had on the way up with a sexy porcupine. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Climbing with ice tools in hand, enjoying easy mixed ground, I turned a corner and found myself face to face with a wolverine! The log shows an adrenalin rush. Soon, however, the pixels resolved, and I realized it was a porcupine, lazing on a ledge in the Spring sun, as I was soon to do. She lay there, quills against the rock wall, and flashed me a Mona Lisa smile, a blatant <i>come hither</i> look. Quickly, I climbed on, only to be stopped higher up by the nap.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The next failed climbing attempt on Glacial Lake Peak came the following year. Earp and I machined into the Kigs on a day so cold, so completely <i>allapa</i>, that we were too afraid to shut the machines off when we got there. Again, however, the Memory File is coded with strong affect, the reason being that as we crossed the Sinuk River on the way to Glacial Lake via the Stewart River, I took my most harrowing snow-machine wipeout ever. It was the early days of Super Smooth Andy G., an Arctic Cat .570 Bearcat, and I had not learned that if you give it gas on bare ice, the back end of the machine shoots out from under you in a rotary motion. Off the machine I went, sliding across the Sinuk River ice like a curling stone. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Inertia kept me going for some time. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I was spinning across the ice, looking up at the sky. Super Smooth Andy was somewhere nearby, also still traveling, unmanned. At one point we bumped against each other and I pushed the big Bearcat gently away. Earp saw the whole thing from the bank of the river, but it was too cold right then to dwell upon the horror of it, and I seemed to be unscathed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The presence of such strong memory markers associated with Glacial Lake Peak adventures leads me to believe the mountain may be manifesting a detectable Mental Resonance signal. Essentially, if you include the mountain within your trip structure, the defined piece of scarp establishes itself at the locus of a vortex of causation which manifests at various distributed points in your life, like a magnet generating patterns in a field of iron filings, increasing the chance things will happen somewhere, like wipeouts and porcupines. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYirLWpRIZrpTPCc6bGrZLMpm1vdi7IW1El4_dhb4mm2H8EiWIyFFsKPJMg3U6HFi2v7VvzSmq_EK9eIAe22ibIlADQxWEyQSXfNhWPpuFeLLVyA1F9JtDuefG55LTvDBwjI7ZMRqCClWw/s1600/Red+Tip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYirLWpRIZrpTPCc6bGrZLMpm1vdi7IW1El4_dhb4mm2H8EiWIyFFsKPJMg3U6HFi2v7VvzSmq_EK9eIAe22ibIlADQxWEyQSXfNhWPpuFeLLVyA1F9JtDuefG55LTvDBwjI7ZMRqCClWw/s640/Red+Tip.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Looking northwest from base of Pk. 2740. Let this caption be a PEEMARK. There is a rather spectacular tor in this picture, center top, on top of the ridge, that eye soloed one summer. About sixty feet, 5.6. I call it Red Tip, because it has one. So, yeah, MARK! Lift leg, squirt, smells ever so faintly of toxic masculinity. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"> Though a failure in terms of science, the third attempt on Glacial Lake Peak proved a successful peak bag. Didn't take longer than an hour or two from the machines. I felt vaguely sheepish as Nick, wearing light boots and shorts, scrambled up the spine of the rock buttress while I, </span><span style="font-size: large;">kitted out in double boots, crampons, axes, helmet, and big pack, </span><span style="font-size: large;">kick-stepped up steep snow alongside the rock. He was the Californian now, and I had become the guy in <i>Freedom Of the Hills</i> that we used to ridicule, the Seattle guy who had overpacked for his weekend trip to the Cascades.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> One could construct a harder mixed climb somewhere on the orthogneiss ribs of Glacial Lake Peak. We romped up gullies and ribs, dipping into the rocks as needed. On the summit, our PHI-SI headsets crackled to life as we gazed out over the entire range. The butt glissade back down to the bottom goes down as a classic.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj338ISAqNRHsIC7LJHizyoyOjCkmPu5DuufT1n9j9ySFGLTnY_d5rr820tIaHMP5Ak_hb4d5qe5akKFC-BEw6P6molqGUiAKlrwcS7PCbwIeRqFd6DGIdnySNn3p6mrFEUcAjQdnRyleY4/s1600/suluun+kigluaik+mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj338ISAqNRHsIC7LJHizyoyOjCkmPu5DuufT1n9j9ySFGLTnY_d5rr820tIaHMP5Ak_hb4d5qe5akKFC-BEw6P6molqGUiAKlrwcS7PCbwIeRqFd6DGIdnySNn3p6mrFEUcAjQdnRyleY4/s640/suluun+kigluaik+mountains.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Suluun is only a dark smudge on the horizon, but you can see clearly see the <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2009/08/first-ascent-of-sulu-tor.html" target="_blank">Sulu Tor</a> poking up there, slightly left of dead center. Osborn on horizon to right. Looking over the Pinarut peaks. </span></span><a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2017/07/thirty-three-sixty-seven.html" style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0); color: red;" target="_blank">Wilson (mostly) and I skied the gable in the </a><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>foreground</u> </span><span style="color: red;">l</span></span><span style="color: red;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">ast year. Mark!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> Now all we have to do is take the data back to the lab, and hope it provides more evidence that will supply the missing factor in my equations. Of course I cannot post the equations here at this time. Any oversimplified explanation is doomed to degenerate into incoherent spew, but here goes anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> As Einstein took the velocity of light to be a constant, so this theory takes the magnitude of consciousness to be a constant. Any system assumed to manifest consciousness is assumed to have a magnitude of 1.0 PHI. The basic unit of consciousness is <i>your consciousness</i>. Occam's Razor, right?<i> </i>The move is counterintuitive, as I'm sure you imagine the magnitude of your own tremendous consciousness to be greatly elevated over that of others, or a beetle, or a stone. Yet, when each consciousness-system is assumed to be equivalent, the mathematical description of consciousness (using a graphic analogy) elongates into a continuous strand which diminishes down to the diameter of the Planck length, and then reverses polarity past the blackhole/whitehole horizon. Potential for Mind, if not its kinetic expression (such as a synchronicity, precognition, social media network, or the thoughts in the neural network of a chimpanzee), is expressed at any infinitely-small point in the Universe. The denominator gets cranked down to the size of the event horizon of each white hole/black hole system.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm still having a few problems resolving some anomalies in the data. Science must be observable, predictable, repeatable. Mind is elusive in these respects. However, continued research in the Kigluait will provide more data which may fill in the gaps. Please leave comments to provide your support, or to bring up anything I missed. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFgjdLCNBSQOoYUpVb00YK-4qjqgOe_OTf-d_0-KQxjs8hZsPR7KayyTjuyt1TNVJj03QahVneTrGf_mhbehilXdGg6qd_s2GcNWe13JJHZqeBWGiW5RlRjQOmVA7e0YClJarJNSW675L/s1600/Looking+west+from+Glacial+Lake+Peak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFgjdLCNBSQOoYUpVb00YK-4qjqgOe_OTf-d_0-KQxjs8hZsPR7KayyTjuyt1TNVJj03QahVneTrGf_mhbehilXdGg6qd_s2GcNWe13JJHZqeBWGiW5RlRjQOmVA7e0YClJarJNSW675L/s640/Looking+west+from+Glacial+Lake+Peak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Looking west down the spine of the Kigs from Glacial Lake Peak to the Singtook.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<br />allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-13284904071080458582018-11-25T16:45:00.001-08:002019-02-04T19:56:34.398-08:00Zero For Nine on Peak Grand Union<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWm9K2xfwC52speTRUJI6G5__fkMmgVNXf2_sux3UyUuyWC8JjX34lQH0OwEvKkWpSDSs8VFiKk2B8b7k8Tm-VfrIdAAV-fknjgQec3QSWuMmuSubFjo1Q_UcBbD8penr6idJX10TjXpmL/s1600/West+of+Mt.+Osborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWm9K2xfwC52speTRUJI6G5__fkMmgVNXf2_sux3UyUuyWC8JjX34lQH0OwEvKkWpSDSs8VFiKk2B8b7k8Tm-VfrIdAAV-fknjgQec3QSWuMmuSubFjo1Q_UcBbD8penr6idJX10TjXpmL/s640/West+of+Mt.+Osborn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">David and Osborn West Face.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Enter ADJUTANT. He is composed of a basal ganglia, with a few small lobes of cerebral cortex attached, two halves of a thalamus, and a brain stem</i>.<br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "Kigscourt is now in session! All rise for the entrance of the Honorable Judge Adjudicator."<br />
<br />
<i>Audience stands</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter JUDGE. He consists of a very large forebrain, essentially a telencephalon minus the diencephalon, with a noticeably bulging cerebral cortex</i>.<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "You may be seated. <i>(gavels) </i>Kigscourt is now in session! Adjutant, read the first case."<br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "Designation of Blame, KigsCourt v. Allapa and David P."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Read the determination."<br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "It is the responsibility of Kigscourt to place blame upon an individual for FAILURE TO CLIMB Peak Grand Union on April 4, 2017. Co-defendants David P. and Allapa started out for the summit of Peak Grand Union upon this date, but failed to attain their goal of snow-boarding and skiing off stated summit. The dispensation of guilt to one or the other of stated individuals for not reaching the summit falls within purview of Kigscourt, sole jury, executioner, and adjudicator of blame in this matter."<br />
<br />
<i>Judge gavels.</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmP6deOfLtyP5N8NFfEpcDZSPcGji-9LbUsK_7mjP-lKjGq7rxvsKfTzWJwkYRxVyrxppTtHFme3tf-LwPMd0aZicBICIFsFLaVbJkdl362W2xWeNBnNwGCkiSDzusns2Se967Rf-YaJRG/s1600/Mt.+Osborn+west+cwm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1234" data-original-width="1260" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmP6deOfLtyP5N8NFfEpcDZSPcGji-9LbUsK_7mjP-lKjGq7rxvsKfTzWJwkYRxVyrxppTtHFme3tf-LwPMd0aZicBICIFsFLaVbJkdl362W2xWeNBnNwGCkiSDzusns2Se967Rf-YaJRG/s640/Mt.+Osborn+west+cwm.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Peak Grand Union, looking east up Osborn's Western Cwm, taken by badass Kevin Ahl.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Prosecution, you may present your opening statements."<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> PROSECUTION, <i>a thalamus hitched to an imposing frontolimbic network. The superior anterior temporal lobe, the medial prefrontal cortex, and a septal region of the the subgenual cingulate cortex's are all brightly lit. </i><br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Viewed from the south, Peak Grand Union barely qualifies as a mountain at all. The only reason it qualifies as the second highest peak in the Kigs is because a key col with barely 500 ft. of prominence exists between it and Mt. Osborn. Without that col, Peak Grand Union would be a just a point on the long northwest shoulder of Osborn. Peak Grand Union viewed from the north, now that is a different matter. However, FAILURE TO CLIMB the mountain from the north is not what's on trial here. Rather, FAILURE TO CLIMB from the south, the easy side, is on trial.<br />
The two gentlemen you see here, David P. and Allapa, started out with everything in their favor: a basecamp at the bottom of the valley in the Cobblestone flats, excellent April snow conditions, a reasonably early start... well, when I say 'reasonably early', I should say 'relatively early'— they made it out of camp before 2 pm, which for this crew counts as an early start. Yet, eight hours later, the evening shadows found them turning around just short of the high point, just short of success.<br />
Organs and thought concepts of the jury... Hands of the Executioner... I intend to prove today that Allapa— <i>(points) —</i>is solely to blame for the bail off Peak 4500+. I can show you that, beyond all reasonable doubt, Allapa undermined the success of the 2017 Peak Grand Union Expedition, through sloth, lack of discipline, over-medication, and dehydration. I am confident David P. will be exonerated for the bail once you are able to view the extent of the screw-ups perpetrated in series by Mr. Allapa." <i>(rests)</i><br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Defense may present its opening arguments."<br />
<br />
<i>Enter </i>DEFENSE, <i>of a similar construction to the Prosecution, but with a souped-up amygdala, and a stripped-down hippocampus. </i><br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Organs and thought manifestations of the jury, Hands of the Executioner, the law in this matter is very plain: Whoever first vocalizes the need for the bail gets the credit for the bail. And all parties are in agreement that it was David P. who first spoke up that it was time to turn around short of the summit. You, jury and executioner, have a responsibility to place the blame upon David P. No other verdict can be reached." (<i>rests)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
JUDGE: "Prosecution— you may call your witness!" <i>(gavels)</i><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJoCEuocHJOsLB5O8oIcYtPj6YnAd8w4sRZXk90Rp1KMMNbDUBCk73n8Psp2Sv9S9gxw0k5haV8MVP6BjkM2XzC80OR3J2lGMr6S2_ZU1eRpYMbQKEaRFQxVVuFGP5ItkDMl9vDYBbDMW/s1600/Peak+Grand+Union+from+the+north.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJoCEuocHJOsLB5O8oIcYtPj6YnAd8w4sRZXk90Rp1KMMNbDUBCk73n8Psp2Sv9S9gxw0k5haV8MVP6BjkM2XzC80OR3J2lGMr6S2_ZU1eRpYMbQKEaRFQxVVuFGP5ItkDMl9vDYBbDMW/s640/Peak+Grand+Union+from+the+north.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Peak Grand Union from north, July 2018, on subsequent fail to attain highpoint. Westernmost glacier in North America right there?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls to the stand— the defendant."<br />
<br />
<i>Enter </i>Defendant #1, ALLAPA, <i>a gangly assemblage of posterior cingulate cortex, anterior cingulate cortex, medial prefrontal cortex, and insular cortex, all of it underpowered due to a compromised fornix.</i><br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help yourself?"<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "As Narcissus to his reflection, I do."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa, would you like to tell the jury and the executioner what happened on the day of April 4, 2018, in the Kigluaik Mountains?"<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Yeah man, well, it's like, we've been trying to bag this one little peak west of Osborn, you know. I call it Peak Grand Union, cause it doesn't really have a name, you know, but if you're viewing the range from the north, it kind of rears up over the Grand Union drainage. Much more spectacular from the North, by the way. Dr. Hopkins, the Last Great Giant of Beringia guy, or no, maybe it was that guy Kauffman, said the Grand Union drainage held one of only three bona fide glaciers in the Kigs. It's the westernmost glacier in North America. I don't really know what the criteria for a bona fide glacier—"<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa... perhaps you can stick to the matter of the climb itself. We're trying to pin BLAME after all."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Uh... yes, of course. Well, so, David and I did everything right this time. We motored in our snow-machines on a Friday night and made a good camp down on the Cobblestone flats, at the base of the 5-mile long valley that runs due west from Mt. Osborn. I call that valley the Western Cwm of Osborn, which is, like, Welsh for a glacial cirque. Leonard and Lupe were there, which was really nice, cause those guys are a lot of fun.<br />
"We got kind of a late start the next morning. Leonard and Lupe didn't join us for the climb. They packed up and head back to Nome, sucked away by the GLUE of TOWN. David and I melted snow for water. I took about a quart, plus one of those little mini-Nalgene bottles. We slogged and slogged. That valley is long man. I felt sorry for David, slogging on his big fat splitboard skis. I mean the split-board is great, don't get me wrong. It's just that if your snowboard is split, then it's no longer a snowboard, right? It's SKIS! I mean, just get a real pair of skis and learn to ski. Fine, so you got a split board, but now you're snowboarding about 10 percent of the time, and the other 90 percent you're ski—"<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa..."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Uh, yes, sorry. So we slogged and slogged, and then it got little bit steep. I didn't make the same mistake as last time by starting up too soon. This time we went all the way up the 5-mile valley before heading up. It wasn't hard climbing or nothing. We were totally expecting to just ski off the top, no problem. But it's kind of a big mountain, you know. I mean, it's just about as big as Osborn. 4500 ft. versus Osborn's 4714 ft. It's Osborn's conjoined twin, really.<br />
"So the sky started getting dark, and we were still about 300 feet below the summit. So we decided to bail, even though we were close. I had been moving like a zombie all day, so I didn't mind bailing. We took our skins off. David assembled his board, which, admittedly, he gets done very quickly these days. We turned around and skied down. All I could say was: 'Zero For Eleven on Peak Grand Union'. The thing I remember most clearly is the sweet taste of the water when we finally got down to the little place where water was burbling up from the creek.<br />
"The Western Cwm is rather flat, really, so it took us a while to reach this one little bit of open water we had passed on the way up. David and I were so dehydrated. Water never tasted so good. We skied on back to our basecamp and had a good time, and motored back to Nome Sunday morning. I felt kind of lame, because it turns out we could have snow-machined all the way up the Cwm. How could I have known? We would have bagged that peak for sure if we could have just zoomed right up the valley. We should have turned around after a mile, gone back to camp and got the machines, and just blasted up to the base of the mountain."<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM10a0flVpoCtO1iNSTJFx3aykXxIoLxQxdBFwwcJKmLbWY7t4ElSU7F4d9c2l_N39soJaEHB82fBZ0JS8Cd4Mq8OHuNmfDpbKUgnjz0eJSazCJ65JdQWnNXddKkMtMvNXcwOqeqlMSGSE/s1600/Basecamp+West+Side+of+Mt.+Osborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM10a0flVpoCtO1iNSTJFx3aykXxIoLxQxdBFwwcJKmLbWY7t4ElSU7F4d9c2l_N39soJaEHB82fBZ0JS8Cd4Mq8OHuNmfDpbKUgnjz0eJSazCJ65JdQWnNXddKkMtMvNXcwOqeqlMSGSE/s640/Basecamp+West+Side+of+Mt.+Osborn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Lupe, Leonard, David, basecamp, Friday night.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
JUDGE: "Does the defense wish to cross-examine?"<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Mr. Allapa. Please tell the court what you said to David P. when the two of you decided to bail."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Well, I was feeling heavy as an accidental dump in your snow-pants, but I told David I would be willing to continue on into the darkness, and probably have a total painful epic for half the night, just for the sake of reaching the summit of this rather obscure and nebulous highpoint."<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "So you stated that you <i>did </i>want to continue to the summit?"<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Well...yes, I suppose... well, kind of. What I really wanted was some water, but neither of us had any."<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Mr. Allapa, at any time during the climb did David P. state his wish to descend?"<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Well, yeah, where we turned around. He said something like, 'Well then, I'd rather take Option B," and Option B was, you know, going down. I was only to happy to acquiesce. Did I mention it was cold? Well, yes, it was, very."<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Let it be noted in Kigscourt that David P. was the one to suggest going down. No further questions, your Honor."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNCvH01PBe1PRtZMoGr-i4B64-Uxm5aL60A3weM_hX1U9vKCJcYBQg4Aodtv7MFBiwj3OnQkYsTs9Qp8WQnI6cJQQ0VEVcHw-0x8TdRj6qx6yUg7J0AbOuSSty-T5mochjkCuO27CONd0/s1600/Looking+West+to+Oro+Grande.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNCvH01PBe1PRtZMoGr-i4B64-Uxm5aL60A3weM_hX1U9vKCJcYBQg4Aodtv7MFBiwj3OnQkYsTs9Qp8WQnI6cJQQ0VEVcHw-0x8TdRj6qx6yUg7J0AbOuSSty-T5mochjkCuO27CONd0/s640/Looking+West+to+Oro+Grande.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">David split-boarding up Western Cwm. Looking west toward Oro Grande.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Enter </i>AUDIENCE,<i> an unwieldy assemblage of medial pre-frontal cortex, medial posterior parietal cortex, posterior cingulate cortex, anterior cingulate cortex, medial prefrontal cortex, and raveled insular cortex as well. The whole thing keeps lurching from one side to the other, along an axis parallel to the corpus collosum.</i><br />
<br />
AUDIENCE: "Frankly, I don't see why blame has to be placed in the first place. What's the point?"<br />
<br />
"I heard it was his <a href="https://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/09/zero-for-seven-on-peak-grand-union-part.html" target="_blank">eleventh try on this peak (link).</a> And it's nothing but another nameless bump on a ridge. It's not like it's Fitzroy, or something. Peak Grand Union... makes it sound like a real mountain. Why the hell is it taking him eleven tries?"<br />
<br />
"My sympathies are entirely with David P. I'm married to a scatter-brain myself so I know what it's like to put up with one."<br />
<br />
"It's a silly game he plays. It's supposed to be a type of <i>bail filter </i>he runs in his brain to make sure the bail is justified. It's supposed to help him get up the mountain, but he never gets up the mountain anymore."<br />
<br />
"Ridiculous."<br />
<br />
"Strange.<br />
<br />
"Talk about guilt and shame. You know, neither has any place in the mountains. Decisions have to be made."<br />
<br />
"I get thirsty just thinking about it."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixfiDC778pHOzsL6M9aXNEsKiasxZw18yrw8ZSkbcX1Facv1m8nUfhEzMyn-XeLusuIgEwbXD72fGiBbOvMWBh2Efq4TKiMsDPZz-Gh_4IQy50vm8I1eGB9jRqgdQDyfT9nT7zYUHblkxB/s1600/Panepinto+twilight+Osborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixfiDC778pHOzsL6M9aXNEsKiasxZw18yrw8ZSkbcX1Facv1m8nUfhEzMyn-XeLusuIgEwbXD72fGiBbOvMWBh2Efq4TKiMsDPZz-Gh_4IQy50vm8I1eGB9jRqgdQDyfT9nT7zYUHblkxB/s640/Panepinto+twilight+Osborn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">After the bail, back where the water burbles up. Shadows of the Oro Grande against Osborn.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Defense calls... David P."<br />
<br />
AUDIENCE <i>murmurs.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> DAVID P.<i> a developing network of neurons spread across a variety of domains in the cerebral cortex.</i><br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Objection! Since this trial takes place solely in non-corporeal mental space, any representation of David P. is a figment. Any testimony would be conjecture."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Sustained. Defense, really? You want to drag David into this weird head trip?"<br />
<br />
DAVID P.: "I assure you that if it were possible for me to be objectively represented, I would declare this trial a mockery of what amounted to a very good day in the you—"<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Sustained." (<i>gavels)</i><br />
<br />
<i>Exit </i>DAVID P.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVwSW6pz6WJ6PJx454NA-oLEaqiP3PWpS4lTJdbrfMCmLKPe41OwrtMDzj9mllhrVuDB8HquKnBLXW7FfPQPlMnEAaTfG-1O6rsimDksGYtCwMrkxgmH4skErH_xGOCsrBiBrSaxqKfom/s1600/Mt.+Brynteson+cliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVwSW6pz6WJ6PJx454NA-oLEaqiP3PWpS4lTJdbrfMCmLKPe41OwrtMDzj9mllhrVuDB8HquKnBLXW7FfPQPlMnEAaTfG-1O6rsimDksGYtCwMrkxgmH4skErH_xGOCsrBiBrSaxqKfom/s640/Mt.+Brynteson+cliffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Photo taken from small stance climbing central buttress Mt. Brynteson, Iditarod time, 2018. Fantastic rime soloable with no fear.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls ALLAPA to the stand"<br />
<br />
<i> </i>PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa, how many years would you say you have been practicing winter mountaineering? Winter camping, specifically."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Ugh... more days and nights than I care to think about it. The thought of it brings some pretty wicked smells to mind."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Look, I have called you in to be our expert witness. You know-- the guy that knows everything about his field. So it's safe to say you're an expert on winter camping."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "No, a complete goofer. But I did apprentice with Randy Waitman, master climbing guide, now a grizzled ascetic living in the middle of the Northern Boreal Forest with birds nesting in his ancient beard."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Good enough. So, in your experience, what is the importance of hydration in winter mountaineering?"<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Oh yeah, You have to remember to drink water. Like, one reason I flamed out so bad on that trip with David was I sort of forgot the rule that you have to drink water obsessively. You have to drink so hard you're filling a pee bottle a night. You have to drink until it's uncomfortable to drink more, and then keep drinking. Like on the West Buttress of McKinley where everybody is just peeing all the time, mega-hydration culture you know. Melting snow creates distilled water, and it's harder to hydrate with distilled water because of osmosis and stuff. It had been a while since I had been winter camping, and I just kind of forgot pee culture. I think that's why I was moving so slowly the next day when we finally got out of camp."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "No further questions."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Get him out of my sight."<br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "I wish I could. But he is all-pervasive in this courtroom."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX82DclDfMm1X2r2qPKXV-cfPjQiYmDy2hk2Rd1CFS4aq0uOqRYd7NlIb9EOUKof22yRhyhNmle1Sb0H_Uny31cVmkmIzgAuSYhqPOBozduy6O0g5alUqcUSGHnWb38vETUagXNYMknNu/s1600/King+Mountain+Nome+Alaska+winter+climbing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWX82DclDfMm1X2r2qPKXV-cfPjQiYmDy2hk2Rd1CFS4aq0uOqRYd7NlIb9EOUKof22yRhyhNmle1Sb0H_Uny31cVmkmIzgAuSYhqPOBozduy6O0g5alUqcUSGHnWb38vETUagXNYMknNu/s640/King+Mountain+Nome+Alaska+winter+climbing.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">King Mountain M-Bouldering circuit leading to top of hill, go-to climbing destinations of 2018 mixed climbing season.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls David P. to the stand."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Now, really. Haven't we been through this?"<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "I had a thought, sir."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "A thought. I see. Very well. I'll allow it. We miss David a lot, anyway. Conjure a figment."<br />
<br />
<i>Enter David P.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
PROSECUTION: "Nice to see you, sir. It would be lovely to get caught up, but I'm afraid we find ourselves occupied with the matter at hand, the placing of blame. Now... on April 4, 2018, did you ever have to wait for Allapa?"<br />
<br />
DAVID P.: "What do you mean by 'wait'?"<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Come now, Mr. Panepinto, you know exactly where I'm going with this. There's no need to protect your friend. Did you, or did you not, wait in the trail for an interval of five minutes or more, a series of five or more times, for Allapa to catch up with you during the five-mile approach ski to the southern slopes of Peak Grand Union on April 4, 2018."<br />
<br />
DAVID P.: "Yes, by these terms, I did wait."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "In your estimation, could the reason for your having to wait be due to Allapa's obvious dehydration and failure to hydrate in the tent the night before?"<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Objection! The night before is immaterial. Blame is to placed for April 4. That means April 4 only."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Overruled. A pattern seems to be emerging."<br />
<br />
DAVID P.: "The actual problem may have been he was hungover from the night before."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Guys, I'm uncomfortable with this. It's not right to be representing a nice guy with a figment of my imagination."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "I quite agree. (<i>Turns to face the jury, and then remembers there is no jury in cases of blame)</i> The witness may vanish back into the field potentiality from which you emerged."<br />
<br />
<i>Exit David P.</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-bgvMhm1jrMX-Ewuthakwm7E5viX6SLS3-AndRoW3ggl3vOYSUrUdTiN1-uz-4PV3I0CG_Q-bw3zsmpnabJ98y5KnK62GaIv7pKNNL3LF0lMV_t21rN9cD588MxsCVZNSJmPzwTARO4E/s1600/Newton+Peak+Nome+Alaska+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-bgvMhm1jrMX-Ewuthakwm7E5viX6SLS3-AndRoW3ggl3vOYSUrUdTiN1-uz-4PV3I0CG_Q-bw3zsmpnabJ98y5KnK62GaIv7pKNNL3LF0lMV_t21rN9cD588MxsCVZNSJmPzwTARO4E/s640/Newton+Peak+Nome+Alaska+2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Looking northwest from the top of Newton Peak on a weekday evening. If there is a scene in Nome, this must be it. Plenty enough snow for a SHREDFUL 2018 season. Lots of good runs on Newton. So many of them in thick whiteout! Friends emerge out of the mist, and for a moment, are more than just a dull shape again.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls Leonard to the stand."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Well, now that you've let the dogs in, why not? Conjure a figment."<br />
<br />
<i>Enter </i>LEONARD, a<i> dentate gyrus, parts of a hippocampus, a subiculum, with the parahippocampal gyrus strangely wired to the basolateral amygdala</i>.<br />
<br />
ADJUTANT: "Do you swear to filter your nervous electromagnetic fields so as to reproduce as close a facsimile to the the actual qualia and flow patterns that occurred on April 4, 2018 in the vicinity of Mt. Osborn in the Kigluaik Mountains, from as close a viewpoint to Leonard and Lupe's as can be reproduced by this narcissistic human mind, so help you God?"<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "If you say so."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Good morning, Mr. L. Thank you for taking the time to appear in Kigscourt today. You and Lupe were present on the snow-machine expedition to the Cobblestone River last April 4th?"<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "That is correct, sir. We did a little camping for a night. Lupe and I took off in the morning cause we hadda be back in Nome. Those guys went for a trek up by Osborn. They stayed an extra night. We were long gone by the time they got down from the mountain."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "So you saw them off on their climb of the mountain?"<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "Well, no. We took off on our machines before they made it out of camp. Genius there was having a hard time finding his mittens, and such. The usual."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "So the defendant has a reputation for dithering about?"<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "Safe to say."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "How long do you estimate it took them to leave basecamp?"<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "Hours. We had a long chat about school, as I recall."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "You and Mr. Allapa."<br />
<br />
LEONARD: "Correct."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "No further questions. We have more than enough already.<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Defense, cross-examine?"<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "No need. This witness was not present the day of the ascent, and offers no credible testimony with which to place blame."<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Witness may step down."<br />
<br />
<i>Exit </i>LEONARD.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQJLxzr28PAfaNrVxAK27xw_-zwmeUthUblWFOzffMTnF8W6tWOz7r9cpLH1baFZO9Qywl3yTc4c09bC6y0rQJXStpcbI4BJmUR40e-eFkgdziXTcPRJXPrLxlkAKKIlasdvnynF8ZCY3/s1600/nome+sunset+from+newton+peak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQJLxzr28PAfaNrVxAK27xw_-zwmeUthUblWFOzffMTnF8W6tWOz7r9cpLH1baFZO9Qywl3yTc4c09bC6y0rQJXStpcbI4BJmUR40e-eFkgdziXTcPRJXPrLxlkAKKIlasdvnynF8ZCY3/s640/nome+sunset+from+newton+peak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Time for one more run from the top of Newton.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Enter</i> JUDGE, PROSECUTION, DEFENSE, DEFENDANTS, AUDIENCE<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Final statements!" (<i>gavels)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
PROSECUTION: "We are gathered here today to place blame upon one or both of two individuals who, on April 4, 2018, perpetrated a UNSUBSTANTIATED BAIL before reaching the high-point of their stated objective. This constitutes a CHICKEN-OUT under Kigsblog law. One stipulation of a CHICKEN-OUT requires blame to be placed for the bail. In the case of <i>kigscourt vs David P. and Allapa</i>, only one decision is possible. Allapa is to be blamed for the failure to summit. Allapa is to blamed for not bringing enough water. Allapa is to be blamed for not hydrating enough in the tent the night before. Allapa is to be blamed for BONKING and slowing down the climbing party the next day."<br />
<br />
AUDIENCE: (<i>whispering) </i>"I heard it took him hours just to go to the bathroom."<br />
<br />
PROSECUTION: "Blame rests squarely on Allapa's shoulders for taking too long to leave camp in the morning. This is a no-brainer. Kigscourt must find Allapa TO BLAME for the bail off Peak Grand Union on April 4."<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Organs and thought manifestations of the jury, Hands of the Executioner-- The Prosecution is correct that this is a no-brainer. Kigslaw precedent clearly states that 'blame rests upon the individual who first suggests the bail by voice or gesture.' All lobes are in agreement that David P. first suggested the bail. BLAME is to be placed on David P. There can be no other decision."<br />
<br />
DAVID P.:<i> "</i>I was manipulated! He was ready to go down as I!"<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "Order! Does the defendant wish to make a statement? After all, this is all inside your head."<br />
<br />
ALLAPA: "Yes, your Honor.<br />
"Minions of my own brain, guilt-ridden thought processes, Hand of the Executioner— I would like to take this occasion to point out that all this is farce. Originally I meant to just send a text to David telling him he doesn't have to feel guilty about us turning back short of the high point, but the message turned into this blogpost instead.<br />
"I hereby banish these ridiculous thoughts of BLAME to the<i> Deleted Folder</i> of our mind. All that matters is the beauty of the present moment, light glinting off tiny facets of snow crystals, the taste of cold Kigswater, blue sky.<br />
"Peak Grand Union is not peak enough to make such a fuss over. The climb was not climb enough to merit a trial. The whole endeavor was motivated in the first place by a kind of boredom, a structure of climbing maintained from earlier days of climbing when the achievements were more real and the consequences more dire. It gets me out into the country, you know? We will certainly return to Peak Grand Union for a twelfth attempt. But here is logic for you: if the climb was not badass enough to be called a climb, then the CHICKEN-OUT cannot be called a CHICKEN-OUT.<br />
"The verdict of the trial must be handed over to readers of Kigsblog."<br />
<br />
DEFENSE: "Move to absolve all parties of blame!"<br />
<br />
JUDGE: "So be it! Kigscourt is adjourned."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFVCqlXkjCXoGX-4IrO0yCCCA9ZAvVYi2V7jrUS7TYeJCHu72FRK3x6-v_qjhlE5wE5YM3yKSxRxjk7GhuCOxCxmZFlMEfYs2lKHxxMV79-CZQg4N1UyIVAzno3JP1MDHXMMDiXArwz-z/s1600/Tigaraha+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFVCqlXkjCXoGX-4IrO0yCCCA9ZAvVYi2V7jrUS7TYeJCHu72FRK3x6-v_qjhlE5wE5YM3yKSxRxjk7GhuCOxCxmZFlMEfYs2lKHxxMV79-CZQg4N1UyIVAzno3JP1MDHXMMDiXArwz-z/s640/Tigaraha+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0); color: red;">Shadows of Mosquito Pass moving up Tigaraha. On the way back from Peak Grand Union, April 2018.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-4802109080745471622018-09-09T20:12:00.000-07:002018-09-26T16:34:23.459-07:00Ring of Ayasayuk<div style="color: #202020; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJ9aq0dyxITGKM_gx9VeHWqK0ZuMVUmaSQXidN36AjSA8qX-tXbc5hZZ7NAo9t9eN1jHv82Rr-jOG14wu4O6w4CKBewGO5U3KL8ByyKCybZ6GHjoLXzk1GG5LSqcnW4u6tjLZQ58Mzh6q/s400/watericenomeclimb2016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Fourth Tier ice, November 2016</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJ9aq0dyxITGKM_gx9VeHWqK0ZuMVUmaSQXidN36AjSA8qX-tXbc5hZZ7NAo9t9eN1jHv82Rr-jOG14wu4O6w4CKBewGO5U3KL8ByyKCybZ6GHjoLXzk1GG5LSqcnW4u6tjLZQ58Mzh6q/s1600/watericenomeclimb2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>BLOG-LAG tremendous. The Kigsblog-year is in danger of lapping itself. It's almost time to return to Ayasayuk for the new ice climbing year. This is an update for the last two.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHmVkNnZ653MuyiVl1xhYFjJVcn8qKWym3r5RFkFLMv1wOaxNsBeruMJCucKhAPqWHpIbuOJ-5ysl5cGmKsL83o0NoPgXi60M6rLu-hrHvI8GyFQu8W00DUsQeaUB25-F8oJbU7qCVybi_/s640/capenomequarry2016.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Quarry face, November 2016</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The idea was to blog the iterations of the quarry as it develops over the years, adding to the layers of information like successive tree rings each December when the rivulets freeze into ice, when all the ice climbers in town drive 15 miles out to the point of land with their ice tools brandished, intent on grappling the ice and frozen stone dust that glues the hanging rubble to the quarry face. Each new year brings a subtle deviation in the layout of the cliff. Or sometimes a not so subtle deviation— during the years of the Shishmareff seawall project, the entire cliff was blasted away into infinity several times, hence the iterations, but there is always a path of least resistance for water to find its way down, and so there is always some kind of thin, wandering ribbon of ice to climb, even a pillar or two, if the gods of the quarry have been kind to ice climbers that year. For the hardcore Valdez climber it would all be weak sauce, but this is roadside ice climbing in Nome, let us be thankful for any helping of that.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINPh-WZ113fmRFRqcV_yAkhYTKuaFvod2_OgJueTSFReZQU9mhtJQHMmsLGIVlYLB11QffDRy3bXC2WfENyNKsAs3G4A3b_3Cbvl7neYYjWvA4eMLhslYd-10KGrvUWIdvHmv3fYHTwtz/s1600/capenomequarry2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINPh-WZ113fmRFRqcV_yAkhYTKuaFvod2_OgJueTSFReZQU9mhtJQHMmsLGIVlYLB11QffDRy3bXC2WfENyNKsAs3G4A3b_3Cbvl7neYYjWvA4eMLhslYd-10KGrvUWIdvHmv3fYHTwtz/s640/capenomequarry2017.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Quarry face, 2017</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> With only minor variations in the last three or four years, the iteration has remained the same. This tree ring represents climbing adventures from the last two years, as I did not manage an Ayasayuk post last year. Each year, the game is to follow a Direct route up the entire cliff, bottom to top, incorporating as much ice as possible. Lamefully, I haven't successfully completed a Direct since three years ago with James.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigagdGpPWWAQwzInWIaDuq_hXmr8jLPIM0LtxsqD552qzKH-nVKv7jTTYIUiUh_bhs1J-SVGDeYflBt2AazvxqA-t7pS965Qcq-WJBtwHGbD-A7azsC249yc88119AloqrsBs5SNP8r4-F/s1600/nomeiceclimbing2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigagdGpPWWAQwzInWIaDuq_hXmr8jLPIM0LtxsqD552qzKH-nVKv7jTTYIUiUh_bhs1J-SVGDeYflBt2AazvxqA-t7pS965Qcq-WJBtwHGbD-A7azsC249yc88119AloqrsBs5SNP8r4-F/s400/nomeiceclimbing2016.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Third Tier ice, 2016</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The First Tier presents only steep hiking, a chance to test the bite of your crampons in the frozen stone dust of a new day. The crux is crossing the road, the boundary of trespassing, trying not to be glimpsed by cars as you leave the road and launch directly up the quarry face— this is uncool, to climb here, and I will be cited for this blogpost. You soon come to the wide access road at the top of the First Tier. Solariums have been installed at the top from which to view the surrounding amphitheater. If you think about it, the cliff at Ayasayuk represents a 430 feet tall void left by the earthly removal of the bluff once known as Ayasayuq. But what does not remain remains a place of power to this day.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7F9DVpLk2S6kR5SUyyv24Jybh_fRPudHsfESFfctOYa7fNp-y5lu7kC2QBtOdiaBMnRupsVOnv1tsUj_lcaagrh2bhVlFv1mxmdIAVjXiVMHt79DfCQngvb7mZyQ2InLgQxGJA3NcraF/s1600/capenomeice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7F9DVpLk2S6kR5SUyyv24Jybh_fRPudHsfESFfctOYa7fNp-y5lu7kC2QBtOdiaBMnRupsVOnv1tsUj_lcaagrh2bhVlFv1mxmdIAVjXiVMHt79DfCQngvb7mZyQ2InLgQxGJA3NcraF/s400/capenomeice.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Third Tier, 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> More fields of hanging stone dust lead up the Second Tier. The motions involved with climbing the dust mimic those of true alpine climbing. Sometimes blobs of real water ice seep from the Second Tier, but not for the last two years, so you just kick your way up great buttresses of steep, hard dirt. The consequences of a wee slip from the dust slabs are not just a mimic of alpine climbing, however, but the real thing: possible enmanglement.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqnd4J9rH2vnFZgQgCWtOzIYh78HjTg5N70l3EK3nDyeaTBawgImCeP9C8U60zg1H1-M6toyHPa4AeiQTHP60zk0ig3DdDqmIrX8X9yzyi_KTxJgfJRZpEzIwFL8ooi3xqIt9LgYNySUK/s1600/davidpanepintoice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqnd4J9rH2vnFZgQgCWtOzIYh78HjTg5N70l3EK3nDyeaTBawgImCeP9C8U60zg1H1-M6toyHPa4AeiQTHP60zk0ig3DdDqmIrX8X9yzyi_KTxJgfJRZpEzIwFL8ooi3xqIt9LgYNySUK/s400/davidpanepintoice.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David on his first ice climb, 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The Third Tier is the main business, the highest of the tiers, a pitch and a half of climbing up to the next access road. The weeps and seeps have followed variable patterns the last few years, but the usual Direct route has gone up a not-very-steep mud runnel with a ribbon of water ice at the back. The runnel pools out at the top and vanishes right into the stone dust. To complete the Third Tier the climber is forced out onto the hanging dirt fields, easy terrain, but palpably creepy, and studded with rip-raps of gneiss that look like they were arrested in motion mid-roll. Typically, I solo up to the frozen pool halfway up, where I file for a petition of chicken-out, and downclimb. Three years ago, James and I made it up the Third Tier: we draped the rope across fins of frozen stone dust, pretending it was pro.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYS04dKN5I0C-qshlFYL1wDvH9v9NYIgHncyNePY-70_K85rqVn5r6ed4SYDJmoAr1KPK2yPVQ0LlwYPP1g3WGlALJFYZcRvN2jQa1LUnoqw5w0vJXDKBW8o7SauwO00c3Nna6VL6dZwO/s1600/capenomeice2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYS04dKN5I0C-qshlFYL1wDvH9v9NYIgHncyNePY-70_K85rqVn5r6ed4SYDJmoAr1KPK2yPVQ0LlwYPP1g3WGlALJFYZcRvN2jQa1LUnoqw5w0vJXDKBW8o7SauwO00c3Nna6VL6dZwO/s400/capenomeice2017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random Access Flow, 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> They shaved away the Third Tier until the face of the quarry was about level with the the top of the bluff. However, a few more little rises remained in the bluff profile, unshaved, so a few more access roads went in, creating the Fourth Tier, a 50-foot cliff situated in a little network of roads at the top of the quarry. This road network pools up with Fall rain in unpredictable ways to create a head-dispatching system for all the frozen flow below. With a minimum of treachery, tope ropes can be set up for practice on Grade 2-ish and 3-ish water ice, and there's often"childrens ice climbing area" with perfect soft landings in billows of drifted snow.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZm37Q5iUykn-evzjGqUUUdHOmMMiMkB-DDppv8eLC86g3JWRUBloyXmZq3NGWb8LhskA1vn7wL96Q-NxviEXJWt-YrTsaGTeqPtWh15lZcpdwOpR8bY_P7wLiEJ7rg97rm5DXLRrh1sN3/s1600/Cape+Nome-+1st+Iteration-+climbing+left+fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZm37Q5iUykn-evzjGqUUUdHOmMMiMkB-DDppv8eLC86g3JWRUBloyXmZq3NGWb8LhskA1vn7wL96Q-NxviEXJWt-YrTsaGTeqPtWh15lZcpdwOpR8bY_P7wLiEJ7rg97rm5DXLRrh1sN3/s400/Cape+Nome-+1st+Iteration-+climbing+left+fall.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">From the archives: 2003</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> It's all coming down on you</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> There's nothing you can do</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> And it was me that triggered</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> The death cascade.</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Cracking, shouts, thundering,</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Let your destiny ring!</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Ship is going down </b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Just jump the whole thing,</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>While I stand to the side</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Watching you drown. </b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> I'm sorry we never danced around</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Or stopped at the Safety Saloon</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> The lights of town</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Were always dragging us in.</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Now the climb is gravity's child,</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Groaning half ton blocks</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Right down on your timeline.</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Now the climb is coming down</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Right into our face</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> If ever we get back to town,</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Never go back with you to this place.</b></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI-Yvk-W1gTl-H2ZeH02DuPhiYwEaFXibvi7EVDRvlAw47fgLPzZ7F9cXZrsbOiWOBqiuMtV6xzn7yWEBBNkuzXQDROxBnG9Z5LuipdBdUXTWkOTzKSRfeN4nTyGRVPRC4t2AsYkwnG1J/s1600/Ianb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI-Yvk-W1gTl-H2ZeH02DuPhiYwEaFXibvi7EVDRvlAw47fgLPzZ7F9cXZrsbOiWOBqiuMtV6xzn7yWEBBNkuzXQDROxBnG9Z5LuipdBdUXTWkOTzKSRfeN4nTyGRVPRC4t2AsYkwnG1J/s400/Ianb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Quarry face, 2003. This iteration of the cliff was blasted</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">away in subsequent years.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Peemarking, in a 2-year tree ring such as this post, presents a technical challenge due to my complete lack of recall. I do remember soloing around. I whacked tool into every chunk of ice that was present. I do remember air under the crampon points, and punch-card holes spent on objective danger. I remember chickening-out of every climb I started up. I remember David chunking his way up some wet flow on his first day ice climbing. But I do not remember enough details to lift a leg and make a confident peemark (a claim of real climbing using locations, grades, nomenclature). Any peemarking claims I might try to make would only spray, dispersing message. Too bad there so few ice climbers come to Nome. David went south. Lack of climbing partner creates such a weight of nothing. No partner creates psychological rope drag holding you back from a partner that's not there. Chicken-out is reduced 75% when there is another climber present. If only there were another climber besides the great lone ME hanging in the sky, blocking the sun.</b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVwJyPKIWlhdDeG6_pXNEBEps2cmjip0CZNitmxjyeARVopx0vxEGLlh7ebVpgIDdu548Bpj0WVrZAAofhstkQViwxTf9BP52dmCj8hTsNzrX6Z4vsKQsnBCmRciZZPwBgp5SE5mlEgxk/s1600/inupiaq-norton+sound+coast+names4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1584" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVwJyPKIWlhdDeG6_pXNEBEps2cmjip0CZNitmxjyeARVopx0vxEGLlh7ebVpgIDdu548Bpj0WVrZAAofhstkQViwxTf9BP52dmCj8hTsNzrX6Z4vsKQsnBCmRciZZPwBgp5SE5mlEgxk/s640/inupiaq-norton+sound+coast+names4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Map showing Norton Sound Coast inupiaq place names, found in a random drawer at Nome Elementary School</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Earth energy streams eastward off the Pacific, into the bottleneck of the Norton Sound, and gets channeled up against the Norton Sound coast between Cape Rodney and here, bathing the bluff in PHI waves. The other key ingredient for sentience is present: a rich archaeological history of the area. There may no longer be a <i>kasGi</i> every seven miles, no more L.A. coastline glittering with lights, nor even a big encampment of families a fathom down where the water is now off the beach at Nook, but stone memory is slow to dissipate. <i>Ishigait</i>, little people, </span>still roam the place, manifestations of morphogenetic eddies, like dust devils of PHI, potential nodes of mental process. Does an <i>ishigak </i>climb ice?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Quyana, BSNC... </b><b> </b></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
</div>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-14615843978432772432018-06-20T01:31:00.000-07:002018-07-02T00:30:32.368-07:00Fall Fell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ej4DLxZRjPRn_uuxKfXGs5dYHAhLNwZUTwPQwxnnEPlL-VlGV-PvB5Ldm6Ug7_ut5e7Msun47tVRD_C_84Pw3FEcv2qnxDS3JdFA0DEr1kmUv4MrKEFLBj0U1wb3LF7QYumYmBpinC3F/s1600/East+Singatook+scramble.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bouldering on the way up the south ridge of Peak 3260, "East Singtook"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ej4DLxZRjPRn_uuxKfXGs5dYHAhLNwZUTwPQwxnnEPlL-VlGV-PvB5Ldm6Ug7_ut5e7Msun47tVRD_C_84Pw3FEcv2qnxDS3JdFA0DEr1kmUv4MrKEFLBj0U1wb3LF7QYumYmBpinC3F/s1600/East+Singatook+scramble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><u>Peak 3260</u></span></i> </span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Blog-lag considerably swollen. Writing of Fall adventures from late Spring. In this post, more sacred secrets will be given away, this time the location of one of the best roadside </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fell_running" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">fell runs</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> on the Seward Peninsula: four miles of gradually ascending ridge to the summit of the East Singtook (Pk. 3260), with a surprise set of gneiss pinnacles in the middle section allowing the rare mineral of actual climbing. Also in this post: the mysteries of the Little Singtook's (Pk. 3653) North Face will be probed, as well as little turd-clumps of climbing so small and unstable they are destined not to stand into the next Millennium. </span></b></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEKZSkvcka4FFY9Ry_3hTsrEIO-TD5_LGcNttYurBimgYn0ItszRZodKoSXaXXRmiLjcGRQE5DBbRBDlu23_QnQWaiLFaiGh2cdfayo-8-B5mY460qnkqOsmF_0C3UjI2asejqr5QBqEY/s640/Grand+Singtook+and+Little+Singtook.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Grand Singtook (Pk. 3870) and Little Singtook (Pk. 3653 - "Sintauyuq?") from East Singtook. This pair form a prominent landmark, which is probably why a name was bestowed upon them from days of yore.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpwKsREz0w0kDCRW_RUjZQbq0gK1lHcDx3GO4NJhTHcOS1WkhQZBOQvckYpPMDi1gZNO1NhQZVYE8WfEGAYnZ20k_EIAOm7DAazLzcCOgRKkZZ0Nru_8v6NtvZrwLsCOwm01bFrpNKvK2/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-19+at+2.43.04+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="734" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpwKsREz0w0kDCRW_RUjZQbq0gK1lHcDx3GO4NJhTHcOS1WkhQZBOQvckYpPMDi1gZNO1NhQZVYE8WfEGAYnZ20k_EIAOm7DAazLzcCOgRKkZZ0Nru_8v6NtvZrwLsCOwm01bFrpNKvK2/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-05-19+at+2.43.04+PM.png" width="276" /></span></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1120" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U1KCAqgvwC5Djd0vaWPlTBL29QWTQA9XkHEnxNxn5abklTNa2lNVzpbhFBkDcYpG43uNuU6JseuFn2MozEcVpVMNOdjhDzoBr5-oWc43fJA6nZtDQnX9ZrjGWKjgN6KNiTnni2gTwTjQ/s200/Screen+Shot+2018-05-19+at+2.41.26+PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Marianne in glue</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U1KCAqgvwC5Djd0vaWPlTBL29QWTQA9XkHEnxNxn5abklTNa2lNVzpbhFBkDcYpG43uNuU6JseuFn2MozEcVpVMNOdjhDzoBr5-oWc43fJA6nZtDQnX9ZrjGWKjgN6KNiTnni2gTwTjQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-19+at+2.41.26+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><b>No doubt the GLUE of TOWN ran high that September weekend as two teachers drove west. No doubt the tack was high due to the responsibility of a new school year in session. With each unit of distance away from town, the GLUE retracted us backwards toward town an equal number of units. The extending filaments of GLUE did not start peeling off us until Nick and I had travelled twenty miles west on the Teller Road and crossed the Sinuk River. We began to forget about town, and about school, and the GLUE no longer asserted its influence upon our thoughts. We continued another ten miles west from the Sinuk and parked at Crete Creek to start our fell run up East Singtook.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbi-5t8OpuViXG2TjHWDgkXOQFf5-xItaWHz5ePOP_fZBeKEpeDoN19UswGq_rUQATucW0rpgkmdn0TV0qtCH8wvc4Bc1mzOl06U40iUlmMW5rjFAx81AX8WhXBF-_rEiXpUp0ex20ZcZ/s640/Nick+in+the+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A lightfoot lad raised in the Chugach</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> A sentient but somnolent </b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mist dissolved everything in and out, like a bad transporter beam. Nick could have lapped me several times, but kindly waited on the benches in the shivering wind. For me this was a mere peak bagging expedition, a statistical quest to stand on top of Pk. 3260, the "East Singtook." From the road, the ridge had always looked boring, a hike for tourists, with no climbing at all, which is why I had skipped it all these long years, until-- the silly conceit of climbing every peak in the Kigs overtook my motivations like a disease and rendered me a mere hiker, not a climber. Now Pk. 3260 seemed desirable. But a surprise awaited in the crook of the south ridge that you can't see from the road.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="1324" height="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3qNmKvxoZanSkwOgxzO2JeeMYa1m4ZKnVhN_adbw_7bSGbJn_EZQ9uDWTOz2IBRF77VtGDDH-co5Vbn7j_mmsH-hg-H5zM9m6Le9U6OuPcXq2ShZfPXMmJl-ONqC21ygQmdPA33jgKm0/s640/Pk.+3260+Teller+Rd..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Routes taken this Fall, 2017</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJahebbIFSxb7Nngkn4fBaEB39gGa5Jg7k75aQ711UT8rq1IA7ovVU71YAAHu2422Yw4s0EtIOH0yOZjoQUkChuecXTeMjXvaUNM3qcrUhZaIYHYEjjBEZNGyBZEGEGku2cFBX87s5hND/s1600/East+Singatook+hike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="572" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJahebbIFSxb7Nngkn4fBaEB39gGa5Jg7k75aQ711UT8rq1IA7ovVU71YAAHu2422Yw4s0EtIOH0yOZjoQUkChuecXTeMjXvaUNM3qcrUhZaIYHYEjjBEZNGyBZEGEGku2cFBX87s5hND/s640/East+Singatook+hike.jpg" width="356" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Too cold to switch to rock shoes</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>
The pinnacles of Pt. 2875 suddenly popped up in the middle of the ridge! A hiker can easily side-hill around these outcrops, none of which really exceed six meters, but Nick began to navigate a little tightrope game through the pinnacles where you have to follow the exact crest of the ridge over the mini-Stegosaur's back of rock, and it was so fun to follow his heels doing all kinds of little boulder problems, both highball and low. Geologically, the rock had been granite before it was gneiss; cracks, knobs, and slabs emerged from the palimpsest of metamorphism. The ridge took us across 400 horizontal meters of cool little boulder problems, and out into the "you're going to be mangled" zone more than once. So our fell run contained this cool simulation of a real alpine rock climb. </b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="572" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZ7kme4m72SyqP5xjndQBWN1nXJAzHLuHtF1PWXn96Je-tTUJu0LVJUvzx4K-oOCukRehxRuMGxw3jfj8egFpBIitl1qe0uK5p23SlbZ4YXe-X8kLFoDb96GVAnuQmaOOrYZiruiT-jw_/s640/3260+Teller+Road+hike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="356" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fell running action</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZ7kme4m72SyqP5xjndQBWN1nXJAzHLuHtF1PWXn96Je-tTUJu0LVJUvzx4K-oOCukRehxRuMGxw3jfj8egFpBIitl1qe0uK5p23SlbZ4YXe-X8kLFoDb96GVAnuQmaOOrYZiruiT-jw_/s1600/3260+Teller+Road+hike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Did I mention it was cold? Well, duh. There was to be no pleasant picnic in the sun that day. Vapors off Woolley Lagoon slapped into the <i>Singtauyit </i>slap after slap. The view kept pixellating into zones of grey before reloading the details between cloudbursts. A few of the most badass survivor mosquitoes tried to fly up between eddies of wind, then realized they were useless </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>and activated their rescue beacons. Fall is the coldest season. Gloves, hats, and long johns are still buried under summer's gear, and cannot be found on a GLUE-stricken morning. Perhaps one lacks fatty tissues. The settings on one's bio-thermostat have not been recalibrated. Cold? Yes it was, alaapah. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="1024" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSfvkz6mSnqfr1kvIVc2OhwZzncIAkl10tcDg5kWw-XAMY01RTmX_mTtNrfowehr3BhRMaCxxjWLbzEfuCpPmX9AdjOrGUI7yXz8YYV0de7oxR1crLQQOTteVQJgvFBshi-6px381MZB7/s640/Grand+Singatook+from+East+Singatook.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Evidence of uplift. In the background is the Singtook, adorned with its usual raiments of gale-force wind.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSfvkz6mSnqfr1kvIVc2OhwZzncIAkl10tcDg5kWw-XAMY01RTmX_mTtNrfowehr3BhRMaCxxjWLbzEfuCpPmX9AdjOrGUI7yXz8YYV0de7oxR1crLQQOTteVQJgvFBshi-6px381MZB7/s1600/Grand+Singatook+from+East+Singatook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Not only was the summit of Pk. 3260 another <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_(geography)" target="_blank">Marilyn</a> notched in the silly, statistically-fabricated belt of a peak bagger, you could see lots more pointy Marilyns ripping clouds all up and down the range. Down the west ridge with airplane wing arms I followed Nick for an excellent downhill-running session. This led down to the saddle between the Grand Singtook and Little Singtook at the top of Crete Creek, the East Col, a place about which I had always been curious: would this pass go, or was it the usual Kigsian precipice to the north? </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Back in the two-thousand aughts, as a prelude to Nil's and my ascent of Grand Singtook's north face in 2003, I had invested significant amounts of time and energy to researching the question of this East Col, on several occasions hiking all the way around the Singtook from the west and getting terrifyingly lost in fog and furious wind. Back in the day, it took me forever to form a mental map of the confusing topography around the <i>Singtauyit </i>and I would wander like a dreamer in Wonderland, coming upon lost cirques full of ice and stone, with no real concept of how the hills and drainages fit together. </span></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="572" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHE_504u6f2NbRUGo3In72hSaz2j87qHXWqB1eXKuAf_AZOultmq5f1YCynPEz5WDIThmoImNFlsY5-Z6uT6_tA7MzzdZrv2Ms0VPkxgzCnNVjTkC3tLbpDLhf3ETgMK0SgVMBuI6-k3yc/s640/Kigluaik+trundling.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="356" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Big league trundling action, looking down the north side of the Singtook South Col</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHE_504u6f2NbRUGo3In72hSaz2j87qHXWqB1eXKuAf_AZOultmq5f1YCynPEz5WDIThmoImNFlsY5-Z6uT6_tA7MzzdZrv2Ms0VPkxgzCnNVjTkC3tLbpDLhf3ETgMK0SgVMBuI6-k3yc/s1600/Kigluaik+trundling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <b> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The pass looked like it would go to the north with some hideous Class 4 down-scrambling. I was happy that Nils and I had accessed the north face from several hundred feet higher and not gone down this unsavory chute. "Hello, is anyone down there?" I yelled, as if. We commenced trundling. Nick pried at enormous blocks with his runner's body like a shovel about to snap. We got on our backs and pushed with our legs, then popped upright, ran to the edge, and watched the explosions with the same sick fascination one watches crashes on youtube.</span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><b> There you have it. What value in all this verbiage? What right have I to chronicle a mere hike in the annals of a blog which is supposed to be about real climbing? </b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, now you know the location of one of the finest roadside fell runs on the Seward Peninsula, that is something.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1353" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc3Cne6s4I5wapU_KUnDPjX5P-wfLrmIn0uYB_2cgLjXj8OREltUgochX_EwtmwNclRQ-8Kbf3_dzdney42eI-pBVemFYtBippkp9CgUiXt44TmnsocuPG-qYhtyCrbYTYN1Mz2FWyVLJ/s640/Grand+Singtook+from+North.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Singtooyit from the North. Grand Singtook in the center, Little Singtook to the right, and the East Singtook on the left barely poking up over a foreground peak. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc3Cne6s4I5wapU_KUnDPjX5P-wfLrmIn0uYB_2cgLjXj8OREltUgochX_EwtmwNclRQ-8Kbf3_dzdney42eI-pBVemFYtBippkp9CgUiXt44TmnsocuPG-qYhtyCrbYTYN1Mz2FWyVLJ/s1600/Grand+Singtook+from+North.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><u>Granite Creek</u></span></i></b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> A splendid little fell-running community emerged out of the new school year. Nick bought a used Ford Bronco which served as an effective GLUE-cutting escape-mobile. David joined us and we headed west on the Teller Road with GLUE filaments popping and peeling as we shed our psychological attachments on yet another freezing-ass, glorious weekend.</b></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-dE6EseLwCN5tlVIhuF_l5lmkJEPPm1h6XjwBQBYEV7pb4RsZPDjFnyUq6oJY4It14MKRWAHnSkA33tvGSos2Zu9OiZPyVeAj55FrYdBBLsl7p9r6HPRGpIM-Xtj5OHmxCfD9YvYiiBv/s640/Little+Singatook+North+Face.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">North Face of Little Singtook. Some of those white patches are ice. I went up partway and bouldered around.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-dE6EseLwCN5tlVIhuF_l5lmkJEPPm1h6XjwBQBYEV7pb4RsZPDjFnyUq6oJY4It14MKRWAHnSkA33tvGSos2Zu9OiZPyVeAj55FrYdBBLsl7p9r6HPRGpIM-Xtj5OHmxCfD9YvYiiBv/s1600/Little+Singatook+North+Face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> A movement was afoot to explore Granite Creek, around the corner to the northwest of the Singtook. For the fell runners, the fell run itself was a means to an end, but for this malnourished ice climber, the trip would be a chance to check out a new, north-facing cirque in the hope of finding Fall ice. Eighteen years in Nome has taught me not to get my hopes up, but Granite Creek seemed promising. With all my plotting and map-gazing to find north-facing cirques in the Kigs which are accessible in less than a day from the road, why had I never noticed Granite Creek before? The fell run would lead right up the drainage to the northwest face of <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2012/10/pk-3653-singtairuq.html" target="_blank">Pk. 3260</a>, which I have variously referred to elsewhere in this blog as the Little Singtook. Surely this cirque would yield a cornucopia of thick, blue, frozen waterfalls ripe for high-angle ice climbing.</b></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJ2vUj6mUgI5jPT41o2t692vMqblfmODbn6q13y2UIl3lqd-UybqYd-OZl_RzlR5aX-mnVBR6sommbyR9ZB1EaZVAEkBufeXAJD3u5G-dh_gHU2HMP1OhqwRm5MYs229BKKc8OxOBqCI6/s400/David+Panepinto+in+Granite+Creek.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Did I mention it was cold?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJ2vUj6mUgI5jPT41o2t692vMqblfmODbn6q13y2UIl3lqd-UybqYd-OZl_RzlR5aX-mnVBR6sommbyR9ZB1EaZVAEkBufeXAJD3u5G-dh_gHU2HMP1OhqwRm5MYs229BKKc8OxOBqCI6/s1600/David+Panepinto+in+Granite+Creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> In fact, it turned out I would be able to sink picks into ice, but there would be no satisfying "chunk," only an annoying metallic scraping and sparking as the pick penetrated through a thin shell of ice and sparked the rock beneath. There would be no runouts, no screws, no terror, no deep self-realization that comes with real ice climbing, only a few hurried moves over anemic verglas that had been disguised from below as real ice. But I could now check the box that said I had ice climbed that day. I could now return to town and tell them what a big-shot ice climber I was. This was a few hundred feet above the tarn at the head of Granite Creek where a barely visible trickle of ice could be seen meandering its way across cliffs and talus. The ice did look as if it might grow with more autumnal freeze/thaw action, and I vowed to return the following weekend, but the GLUE was destined to rise up like a phagocyte and envelop my intention, thereby obviating it.</b></span></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Z1tX8a9QSq5vknUSb1crkdTiwpYLxLjdCjBxOFQMHJpF3Endlpa2yQoOtEFFut3plEcJtB8R1AjpbrUlTtqiDdi8txapPQuMehOCdf1tg73fRCh4F4R98UYl_bKu0ZGmOes_VH3mQmv5/s200/Penny+River+Nome+climbing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="150" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Da</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe3wu9WLNbkBCOba2Bh-jUpJ30kr4fm6DDJKm9y5CAWnX0YexnsJJpSsxMAM040QY6mkb0yvgMcYWUfl_wiUhml9prNwicP0seRKZrFepGW1iIetQvwQvPJYnfWaVoX43SgyHt2R1LMQY/s320/Penny+River+climbing+mixed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Da</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe3wu9WLNbkBCOba2Bh-jUpJ30kr4fm6DDJKm9y5CAWnX0YexnsJJpSsxMAM040QY6mkb0yvgMcYWUfl_wiUhml9prNwicP0seRKZrFepGW1iIetQvwQvPJYnfWaVoX43SgyHt2R1LMQY/s1600/Penny+River+climbing+mixed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW1Smu41kd7NGn5qtNhHDw7fAUGqWdGMwzT11jbA4Axzo9hZet19Z5ODsNmvckQR8P07NpiL8OPvuiJFEG6nFtu2kFr2Jw0LXJ83CHlC4B9jdxUgSH-Kmxbgcy0xP2rjEOPGPskwUSth18/s200/Bouldering+Penny+River+Crags.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Da</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW1Smu41kd7NGn5qtNhHDw7fAUGqWdGMwzT11jbA4Axzo9hZet19Z5ODsNmvckQR8P07NpiL8OPvuiJFEG6nFtu2kFr2Jw0LXJ83CHlC4B9jdxUgSH-Kmxbgcy0xP2rjEOPGPskwUSth18/s1600/Bouldering+Penny+River+Crags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><u>Penny River Crags</u></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> The next Fall weekend featured a trip out to a nameless blob of rock near the Penny River, with David. Only an </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>aficionado of obscure bouldering could see any value in such a desiccated turd pile of twice-morphed schist, but I managed to talk David into the proposition that obscure bouldering was a type of DaDaist art form, which appealed to his avant-garde, culturally-refined nature, and he began to discern the emperors clothes that transformed a schist-pile into a jungle gym of fun. Besides, he was eager to play with his new crampons and ice axe, and quickly learned what a solid, reliable handhold was to be found in an axe sunken in frozen turf. We put up multiple major first ascents of numerous dry-tool problems including <i>Taiguaq (</i>Read It<i>), Ayauppiak (</i>Sun Dog<i>), Suama (</i>Fortitude<i>), </i>all of them so far into the V0— range of difficulty that their identity will soon fade, and their geologic structure erode.</b></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1518" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGDgUHYsmAfGRfp_mUhb44ryGWykCHu-9E1Im151MzK72mev80jhASrrFtSWK5pNzSSp6CDkvrtAyGBqtV1NFQzbTsTBPaFVmRHmmQhYkoaDfALKA00Dzs-ynfo75BVnPtCIhKrwgTEQEj/s640/Fox+Creek+Caldera+hoax.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Location of purported caldera</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Fox Creek Caldera Hoax</b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Several years back, Mr. Collins and his cross-country team were developing the mountain running course destined to be the standard unit for all Kigluaik mountain runs in the future: Fox Creek. There he discovered a caldera, up at the very head of the west fork of Fox Creek. Our next, featured, Fall fell run chronicles an expedition to investigate this improbable geological feature. On a freezing-ass windy Saturday, a mass of fell runners consisting of doctors, lawyers, teachers, and dogs, headed up Fox, and hung a left at the sentient boulders, which are really donkeys that have been turned to stone through bad luck. A short series of moraines led to the caldera.</b></span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlTwlreTm0VCQ_zzcTyJe7Q9lmp86hFKzyYD2LEfDNajBAe5jYisO91hyphenhyphenTtoE5FYwTZKKkvDEMqaWbU7RCsYVOPv_bXt70SejZWVuvciUy1GhGOwjGibx-vWpBiOBjWs03VeLX1b14UvI/s1600/IMG_3632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlTwlreTm0VCQ_zzcTyJe7Q9lmp86hFKzyYD2LEfDNajBAe5jYisO91hyphenhyphenTtoE5FYwTZKKkvDEMqaWbU7RCsYVOPv_bXt70SejZWVuvciUy1GhGOwjGibx-vWpBiOBjWs03VeLX1b14UvI/s640/IMG_3632.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The fell running community of Nome</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> A small tarn, a kettle lake, perhaps, lay at the center of a perfectly-round, glacial cirque. Any geologist will already know that our quest was absurd, a continuation of the DaDaist ethic that drove these Fall adventures. The point was all the fell running we did. I had heard theories of another caldera in the Kigluaik, this one located in the round cirque under Mosquito Pass Peak, as if the Kigs were a burbling bed of magma drizzled like salad dressing on top of a twice-subducted gneiss dome, with all the attendant glacial processes taking place on top of it. </b></span></span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPT8gp_hyphenhyphenxlzkUKRyitFxDTqPz_SoYnmMzBigGp8Cc3ks-g9EdeN7q7xKEXCgffzb-UKQo9U9KlOtrGIXcNQyBKlhpZE3hOSEEFWIWBnxAxL6A0Wq4hQjJEyvwpEWaHR42v2v9GAIw4MC/s1600/IMG_1425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPT8gp_hyphenhyphenxlzkUKRyitFxDTqPz_SoYnmMzBigGp8Cc3ks-g9EdeN7q7xKEXCgffzb-UKQo9U9KlOtrGIXcNQyBKlhpZE3hOSEEFWIWBnxAxL6A0Wq4hQjJEyvwpEWaHR42v2v9GAIw4MC/s640/IMG_1425.jpg" width="358" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I had visited the caldera two summers before, when Lucy and I climbed up the hill above it. This picture looks straight down into it, with Lucy napping on the edge of a fairly steep cliff.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></b>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></b></span>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></b>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-460412788687712222017-12-27T05:53:00.002-08:002018-02-02T15:40:16.842-08:00Guess That's Why They Call It Grand Central<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHj8wSmv9OpjLTjDbCY9fvzr_TM6wRwriQYLa-_jmdXAl0s0pd6myB_8pmQiLegeNtNypvW7sBC5bEohQblyBMnPldEERW-vDY1LZOc2TIIr-W-Pe7VWOa5UdpuoBKGPJp6HhGqCzJQI7/s640/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">North Face of Pt. 4250+ from North Ridge Osborn, looking into East Fork Grand Union Creek, Johnson's Tower at left.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHj8wSmv9OpjLTjDbCY9fvzr_TM6wRwriQYLa-_jmdXAl0s0pd6myB_8pmQiLegeNtNypvW7sBC5bEohQblyBMnPldEERW-vDY1LZOc2TIIr-W-Pe7VWOa5UdpuoBKGPJp6HhGqCzJQI7/s1600/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Grand Central Valley, 1910.</i></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Franklin Johnson, failed mining engineer, now roustabout in the Nome diggings, sat wearily down on his load of redwood planks. The trolley lay sunken in the muck of Grand Central Valley for the fifteenth time that day. Green layers of swamp buzzed and chirped all around the miner, a stout man of Scandinavian descent. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Might as well take off this damn harness</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">, thought Johnson, unbuckling a leather strap around his waist. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Just like a dog</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">. They had tried a couple of horses to haul the lumber up the valley, then a team of dogs, but the quicksand of Grand Central had sucked the rigs down every time. In the end, the best solution was for one, stout man to wheedle the 16 ft. planks through the swampy sections, inch by inch, sometimes piece by piece, along the makeshift road the men had fashioned along a line of bluffs. Johnson had discovered if he used the planks themselves as shaft and handle of the cart, the hauling wasn't too bad.</span></span></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOIpkDy52spZ136PG6jyBQh1zVcn6KI2BufX-BISG6iVdPKBwVxoxGPT3yDg446WSJEekDeAlDTJlMIzO5Yvq3hcZqWDjb0bZ7TtLxDrAqPDpI0htF1WSIQRWAN7evNIW74q64NYwZmdY/s640/Mt.+Osborn+north+wall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Northeast Cirque of Osborn. Weird story about this camp... I hiked up here last July, 20 Saturdays ago. When I got up to this place at the very top of the valley, I had time to kill, so I spent a ridiculously long time choosing a tent platform. I walked around for an hour examining various patches of tundra like a choosy homebuyer. Even after I had selected a tent platform, I kept fussing around with the tent's orientation like an anal-retentive furniture arranger until I felt quite silly about myself for being so particular, when real climbers are supposed to flop down on any surface whatsoever and just sleep on it. When I finally got the tent where I wanted it, I was surprised to find one, buried, aluminum, SMC, <u>tent peg</u> at the <u>exact</u> corner of the tent. This is not a major campground we're talking about here, but seemingly empty wilderness. The tent peg does support the general hypothesis that Grand Central has, at times in the past (as so many places in Beringia) seen a greater population than it does at present.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOIpkDy52spZ136PG6jyBQh1zVcn6KI2BufX-BISG6iVdPKBwVxoxGPT3yDg446WSJEekDeAlDTJlMIzO5Yvq3hcZqWDjb0bZ7TtLxDrAqPDpI0htF1WSIQRWAN7evNIW74q64NYwZmdY/s1600/Mt.+Osborn+north+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Johnson wasn't so grumpy. He counted Grand Central as one of his favorite places to be in all the Sawtooths, and the sun had come out. At the head of the valley, Mt. Osborn skyed upwards in a series of stacked triangles, and snow glittered on the peaks of Thompson Creek and Gold Run. The <i>clang</i> of a hammer rose above the sound of the creek.<i> Must be Osborn up on the Wild Goose rolling tube</i>, thought Johnson.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The sound of the hammer turned his thoughts back to their project: the Wild Goose Pipeline. "Plunger," cursed Johnson out loud, and spat. "Das ist bescheuert.</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">"</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The engineer in him did not subscribe to the notion that the pipeline would add "head" to the entirety of Nome's ditch system. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Misapplication of the Darcy-Weisbach,</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> he thought scornfully</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">. </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not only that, but the other crew, the Campion Ditch boys, in a friendly spirit of competition, had confused the mathematics: by ingeniously contouring their open ditches up Buffalo Creek, they had achieved an apical elevation </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">higher </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">than that of the Wild Goose. Like all the miners in the Nome diggings, Johnson was passionate on the subject of ditches. A miner in these hills would as soon dig a ditch as open a can of beans.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> To say Johnson was a failed engineer was disingenuous. His true knowledge and expertise belied his lowly position as laborer. Johnson's only failure was his final exams at the <i>Technische Hochschule </i>back in Germany. Or, rather, the <i>night before</i> his final exams.<i> </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> The American, Perry-Smith, had showed up in his Bugatti, with Petrus in tow. Off the three had sauntered for a night of drunken, moonlight rock climbing on the <i>Elbsandstein. </i>Exams had not gone well for Johnson the next day. With no pedigree to show for all his studies, Johnson boarded a steamer for North America soon thereafter.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fEQKV5wXdvWM7n4PO-z6cVCYTsKbPZ5rLqRRHgZ3x_5AuHsiqon6U3tM_Y3VE2TtHX_ikT_2zXeK_r0RG5gZeHqXxM2EyWajO1fZs7tKAY5JOKQuyVODO4RY4cgy1lLW84IA__IWxnpb/s640/Mt.+Osborn+north+couloir.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Northeast Face Mt. Osborn (Pk. 4714) The dark slash at center of photo is the infamous Sluicebox Couloir.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fEQKV5wXdvWM7n4PO-z6cVCYTsKbPZ5rLqRRHgZ3x_5AuHsiqon6U3tM_Y3VE2TtHX_ikT_2zXeK_r0RG5gZeHqXxM2EyWajO1fZs7tKAY5JOKQuyVODO4RY4cgy1lLW84IA__IWxnpb/s1600/Mt.+Osborn+north+couloir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></b><b style="font-family: inherit;"> Where Gold Run comes in from the north to join Grand Central, Johnson crossed from the north side of the valley to the south side, cursing the beavers, all beavers. He and the boys had argued whether to send the road above or below the beaver ponds. <i>What in the hounds of hell are beavers doing up here anyway?</i> But as he grew close to Thompson Creek, pushing and pulling the 16-footers across the polished river rocks, Johnson grew solemn, and nervous. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> There was a woman at Thompson Creek. An honest to god, living, breathing, <i>female</i>. Her presence filled the entire, ten-mile long, Grand Central Valley like a cloud. One of the Osborn brothers had "imported" a wife from Sweden. Against everyone's advice, Osborn had built her a tent cabin to live in for the summer in the moraines of Thompson Creek. Now she was all Johnson could think about as he grunted and sweated over his damn trolley of wood. <i>Jimminy, I don't even know her first name, </i>thought Johnson. He found himself rehearsing the witty things he would say to her. The last time he had passed through, she had invited him in for tea, where they had discussed Shakespeare and Goethe while her husband labored above them on the hill. She had mentioned she craved some running water at her cabin door--<i>Maybe I'll just pick up a shovel and knock out a quick ditch line for her, </i>thought Johnson, <i>it wouldn't be any trouble at all.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But when Johnson finally pulled up to the encampment, the poor woman was already besieged by admirers. Two men were seated on crates outside her cabin, a new kid,</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> and that Irish pensioner whose name Johnson could never remember.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> From behind the tent flap she emerged, not the beauteous, flaxen-haired maid from Johnson's memory, but the same woman, transformed, apparently, by a week of backcountry living. Her bonnet was torn and muddy, her face swollen with mosquito bites, her dress blackened with soot. Her cheeks bulged with chaw, and she commenced to cussing up a blue streak with the two miners.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Something had changed. Johnson was disillusioned. The pensioner was carrying on at great length. <i>This guy probably just hired on with Wild Goose for doctor benefits, </i>thought Johnson, but said nothing. Instead, sat down and loaded his corn-cob.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipufc26Q0KTKkHg454lsJMtF2UmAa3WpJXPXELcKBta6O_QIliNy8lIqYlX9HDxgVMnzkt99Iy3mESM6A9SbE4M07ZNE0A1AOy9R956YlYH3gsm-KXy_RrdHyYvrKhiVfHgAlaWs5R0Xbp/s640/Grand+Central+lumber+planks+Wild+Goose+Pipeline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Looking west up Thompson Creek from the terminal moraines of the extinct Thompson Creek Glacier. A plethora of planks and ancient cabin frames is my evidence that this spot was inhabited during Wild Goose Pipeline days. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipufc26Q0KTKkHg454lsJMtF2UmAa3WpJXPXELcKBta6O_QIliNy8lIqYlX9HDxgVMnzkt99Iy3mESM6A9SbE4M07ZNE0A1AOy9R956YlYH3gsm-KXy_RrdHyYvrKhiVfHgAlaWs5R0Xbp/s1600/Grand+Central+lumber+planks+Wild+Goose+Pipeline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> </b></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> Guess that's why they call it Grand Central, </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">mused Franklin Johnson. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Mighty crowded for the middle of nowhere. </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Diffidently, Johnson departed the scene at Thompson Creek, taking only his coat, and leaving his rifle. He also left the Irish pensioner to continue his palaver in that accent Johnson could never well understand, for though Johnson was a Swede, his first language was German. </span></span></b></span><br />
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> One item of conversation, however, had filtered through Johnson's attention: the Irish claimed to have "prospected" up the North Fork of Grand Central the week before, and passed over Mt. Osborn to the Cobblestone River, just up the valley. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Johnson had launched vigorous inquiry; "D' right fork, you're sure? To d' right o' Osborn? On der gletcher? Chu made it to d' Cobblestone?" </span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> "Aye, the right fork it was,"the pensioner had assured him.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Now, Johnson, on prior occasion had poked around the North Fork himself: he knew there was nothing around that bend but huge, unscalable, limestone walls. No way that little Irish dude had scaled Mt. Osborn from the north. Not even Fehrmann would venture up onto those <i>verscheissene</i> walls. Nevertheless, Johnson had resolved right then and there to hike up to the glacier that very afternoon, to check out this pensioner's claim of a crossing.</span></b></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"> </b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-mpIz33omY8qzZKVhRcYngkkM_NZKaD-csqtklIc-iKRGpP7uv7ezCXRKsHjA8hJOkVwPLhPJ4T6QkVBVr0_8IYBKLxHkEjKv4q1D97dOE_KIRz25c3W62WFOV5iNstmWanquheDqpoi/s1600/Grand+Central+Valley+Road+Nome+Alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-mpIz33omY8qzZKVhRcYngkkM_NZKaD-csqtklIc-iKRGpP7uv7ezCXRKsHjA8hJOkVwPLhPJ4T6QkVBVr0_8IYBKLxHkEjKv4q1D97dOE_KIRz25c3W62WFOV5iNstmWanquheDqpoi/s640/Grand+Central+Valley+Road+Nome+Alaska.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;">In the process of making this map, I learned so much. Here have I spent several weeks struggling to write this work of historical fiction, and also made many wrong turns in the deep brush, just to prove my theory of a turn-of-the-century carriage road up Grand Central, and the whole time the thing was already marked on the old USGS map. I just never noticed it before. The red line (above) shows the dashed line on the old map, which must have represented the road, as near as I can tell. It seems to follow the braided creek bed for much of the way, which might explain why it's so damned intermittent these days. They must have often used the bluff that parallels the river on the northeast side because there is a road up there, too, shown by the purple line above, which represents my hiking route last July, 2017. Point A (surveyed on the map as Pt. 747, the spot in the photo above) shows the flat place next to the river in the Thompson Creek moraines where Johnson shows his narcissistic tendencies. Point B shows a spot where I once found evidence of rectangular stone walls and stone structures; it is the origin of the smoke plume where Johnson turns his back on society. <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2014/06/thirty-fifty-four.html" target="_blank">Here also have I argued for the existence of a Grand Central Glacier</a>; I believe it, too, is depicted on the USGS map above, if one zooms in close enough.</span> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He continued north up Grand Central. Up valley the road became easier, after it crosses the braided channels of the creek and reaches the moraines of Thompson Creek that spill in to the main valley from the side. He made swift time for a mile or two before reaching the confluence of moraines at the fork in the valley, near the foot of Mt. Osborn.</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> Johnson could see a plume of smoke coming from an encampment up in the West Fork, a mile out of his way. He knew that yet another Osborn had been appointed as foreman and seen fit to move in there up the West Fork, at the very head of the whole ditch line, with yet another imported wife from Sweden. They had made tidy little homes down on the riverbed, with stone walls and chimneys of rock, a nice little domestic scene. </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> But after the crowds at Thompson Creek, Johnson had soured on domesticity. If he had been honest with himself, he</span></b></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> would have admitted he was bitter that Mt. Osborn had been named after Osborn instead of after, well, himself. </span><i>They didn't even climb to the highest tor,</i> thought Johnson<i>.</i> Nobody but he had made the distinction of continuing along the summit ridge to find the actual high point of the mountain, and his daring ascent of the highest, crumbling tor had gone unnoticed and unheralded.</b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="1220" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0-Me8qhNTBR4oaJ7UdWU6-tRuw4_OFPKL1F1TguiYpMImwQz1NYW1fkXRkQoEmTcbNQQf-IwcwZOLzIW8kjRDuAiioFJ4uVbz5O8mZc2wgOPm-K8EzzvLR87dkKLWA_fbGT4CoD5TLwN/s640/Thompson+Creek+confluence.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">The road up Grand Central is easier to follow on Google Earth than in real life. Above is a Google Earth showing the confluence of Thompson Creek with Grand Central River. Johnson is waiting outside Osborn's wife's cabin at Pt. 747 (Point A from the map above) near the top center of the frame. If one looks closely enough, one begins to see old roads leading everywhere. Such is the case when one is down on the ground as well, and delirious from hours of strenuous hiking with a heavy pack: roads, everywhere, in front of me, that line of willows, just up ahead... Was I hallucinating all these roads in Grand Central?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0-Me8qhNTBR4oaJ7UdWU6-tRuw4_OFPKL1F1TguiYpMImwQz1NYW1fkXRkQoEmTcbNQQf-IwcwZOLzIW8kjRDuAiioFJ4uVbz5O8mZc2wgOPm-K8EzzvLR87dkKLWA_fbGT4CoD5TLwN/s1600/Thompson+Creek+confluence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">J</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ohnson was reflecting with satisfaction on how the breeze had abated the bugs, when he was struck by a chance remembrance: was this the week that teacher fellow from Nome (</span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">What was his name?... ah, Frank, another Frank, like me... wait, that's not my real name... </span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">) was bringing a group of school kids up to climb the mountain? Johnson had said he would meet them in Grand Central. Maybe the teacher and his gang were over there in the West Fork of Grand Central right now, less than a mile away, having a merry time and singing songs around a blazing bonfire full of Wild Goose lumber. Johnson imagined he heard the trill of young voices carried on the breeze. </span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> The thought of social interaction waiting so close at hand filled Johnson with a mixture of longing and dread. In his mind, Grand Central had forked in two: one fork led to human company, the other to solitude. The choice confronted the miner like an elemental question. But what did Johnson know of introspection? How could he have known it was his own sense of diminished self-worth that drove him to choose the fork with no people in it? </b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="1600" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHxQsqDNMetWDKi0ZVxg-NHRQHDRn_RPCxuxAC09M0FSdHFXzsVId7U8wQWlMP0xfzJjLS4tQVWhvblAFfWaA6PIFzXNO0yxYcKWMXcwKfZONaGVy0cIXXZaKA1mPurUn8kzNWeVAcSGd/s640/Mt.+Osborn+summit+1910.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">A photograph by <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/03/among-peakbaggers.html" target="_blank">Franklin Karrer</a> taken somewhere near the summit of Mt. Osborn, looking southeast over Crater Lake and the Wild Goose Pipeline, sometime between 1910 and 1914. Who knows, maybe Karrer or one of his students ferreted out which of the summit pinnacles is the highest and snapped this photograph from its narrow top, but I doubt it. Thanks to Laura Samuelson at the old Carrie MacLean Museum for forking this one over to me.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHxQsqDNMetWDKi0ZVxg-NHRQHDRn_RPCxuxAC09M0FSdHFXzsVId7U8wQWlMP0xfzJjLS4tQVWhvblAFfWaA6PIFzXNO0yxYcKWMXcwKfZONaGVy0cIXXZaKA1mPurUn8kzNWeVAcSGd/s1600/Mt.+Osborn+summit+1910.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> Johnson stopped at a pair of glacial erratics which stood alone on the tundra, a favorite spot of his in which to practice rock climbing. He called the boulders "Sow and Cub" because he invariably mistook them for bears from far away, causing his heartbeat to rapidly accelerate when traveling without a gun, as he was now. </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> Johnson took off his gumboots and climbed barefoot, because that's what Perry Smith would have done, though barefoot had been more suitable for the soft sandstone of the Elba than this sharp, jagged <i>stein</i> of the Sawtooths. Soon, Johnson was lost in a reverie, moving up and down and sideways over the face of the free-standing boulder. The game was to eliminate holds by placing them out of bounds, thereby creating the most tenuous sequence of moves possible over the tiniest of holds. </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> It was an odd game, one that Johnson would never have come by in his lifetime had he not met the influential Fehrmann back at the <i>Technicum. </i> Not one of Johnson's compatriots in Alaska understood. They considered Johnson's rock climbing to be just another antic of another eccentric miner. <i>Petrus called it art, </i>thought Johnson. <i>Maybe someday,</i> <i>someone will come here that understands.</i></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqukhg4UkErF5p9ZeVkPYytO865VY4Rrp4FjunKnERMEoyv0WtbWs58OaYVIiEGObitpmFWuTygV2Bix9PYo82OLGZKo6UUpIq3zIhLLHK0gqSlHTyxzcixsDsBaS4ZAPQxCMnpJlmLPr/s640/Kigluaik+Mountain+glacial+erratics.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Erratics high in Grand Central North Fork, looking northeast. Find Lucy.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqukhg4UkErF5p9ZeVkPYytO865VY4Rrp4FjunKnERMEoyv0WtbWs58OaYVIiEGObitpmFWuTygV2Bix9PYo82OLGZKo6UUpIq3zIhLLHK0gqSlHTyxzcixsDsBaS4ZAPQxCMnpJlmLPr/s1600/Kigluaik+Mountain+glacial+erratics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Years before, Johnson had visited the Brenta in the Italian Dolomites. He thought maybe the limestone walls of Osborn's Northeast Cirque were just as big. Osborn's wall hid itself from the rest of Grand Central and only revealed itself after one travelled the full two miles around the curve of the North Fork. </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> Johnson soon arrived at the glacier. He looked up. Two-thousand feet of appalling cliffs frowned down. Loose stone coated the ledges. Horizontal bands of limestone (Johnson had always argued it should be called marble, a metamorphic rock) crossed the entire cliff, showing slabs that would require plentiful amounts of Level 0 climbing. <i>No way. </i>No way the Irish pensioner had passed over the northern shoulder of Mt. Osborn. Dude <i>must</i> have been mixed up.</b></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1222" data-original-width="1600" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6d_tbWAUsvdvlyox923wWQz1HHqBr8wr9UDs2w8Ri19c05RWAcJVtg70ByvnYDkcTHctsjf1GIOWr16wNEzpx6CFem9MKG4_I9ygYD61McNb284Nc1nSkgCFK2cC3RBd9obipEs0IKqV/s640/mt+osborn+north+shoulder.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Looking southwest across Northeast Face Osborn. Franklin Johnson never did succeed in climbing Johnson's Tower.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6d_tbWAUsvdvlyox923wWQz1HHqBr8wr9UDs2w8Ri19c05RWAcJVtg70ByvnYDkcTHctsjf1GIOWr16wNEzpx6CFem9MKG4_I9ygYD61McNb284Nc1nSkgCFK2cC3RBd9obipEs0IKqV/s1600/mt+osborn+north+shoulder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> </b></span></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"> Johnson couldn't let it rest. These walls were his domain, his and the eagles. He had to know where that pensioner had gone, had to sniff his tracks and pee on them himself. Johnson knew that if he crossed the crest of Osborn's north ridge too far to the right he would end up in the Grand Union drainage, and the pensioner had clearly stated he passed over to the Cobblestone River drainage. The night was perfectly fine, with nary a breeze, and if the midnight sun did not blaze, it certainly shone. So Johnson continued up, angling across easy slopes toward a prominent limestone tower. <i>Maybe if I climb it they'll name it Johnson's Tower, </i>thought Johnson, but he doubted it, then grew ashamed. Only someone who had participated in the obscure cult of tower climbing in Saxony could possible appreciate the value of climbing a tower, well below the main summit in altitude and off to the side, simply for the sake of climbing the tower. </b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoigixyV1qJKMbn_3cqn8YVlPEfD40femhkgTdFPNGvF_AovnUVnI8MbYCsE-BsTN0NC_N55Sw7dKNAjcGJLzI3XozdT3Ceh6ojH_r55rlgU7YIiFJ1Pr-NGHKRZnV7KeTXQpFDsgRNJ_/s1600/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork+glacier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoigixyV1qJKMbn_3cqn8YVlPEfD40femhkgTdFPNGvF_AovnUVnI8MbYCsE-BsTN0NC_N55Sw7dKNAjcGJLzI3XozdT3Ceh6ojH_r55rlgU7YIiFJ1Pr-NGHKRZnV7KeTXQpFDsgRNJ_/s640/Grand+Union+Creek+east+fork+glacier.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Looking down at glacial remnant in Grand Union Creek East Fork. It was still a living glacier in Johnson's time, a fact he later reported to his inquisitive friend, Henshaw, the surveyor.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> He soon reached the ridge crest. The view to the north sprang open like a Jack-in-theBox. Johnson saw another little pocket glacier down below. Johnson's intention was to climb southward along the crest toward Johnson's Tower, and then along toward Osborn's summit, but Johnson quickly saw it was a no-go. The climbing was too steep, too continuous. A stone tossed off the cliff to the north did not hit bottom for many seconds. Fehrmann might have soloed along this ridge, but not Johnson. No feasible way presented itself that would allow passage to the north shoulder of Osborn. The Irish Pensioner had been spouting palaver. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> <i>Unless... unless the dude went up the low-angle gully beneath Johnson's Tower, </i>thought Johnson. The gully didn't look too bad from down below. The sun had reached a point in the sky where it was just rolling along the western horizon from sawtooth to sawtooth, gunsight to gunsight, casting the entire mountain range in oranges and red. Johnson decided to drop back down to the glacier and investigate the gully.</b></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjDEH5dd2MlOad2Wq1sh7QEneIu27g-_O2KDqXpeRE8YiOvrJMMGliS7mXyyVq5HU4p-VI2RD1P7RtDVzshLtPgIUcMkfQrSo0YNaBott5la1iMZnk76hPDKkKlr8WUhE3shwhePNiFnI/s1600/mt.+osborn+northeast+couloir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjDEH5dd2MlOad2Wq1sh7QEneIu27g-_O2KDqXpeRE8YiOvrJMMGliS7mXyyVq5HU4p-VI2RD1P7RtDVzshLtPgIUcMkfQrSo0YNaBott5la1iMZnk76hPDKkKlr8WUhE3shwhePNiFnI/s640/mt.+osborn+northeast+couloir.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Looking up the couloir investigated by Johnson</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It was conceivable, Johnson figured, some goober might climb up that gully, though the top exit appeared to be Level II in difficulty, maybe even Level I. Johnson himself couldn't imagine a time he would ever venture up into the rockfall trap of that gully... middle of Winter maybe, when the stones were frozen in place. Johnson shivered to think of this place in winter. </span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alaapa. </span></i></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He was tired, Johnson realized. His plan had been to finish the night with a hike back to the depot, all the way out to the road where his gear was cached, but this was too far, it was never going to pay. He briefly considered going to the encampment in the West Fork, but he did not wish to inflict his unworthy presence upon the god-fearing crowd there. He'd have to siwash at Thompson Creek. Hopefully he could find a stray smudge pot lying around the camp to keep the blamed bugs away.</span></span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQZUgaii3w32x92EeJcvFsiF31VDKjR2XwDbfxVDV4ReQ72EZJIjU69k-O43raRzqSoHOJoFsr3_XgGlO2QLnPYsVTa1FtB131wxE7c66bEsRrUmoVh463cM6by8mqgnXH3YUL_1JwRUw/s1600/Mt.+Osborn+northeast+cirque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQZUgaii3w32x92EeJcvFsiF31VDKjR2XwDbfxVDV4ReQ72EZJIjU69k-O43raRzqSoHOJoFsr3_XgGlO2QLnPYsVTa1FtB131wxE7c66bEsRrUmoVh463cM6by8mqgnXH3YUL_1JwRUw/s640/Mt.+Osborn+northeast+cirque.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;">Osborn's brooding northeast wall</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>"Oh, aye, did I say to the <i>right</i> of the top?" spoke the Irish pensioner the next morning. "Aye, no, I meant the <i>left</i> side."</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Ja, ja, dat is wot I thought," replied Johnson. "I mean, dot is what makes sense." The southern shoulder of Osborn wouldn't be too hard to cross. Johnson felt a bit silly now for hiking all the way up the North Fork just to check out a claim he had already known was bogus.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He had slept well. The moraine had been swept all night by a breeze that blew the mosquitoes away, along with Johnson's personal demons from the day before. The smell of beans and bacon filled the air. He did not resent his coworker his erratum, and even when Johnson received an order from the Foreman to return with the trolley to the depot to pick up another load of planks for the day, he was cheerful, though the weather looked to be rain again soon.</span></b><br />
<i><br /></i>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-2438087400192382302017-10-08T22:43:00.001-07:002017-10-08T22:43:27.496-07:00Highly Resistant Boulders of the Hundred Year Old Rockfall<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vSqlZ2NpkC5M0iFZPLRRi0ZfFXrpdyCpgCXpgJoWo5HAU84RFIRV9MjgkKu60rwKHmAq2m9KShapIkWxLpPsw3KUvottTbtm-2pjsc299ObL1CdkgmW7CcVdCUP_jyLZezP6zDhHvkgy/s1600/bouldering+kigluaik+mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vSqlZ2NpkC5M0iFZPLRRi0ZfFXrpdyCpgCXpgJoWo5HAU84RFIRV9MjgkKu60rwKHmAq2m9KShapIkWxLpPsw3KUvottTbtm-2pjsc299ObL1CdkgmW7CcVdCUP_jyLZezP6zDhHvkgy/s640/bouldering+kigluaik+mountains.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leonard and I made it into Windy Creek in July, 14 Saturdays ago. It was one of those trips you go on anyway even though you know the entire trip will be cold, wet, and miserable. Leonard tried to sleep in a Megamid and got eaten by mosquitoes. We stayed one night and then bailed, soaked. On the way out I asked if Leonard could shoot me posing on the "Highly Resistant Boulder," one of many at the Hundred Year Old Rock Fall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am prepared to disclose the location of the best bouldering spot in all the Kigs. It's on BLM land, so what is there to lose? But what impulse would drive me to such gross indiscretion? Feathers of toilet paper will soon be clinging to human feces all over this fragile environment, all because of a blogpost that was written too clearly, with directions too precise. Perhaps it is because there is nothing else to write about. The trip last July really was as gray as this washed-out image off my not-dead iPhone 4S depicts. What else do I have to offer than the location of the best spot in the Kigs.<br />
It's the "Hundred Year Old Rockfall" across Windy Creek. This is only what I call it, though it has to be older than one hundred years. The area is clearly visible on the original USGS map from 1915, just past the turn-off to Mosquito Pass, three miles north of Northstar Creek. There. It is done.<br />
Many years ago, a huge swath of "highly resistant coarse-grained politic paragneiss and schist" spilled off the west sidewall of the canyon. Windy Creek eventually cut through the obstruction, and carpets of tundra populated the tumbled boulders. Little waterfalls thread their way through some excellent and varied bouldering terraces. You could have the Pocatello Pump there, but you'd have to helicopter in a few smellies. And I will be prosecuted in Kigscourt for this post.allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-41041427742697508512017-08-02T15:59:00.000-07:002017-08-02T18:07:49.013-07:00Oro Grande Cirque Ski<br />
<b>BLOG-LAG: 16 Saturdays ago....</b><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdi55b3vZyco50TDc8FPriebZAPUJQsoDDgakSszYAjIcC4_NRXEMGLPmmhEnuVX1raErL6nmNmtllMsDLwPhPKywlQ709M5-b7HgJRpiHMmOtwfOj4rVk84ofi9GGJV8E682nYKjjE4Qb/s1600/The+Glue+Pot+Nome+Alaska.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="1038" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdi55b3vZyco50TDc8FPriebZAPUJQsoDDgakSszYAjIcC4_NRXEMGLPmmhEnuVX1raErL6nmNmtllMsDLwPhPKywlQ709M5-b7HgJRpiHMmOtwfOj4rVk84ofi9GGJV8E682nYKjjE4Qb/s400/The+Glue+Pot+Nome+Alaska.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GLUE is the force preventing you from getting to outdoor recreation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Significant penetration into the Kigluaik Mountains occurred the second weekend of April. Or, should I say, significant <i>infection</i>, for what are outdoor recreationalists but pathogens invading the otherwise healthy outdoor environment?<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYwg2w8RSPbKV5NJUqr6AlHO5dYMW2H_Th-cRhSIhhL-owq-AJoZsBXp3RHCcg-wIa71c2jCj4mzTkAtZlAZau55XanSSQR5jqplTaiFOe8vGE-b24sC14dDoI0G-4i8_y3npf-ol6hL6/s1600/kigsblog+oro+grande+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="1600" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYwg2w8RSPbKV5NJUqr6AlHO5dYMW2H_Th-cRhSIhhL-owq-AJoZsBXp3RHCcg-wIa71c2jCj4mzTkAtZlAZau55XanSSQR5jqplTaiFOe8vGE-b24sC14dDoI0G-4i8_y3npf-ol6hL6/s320/kigsblog+oro+grande+.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David skinning up, Oro Grande Valley, looking northwest.<br />
<a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2012/08/oro-grande-tors.html" target="_blank">Click here for climbing trip report from 2012</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
David and I prepared to go winter camping at Mosquito Pass. We would snow-machine over the pass on a Friday night and camp on the Cobblestone flats, then skin up on Saturday into the five-mile long Western Cwm of Mt. Osborn and make a ski descent of Peak 4500+, "Peak Grand Union," a close neighbor of Osborn, and the second highest peak in the Kigs.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-GQr2lOn5Zo_-f0Z7Mzqlub6lh4tzvndZLxyOx7mdgU_QzZXGxWYLRh3qL3DZyZhsUqN5S8SOEn5UPP16RfRaFtqTd0wDgzVs-U0-UwE8sqG2_gkxJRm2s8to7GQjHOPTgzAiWZQ4ltG/s1600/Oro+Grande+snow-machine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-GQr2lOn5Zo_-f0Z7Mzqlub6lh4tzvndZLxyOx7mdgU_QzZXGxWYLRh3qL3DZyZhsUqN5S8SOEn5UPP16RfRaFtqTd0wDgzVs-U0-UwE8sqG2_gkxJRm2s8to7GQjHOPTgzAiWZQ4ltG/s200/Oro+Grande+snow-machine.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking northeast from<br />
Oro Grande Valley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Early last Spring season, I was hit by an injury that every alpinist dreads: I became involved in a <i>play</i> in town. "Good In The Country" it was called, an operetta composed of local songwriters' songs. Playing joyous music with friends, having TOTAL fun, has proved to be a substantial constituent of the GLUE of TOWN. The trip with Dave would be my last chance to get some serious training in preparation for my upcoming trip to the West Ridge of Mt. Hunter in June, before the GLUE of the PLAY would set up like epoxy around my boots, binding them firmly to Nome itself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n5pwGZKbsG2Gz6Q4IIKXH1UrfE7QbBTIPl20805_DkGoohEsNmzXNe9qZ92Sf31UjThv_xxOwCU4RNtBtYSqbw1bq-kj5JJ4Am8rab_Ua9t3pWObuEROPqboKRn_sEEigQHuKG0vlAuA/s1600/oro+grande+side+valley+Kigluaiks+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n5pwGZKbsG2Gz6Q4IIKXH1UrfE7QbBTIPl20805_DkGoohEsNmzXNe9qZ92Sf31UjThv_xxOwCU4RNtBtYSqbw1bq-kj5JJ4Am8rab_Ua9t3pWObuEROPqboKRn_sEEigQHuKG0vlAuA/s200/oro+grande+side+valley+Kigluaiks+ski.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the line we skied.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This attempt with Dave on Peak 4500+ constituted no less than my eighth attempt upon the north-side Kig. All other attempts had ended in failure and wild shenanigans, failure due to laziness, WORK GLUE, route finding error, and snow-machine hubris, well documented in the following posts:<br />
<a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/09/zero-for-seven-on-peak-4500-part-1.html" target="_blank">Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Part 1</a><br />
<a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/09/zero-for-seven-on-peak-grand-union-part.html" target="_blank">Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Part 2</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjMdJwl6zJdWjCodACylV2gX2HTJTca6vP8kX1pN8yliL9-4XPoXwsZN4BteI-PJls9HrAhRQwvIfAci12MN1AvF7XV4z9VCqabjONhla5NN5_JQKzMbD4SyE4yW4q3xQrQVy2A-sGL5a/s1600/Oro+Grande+snow-board+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjMdJwl6zJdWjCodACylV2gX2HTJTca6vP8kX1pN8yliL9-4XPoXwsZN4BteI-PJls9HrAhRQwvIfAci12MN1AvF7XV4z9VCqabjONhla5NN5_JQKzMbD4SyE4yW4q3xQrQVy2A-sGL5a/s200/Oro+Grande+snow-board+line.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The line we did ski, but it got too icy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
PROGNOSIS: <i>GLUE!</i><br />
We never had a chance. <i>Zero For Eight on Peak Grand Union, Part 3.</i> Friday evening rolled around and the GLUE had gelled onto the surface of everything and stuck there in opaque clumps that greatly slowed the process of leaving town as planned. Sleds, lashings, linkages, caps, shelves, walls, boxes, phones, mittens-- everything had clumps of this weird, jiggling, GLUE-like substance clinging to it.<br />
"Hey, I'm not ready. Let's just go early tomorrow morning."<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Zc2OA9isvyBNwJwpsGAZysRhm5MFocLo9vLo1SaytT9ETi6oUTvYTD485HprlBxNZ14ydDgte9E94fHaBIIkOg47Uv09ie8-AWMgeInXAGUWQOnJpGlh4myU5OfYFbWI-JnRpU0RX8P8/s1600/+Oro+Grande+cirque+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Zc2OA9isvyBNwJwpsGAZysRhm5MFocLo9vLo1SaytT9ETi6oUTvYTD485HprlBxNZ14ydDgte9E94fHaBIIkOg47Uv09ie8-AWMgeInXAGUWQOnJpGlh4myU5OfYFbWI-JnRpU0RX8P8/s200/+Oro+Grande+cirque+.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More north-facing topography in our<br />
side valley off the Oro Grande.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By the time we arrived Saturday at our camp on the Cobblestone, it was 2 p.m. Too late to slog all the way up the Western Cwm to access our objective, Peak Grand Union. The weather report called for low-pressure to start barreling in the following afternoon on Sunday, so the jig was, once again, up. Now that the GLUE had won, my switch was flipped, my plot was shot, leaving David and me free to simply wander randomly in the mountains without an agenda. Accordingly, with the remaining daylight we set out on our Sno-Gos, for all intensive purposes the Che Guevara and Alberto Granada of the outdoor recreationalist world, looking for something to do in that most holy and beautiful of ranges, the Kigluait.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuepGGW2IC-PNOZ8TXccxXhdWUESsZDkgxMyKqv_5aUr44CYs7ZwCzl8t0mOu_s1tWvM3j_RQoGAwxTMfMf2DEZVP9N6eaoRUQU966GQxwHf5d-_5RX5qZvSnbhgxjNnpmOexbf7otGtq/s1600/Cobblestone+Valley+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuepGGW2IC-PNOZ8TXccxXhdWUESsZDkgxMyKqv_5aUr44CYs7ZwCzl8t0mOu_s1tWvM3j_RQoGAwxTMfMf2DEZVP9N6eaoRUQU966GQxwHf5d-_5RX5qZvSnbhgxjNnpmOexbf7otGtq/s200/Cobblestone+Valley+Kigluaik+Mountains.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Moon over Western Cwm, <br />
looking east from Oro Grande Valley, <br />
April 2017<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
West up the Oro Grande Valley, we threaded willows in the gullet, then introduced our noise pollution into the upper valley, trying to gun our throttles over sastrugi and rocks. A fine-looking ski area came into view on the left, a north facing cirque spilling forth fresh terminal moraines, so we parked machines, disengaged boards, and from our parkas produced skins with still-warm glue which we affixed to the base of our skis and started up, me on my Tazlinas and Dave on his legendary Split-Board, until the parabola of the slope grew too steep for skinning, and the soft snow to boilerplate on the upper mountain, making our skins prone to dreadful, explosive blow-outs that sent us sliding backward down the hill, whereupon we chopped out ledges into the slope to serve as a base of operations for de-skinning and assembling our rigs for the downhill run. For some time a distinct sun/shadow line had been stalking us, and now overtook us, but as we swooped downward we passed back from the shadow into the sunlight, leaving two harmonized sine waves tracking across the zones.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzyFVLtj44ggV0G5xufNvOMM65kyDkfUChUuCAuw_lAJlvEGHPbrL2KMCqoSX6kT4qIzrRyon5CoXcQPhG2jzNxJHODV3ag3rIjKJSmdTzwKDZwR2vQHcwMzoEAgIrvZ56ZTGe42RuE1V/s1600/kigluaik+range+organism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="1100" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzyFVLtj44ggV0G5xufNvOMM65kyDkfUChUuCAuw_lAJlvEGHPbrL2KMCqoSX6kT4qIzrRyon5CoXcQPhG2jzNxJHODV3ag3rIjKJSmdTzwKDZwR2vQHcwMzoEAgIrvZ56ZTGe42RuE1V/s640/kigluaik+range+organism.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A. The cirque where we went boarding B. Camp on the Cobblestone Flats C. Peak Grand Union</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZXjR8Qz-0IwM2qqKvSo7G2Sl-yYxTjNmxHaKSFlsbvSEfo-A6MMpLUt8NQgN9ZpppOBZELvf-_fW-kHsXZU6NvJ55K89SW_Jkdp-Q1hrHdygwfAPjEtOV2tQzjkQf98UuCQ2r1lQmcZ9/s1600/Emily+Riedel+climbing+choss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZXjR8Qz-0IwM2qqKvSo7G2Sl-yYxTjNmxHaKSFlsbvSEfo-A6MMpLUt8NQgN9ZpppOBZELvf-_fW-kHsXZU6NvJ55K89SW_Jkdp-Q1hrHdygwfAPjEtOV2tQzjkQf98UuCQ2r1lQmcZ9/s400/Emily+Riedel+climbing+choss.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus Pic from April 2017: Emily getting into the spirit of Beringian<br />
bouldering. There was no ice at Dorothy Falls, so we clung to<br />
thawing choss in order to get a workout.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-5773425216482245782017-07-10T21:13:00.000-07:002017-07-16T18:46:57.438-07:00Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtiA3flhXvcpzEbir-OBucJeXp3YEqizuKhPTM6KuhCTq2ZYe0jnD7AYMRs9-o_GzUo9WP8m7Ec2BKWIdY8mi-d9opNEJOh6Lo4aBMYL6ugydp7HRShOCJ69V2Vb-TsCazTxz62tjvItf/s640/Pinarut+summit+3367.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="424" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Author posing on precipice, main summit of 3367 behind.</span><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtiA3flhXvcpzEbir-OBucJeXp3YEqizuKhPTM6KuhCTq2ZYe0jnD7AYMRs9-o_GzUo9WP8m7Ec2BKWIdY8mi-d9opNEJOh6Lo4aBMYL6ugydp7HRShOCJ69V2Vb-TsCazTxz62tjvItf/s1600/Pinarut+summit+3367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </b><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> If the Kigs are indeed mountains, then "Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven" is one of the range's great peaks.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> First of all, that number— 3367— while not a prime, the prime factorization includes 3, 7, and 37. My sense is that this figure had to be a close estimate by any of several U.S.G.S. surveyors from the earlier part of the century with a predilection for interesting numbers, probably bored with assigning 4-digit elevations to various Beringian prominences. The theory of bored surveyors might explain why the elevations alone in the Kigs are often sufficiently euphonious to stand alone as names. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> With this theory in mind, I regret suggesting the Inupiaq name "Pingaroot" for Pk. 3367. At the time I came up with this name (or, rather, when the mountain whispered its true name to me, which might loosely translate into English as "Three Gables") I was caught up in the Kigsblogian "Reverse the Trend" Movement, an effort to reverse the historical trend of assigning place names of European derivation to geographical features of Alaska. My regret comes from the conviction that the name "Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven" is a hard one to beat.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven really <i>sticks up</i> from many places in the range, undoubtedly why the U.S. Army Map Service chose to install a survey station mark on the summit in 1949. From the Cobblestone Valley to the north, attractive rock routes await a first ascent on granitic gneiss. The gullies that drop to the south, along the moderately steep mountain wall that extends from Pk. 3367 to Pk. 3213, are excellent for skiing, and highly approachable by snow-machine. Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven is a peak that a mountaineer might return to again and again.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Three trips to 3367 I have made, the last two times accompanied by badass downhill skiers, both of whom I deprived the summit of 3367 by misdirecting them to the wrong gable of the mountain's three gables, repeating the same misdirection twice in separate years. This Spring it was Wilson, about to graduate from High School </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and leave for the greater ranges (to whom I facetiously said on the summit, gesturing to the entire Kigluaik Range, "All this is your's...") Back in the spring of 2011, the victim of my poor directional sense was Tyler, whose fine photographs of the trip I have finally, only now, been able to pilfer off Facebook, and which feature prominently on this post, without his permission. (Thank you, Tyler Rhodes) The moral of the story is that it's rather hard to distinguish which peak is actually 3367 from the bottom of the nameless valley</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> to the south, so FOLLOW THE MAP closely.</span></b></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZkT9sYc3j9jpWJSucHCDtKI-xdQIODkwzY2BFG3tvoudmP8kUgUC1XmRMzdZce2kDldScvQupAQiN1dpWo696uyt5JaYnqje9g-srC2vjN16AqiVR-TmOY-2lYVQ-5nxQBNRbVAkgwal/s1600/Pk.+3367+Kigs+from+Teller+Rd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZkT9sYc3j9jpWJSucHCDtKI-xdQIODkwzY2BFG3tvoudmP8kUgUC1XmRMzdZce2kDldScvQupAQiN1dpWo696uyt5JaYnqje9g-srC2vjN16AqiVR-TmOY-2lYVQ-5nxQBNRbVAkgwal/s640/Pk.+3367+Kigs+from+Teller+Rd.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Central Kigs from Teller Road: <br />A. Pk. 3367 B. Mt. Osborn C. Mosquito Pass Peak <br />D. Pen Tri Cwm E. Tigaraha F. SaGuiq</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSABmqyD3jKU4mqgaiJNfqie3ybOPu2DUe0GAGQRT-RQnwOCs5tX_LrBRtHmE2dqbpdbW0divvvmyFU2wrG-2QUaddDgLfCpe4-ktMs48-yRwHdpRGKdI9WD8wIqytcxWjOYRSOSN9Qj9K/s1600/Pk.+3367+Kigluaik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSABmqyD3jKU4mqgaiJNfqie3ybOPu2DUe0GAGQRT-RQnwOCs5tX_LrBRtHmE2dqbpdbW0divvvmyFU2wrG-2QUaddDgLfCpe4-ktMs48-yRwHdpRGKdI9WD8wIqytcxWjOYRSOSN9Qj9K/s400/Pk.+3367+Kigluaik.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Pk. 3367 from the north</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="clear: right; display: inline; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><b></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUatbDIf_Qpegc9BQfs3ITTkwG9F5dt56gvQH9NYJBN0Auy4qSnLZJwfTLjY1zuW9iOxtwHh0B_4W6Szqq2s1_NrJCpvvIjFSZtwzbrDPCSKfcJ2fiac7S3LwGBFtUMedeeyvKyGJbVfh/s1600/Pk.-3367-Map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="647" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUatbDIf_Qpegc9BQfs3ITTkwG9F5dt56gvQH9NYJBN0Auy4qSnLZJwfTLjY1zuW9iOxtwHh0B_4W6Szqq2s1_NrJCpvvIjFSZtwzbrDPCSKfcJ2fiac7S3LwGBFtUMedeeyvKyGJbVfh/s400/Pk.-3367-Map.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Location of PK. 3367, Pingaroot, Three Gables Mountain</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>I<i>ditarod week, March 2004.</i></u> </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> FOLLOW THE MAP was all I had my first time to Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven. A thick, fat, hungover FOG obscured the morning. Alone, I drove for three hours through 100-yard visibility into the Kigs, in terrible fear of the zero visibility, and of my first ever snow-machine, a Polaris .340 that would eventually earn the name "Crusteo" which I had purchased from <a href="http://morgansnowmobiles.com/" target="_blank">Morgan's Sales and Service</a> just the year before. This was to be the snow-machine trip where I passed from beginner to intermediate, but first I had to get there. </span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Every single one of the 35 miles into the peak was permeated with a strong, palpable sense of DREAD, of wanting to turn around. The claustrophobia of fog creates madness, a dream of incubi pushing on your chest, a prison sentence, an anxiety attack that won't cease. Every single half-mile I stopped the machine, fished map and compass out of parka pocket, and carefully correlated the base of hills and mountains where they disappeared into the clouds with their counterparts on the map. <i>Just a little further.</i> S</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">quiggles on the map were tiny injections of reality into a vast fog bank of unreality. In this way I tremulously made my way up the Snake River, across the Stewart, and through Silver Creek Pass.</span></span></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Arriving after several hours at a main river recognizable as the Sinuk, I <i>so </i>wanted to turn back, even though the Sinuk meant I was close to Peak 3367, my destination. If my calculations were correct, I had reached the Kigs"deep water", past the point of return where self-rescue becomes a hassle involving an all-night ski, frostbite, aircraft, and panicked friends in Nome, and this in the </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">turn-of-the-millennium</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> days before we all carried panic buttons with us. Wilderness is a <i>sense</i> as much as anything, and getting to the Sinuk always feels like traveling past the continental shelf where the water all of a sudden gets colder as it gets deeper, or like the abyss hoving into view beneath your feet while climbing, a sense of: <i>Shit Just Got Real.</i></span></span></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvFE_eCcVottZGk3z1PoKymSkaEH1h-UBIHC7vdhg543_x7T4oA1a_TNsuIsdyruNH-oFVRLmvQeHgY3_BK3gQDyRG2T_7gOi3qCt_6SOChUQYJJ72xTs9GrfAEUe22tFJ4wUpZaJNarA/s1600/Kigluaik+Range+ski+3367+Nome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="1316" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvFE_eCcVottZGk3z1PoKymSkaEH1h-UBIHC7vdhg543_x7T4oA1a_TNsuIsdyruNH-oFVRLmvQeHgY3_BK3gQDyRG2T_7gOi3qCt_6SOChUQYJJ72xTs9GrfAEUe22tFJ4wUpZaJNarA/s640/Kigluaik+Range+ski+3367+Nome.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Tyler's calendar shot, author with Soul Powders on board, hiking up Pk. 3367</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">"She's just waiting for the summertime when the weather's fine.</span></i></b><br /><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">She could hitch a ride out of town a</span></i></b><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">nd so far away </span></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">From that low down, good for nothing, mistake-making fool</span></i></b><br /><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">With excuses like 'Baby, that was a long time ago,'</span></i></b><br /><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">But that's just a euphemism </span></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">If you want the truth he was out of control,</span></i></b><br /><b><i><span style="text-align: center;">But a short time's a long time </span></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><b><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: center;">When your mind just won't let go..."</span></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Is this how Kristine felt? The new mother remained behind in our house on Fourth Avenue with our brand new, two month-old daughter, Raina. My mind was further fogged by the disequilibrium of the new father, a mental residues from confusion and miscommunication. </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> The only machete that allowed me to chop through the GLUE that day was Jack Johnson's new album, <i>On and On,</i> playing strong on the mental soundtrack in my head in those days before headphones. Just when the FOG seemed too dense to continue, little trickles of Hawaiian sunshine would trickle through <i>Just a little further</i>. For weeks, Jack had been most effective in rocking colicky baby Raina to sleep in my arms while simultaneously keeping me the exhausted dad awake and standing upright, and now Jack was powering me as I paddled out the back to my appointment with 3367. </b></span></div>
<b><span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><span style="text-align: center;">But somehow I know it won't be the same</span></i></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: yellow; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Somehow I know it will never be the same</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHPq999M-IV6JI6KE5ZJDYSSMeDQffLE2yMPvcDnYmsjaXORuIro9EHEivE6xGjqHInOm1bz-MrXwY1udpii6K916BIcpkUXfYiZcYCadp123qr-1l8o4jYvn7cqY3bMjtdTDBPKwIIw5/s1600/Kigluaik+Mountains+ski+3367+view+of+Suluun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="852" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHPq999M-IV6JI6KE5ZJDYSSMeDQffLE2yMPvcDnYmsjaXORuIro9EHEivE6xGjqHInOm1bz-MrXwY1udpii6K916BIcpkUXfYiZcYCadp123qr-1l8o4jYvn7cqY3bMjtdTDBPKwIIw5/s400/Kigluaik+Mountains+ski+3367+view+of+Suluun.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Looking northwest from 3367. The granite mass of<br />Suluun is visible on skyline</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I arrived at a hilly place I calculated to be the root of the beanstalk where it disappeared into cloud. It was Peak 3367, but I was not certain. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <i>But surely today cannot really be a climbing day!</i> The FOG pressed down, a terminal illness, an inescapable responsibility, a bad romance. Behind the fog, the spatial yawn of remote wilderness. Driving a snow-machine is quite a different thing than shutting the thing off for hours and hours, leaving the complicated hunk of metal to frost up while you climb into bad weather wearing increasingly soggy underwear. <i>Today's trip is just a snow-machining exercise, right?</i> Time to turn around and head back for the Wet Buns contest in </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nome</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But then, a sign from the heavens... Through the muffle of FOG blanket, I heard the clear sound of an airplane several hundred feet above. Think about all the times when you're sitting in the plane and the mountains look </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">like islands in a sea of vapor.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Thirty-Three Sixty-Seven is easy from the south. I don't think crampons were even needed. And sure enough, precisely at the 2900 foot level, I mantled right out of the fog onto the cloud ceiling. I paused for a moment, mid-mantle— my legs remained submersed in gauzy cloud, but my torso had broken through into the sun. <i>The caterpillar sheds its skin.</i></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Only the highest of the Kigs three-thousanders formed islands in the sky, from the main island of Mt. Osborn a short way across, all the way over to the Singtook at the western tip of the archipelago. I wanted to walk across the FOG and inhabit each and every island. </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But you get no photographs... The climb took place before the invention of photography. All you get is this confusing description of the internal and external landscape as experienced by one guy's subjective consciousness.</span></span></b></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDB7P5EX2CPnfvQ8SctbBFFaT_yQMHhIf-EsrvWDdSCZbOrjZg9TcYnW5yoSsWDm_92iP8TXJae1RWoUInc2Vg6hwAUPPelWwPUgpq17CqfJQHS2Su5RKl_DbeTG-ajJrGrbHtziW4hmKc/s1600/kigluaik+ski+couloir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="724" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDB7P5EX2CPnfvQ8SctbBFFaT_yQMHhIf-EsrvWDdSCZbOrjZg9TcYnW5yoSsWDm_92iP8TXJae1RWoUInc2Vg6hwAUPPelWwPUgpq17CqfJQHS2Su5RKl_DbeTG-ajJrGrbHtziW4hmKc/s400/kigluaik+ski+couloir.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Couloir between Pt. 3050+ and Pt. 3200+</span> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKUzdtgAoTcDOoxMhbL5HWXMFt26coktNKUqT9H8gGjX81br6JwRu9kaX-AbvVzg8Pe5vfAS1SMBWtX_yQnfvF9t0SRiShOTiL2BTILnVXw9WZwRmJO7QDLmJdjja05C7inKjEoTnZKPA/s1600/kigluaik+extreme+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKUzdtgAoTcDOoxMhbL5HWXMFt26coktNKUqT9H8gGjX81br6JwRu9kaX-AbvVzg8Pe5vfAS1SMBWtX_yQnfvF9t0SRiShOTiL2BTILnVXw9WZwRmJO7QDLmJdjja05C7inKjEoTnZKPA/s400/kigluaik+extreme+ski.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"> Pt. 3050+ couloir</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></b></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u><i>April 2011</i></u></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> The first time to Pk. 3367, FOG, dampening my sensibilities, had forced me to <i>concentrate, </i>to overcome the A.D.D. that usually runs rampant in my brain, and so conversely provided me with a more accurate map of the outside world than I would have had otherwise. Justification for medication?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But the second time, when I went back to 3367 with Tyler Rhodes seven years later for a ski descent, the day was bright, the visibility excellent. When we arrived at the base of </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> mountain, I assumed the mental map I carried in my head matched reality, and started up the wrong place. We ended up atop Pt. 3050+, the penultimate gable of "Three Gables Mountain", the next bump to the west of the main summit. Tyler craved ski more than summit, so on we clapped them, and </span></b><b>swooped down. </b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Even more rad was the couloir we skied later that afternoon on Pt. 2550+, a peaklet a couple of miles to the west of 3367. We easily machined to the col at the very top of the valley (a valley for which some type of name would be handy, leave comments if you know) where it dumps over into the Glacial Lake cirque. Little hope exists that a snow-machiner might continue down the other side without ending up tangled wreckage and body parts strewn over rocks. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> We parked machines at the col and skinned up some peaks to the south. On that day I was riding Tyler's "Soul Powders," his rather chattery tele skis he had abandoned long ago for the European rig. I was proud, for once, to keep up with Tyler for a whole run. Normally, I would have had to don crampons and down climb what he skied.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyvQWvooE2x5fffL_HzP5sI-Zh8ZcVQb_JXFYiP7W-hvX-w2fsCvfyix7wYVALTLJeFwv9g08l58ueWUaz825q4R2iSmx9CnMDbA9off9dsUvXQld9wWExm9LWfBBsEg3LHrmhVDVuyBp/s1600/3367+climb+Kigluaik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="920" data-original-width="1356" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyvQWvooE2x5fffL_HzP5sI-Zh8ZcVQb_JXFYiP7W-hvX-w2fsCvfyix7wYVALTLJeFwv9g08l58ueWUaz825q4R2iSmx9CnMDbA9off9dsUvXQld9wWExm9LWfBBsEg3LHrmhVDVuyBp/s400/3367+climb+Kigluaik.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Looking west from west summit of 3367. This picture was taken<br />in 2011 by Tyler, but shows the peak that Wilson and I skied off of recently in 2017.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKUQQGocVleO5g_Kql6M9AbiR52Y9RywqfX26bjoj5Zys8kn6LZU_pnjAA1VztPTBgTZEw_XDy7d46TD9MTLm5mvhdUOLfv4NWsVBy7DH1bGU_6SFHry5mU1AmAsJx1ZD23zOwunXmvDh/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-07-10+at+6.14.03+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="546" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKUQQGocVleO5g_Kql6M9AbiR52Y9RywqfX26bjoj5Zys8kn6LZU_pnjAA1VztPTBgTZEw_XDy7d46TD9MTLm5mvhdUOLfv4NWsVBy7DH1bGU_6SFHry5mU1AmAsJx1ZD23zOwunXmvDh/s200/Screen+Shot+2017-07-10+at+6.14.03+PM.png" width="110" /></a></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><u>April 2017</u></i></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Six years after the route-finding error with Tyler, having failed to register the event as a learning opportunity, I sent young Wilson up the same wrong part of the mountain, denying him the main summit of 3367 as Tyler before. Like Tyler, however, Wilson seemed less concerned with which was the highest bump on the ridge than which was the best line of huck.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The Nome-grown, incipient badass carved down a face through steep little channels formed between many sharp rocks, while I hobbled down from the top on boot ski, old and brittle. We met up with Leonard and Lupe at the bottom and all zoomed up the valley for more fun and boarding in the High Kigs, before commencing the long ride home via Silver Creek Pass and Snake River Valley.</span></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimh4qxyLPBuo7NbzGa-8bLA956z5Qr9K8CruocvwHgWRjqc0592RaGumvugy6fbnTNPrKWiNR5NZ8jH7Z8BwweAHh-IRHimxNqea20HLu51ApUb0zV-k8NVKOcBQX9phMXjFzJ_jE1QDpT/s1600/Ski+Ku+Nome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimh4qxyLPBuo7NbzGa-8bLA956z5Qr9K8CruocvwHgWRjqc0592RaGumvugy6fbnTNPrKWiNR5NZ8jH7Z8BwweAHh-IRHimxNqea20HLu51ApUb0zV-k8NVKOcBQX9phMXjFzJ_jE1QDpT/s400/Ski+Ku+Nome.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Mr. McRae's class skiing with the <a href="http://nordicjourneys.org/" target="_blank">Ski Ku</a>, April 2017.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Many of the images used in this post were pirated off Tyler's Facebook. Thank you Tyler, let's go back. Here at Kigsblog, an image is considered nothing more than "</span></b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>blog seed," necessary only for the orthogenesis of text, and never a means to its own end. So it is an honor to have excellent photos from someone who knows what they are doing. </b></span></div>
<br />allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-37892266948562789402017-05-13T13:59:00.001-07:002017-05-13T14:10:26.947-07:00Oregon Creek Hill<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Broke GLUE-LOCK on early February weekend, Mr. McRae and Mr. Lastine, astride fearsome, belching, two-stroke torpedoes aimed west away from Nome, to climb and ski the mysterious hill at Oregon Creek, "Pk. 1900+", a foothill of some prominence left out of my <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/06/five-foothill-winter-in-nome.html" target="_blank">foothill report from the Winter of 2015</a>.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrP0u4tPFP5rG0rTb8eqU8I3kkdcXjOKpO_aCpPHRz42bWxEiBNwkMshTzwuh19nxhVpwOLCLFGMeaABhWBPAqnFqc3cOrQ-xoJCWcNG0o355oRJYBUWnY6Rb2SAGbL443J3A8jCcE2Wkg/s1600/ski+nome+oregon+creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="nome ski snowboard oregon creek snow-machine penny river" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrP0u4tPFP5rG0rTb8eqU8I3kkdcXjOKpO_aCpPHRz42bWxEiBNwkMshTzwuh19nxhVpwOLCLFGMeaABhWBPAqnFqc3cOrQ-xoJCWcNG0o355oRJYBUWnY6Rb2SAGbL443J3A8jCcE2Wkg/s400/ski+nome+oregon+creek.jpg" title="nome ski oregon creek" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up Oregon Creek. Pk. 2900+ in background. Super Smooth Andy G. in foreground.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Mr. Wind had destroyed our snow even before we got to it. As we dismounted machines and disengaged boards at Oregon Creek, Pk. 1900+ rose bare before us, slopes of snice corrugated by schist chips, once-fluffy snow like we had skied the day before on Newton ABSOLUTELY POUNDED by a continuous blow-holes into a veneer unskiable, at least by an old telly dad with my pitiful skills. </b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBw2f5lJNyVsG-rNMpD61x4Wq8qI2fRUF7H5O3QAAfhfWp0ZY25g0QtVwdoFcIuUO8ua4lbh_EQamx8OpRqdK-NJoEpx4lKB_bNFS8CJZ8oqOr2YrV6laNQ6q2J3r9jESTOinNI7n13y97/s1600/map+of+oregon+creek+nome+skiing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBw2f5lJNyVsG-rNMpD61x4Wq8qI2fRUF7H5O3QAAfhfWp0ZY25g0QtVwdoFcIuUO8ua4lbh_EQamx8OpRqdK-NJoEpx4lKB_bNFS8CJZ8oqOr2YrV6laNQ6q2J3r9jESTOinNI7n13y97/s400/map+of+oregon+creek+nome+skiing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parts of the old road are still visible and helped us get through the willows to the gulches on snow-machine. Saw no cabins, but lots of remaining ditches on the hillsides</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnqoqnblEt63OkK7mmDI6TrigFmN5kaLwhE58gFkZK0gT2VFL7KBnA1JAgQ1jIE_LNJ-tOVAg2O7tRcjIOAmlMKO_-Z8G_lSJns251Cm_0m3m9YEHPs7wum5KsRa8j6-6JfnK8k0E6E41/s1600/Mr.+Lastine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><img alt="Leonard Lastine snow machine master" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnqoqnblEt63OkK7mmDI6TrigFmN5kaLwhE58gFkZK0gT2VFL7KBnA1JAgQ1jIE_LNJ-tOVAg2O7tRcjIOAmlMKO_-Z8G_lSJns251Cm_0m3m9YEHPs7wum5KsRa8j6-6JfnK8k0E6E41/s200/Mr.+Lastine.jpg" title="Leonard" width="150" /></b></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> The greatest excitement occurred during the snow-machine phase, of course, the most dangerous segment of any trip, when, unbeknownst to my own awareness, I executed the most prodigious jump ever accomplished by myself on my snow-machine (the redoubtable Bearcat, Super Smooth Andy G.) when, purely by accident, I launched off a bare tussock at high speed and sailed 16 feet over a creek. Leonard, following my tracks, wasn't as lucky... his front end went into the creek and he over the handlebars, his face smashed in the process.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> "How is my face?" he inquired.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i> Oh no, the wedding is off</i>. It was like that Seinfeld episode where George drops the guy at the Shawangunks. <i>How is his face?</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i> </i>"Not gushing."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> He examined himself in my phone. Nothing to do but get back on the hogs and GUN IT onwards toward our objective.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsPING3h5AqcgiJlgVwWRWNO7aju6nPfqEHUcWfZZYi_xtvFKjOnpu1n6plW3K6einLJ3nNfzUJurh42gOpFKDf0snpl7NtGXi93bs0ZBo3-OoIx7BtE-pNiusGVENRgzxo6qazA5YwyO/s1600/Pk.+2900%252B+Nome+Teller+Road+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Nome Alaska ski Nome Teller Road hill" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsPING3h5AqcgiJlgVwWRWNO7aju6nPfqEHUcWfZZYi_xtvFKjOnpu1n6plW3K6einLJ3nNfzUJurh42gOpFKDf0snpl7NtGXi93bs0ZBo3-OoIx7BtE-pNiusGVENRgzxo6qazA5YwyO/s400/Pk.+2900%252B+Nome+Teller+Road+ski.jpg" title="Oregon Creek Peak summit " width="400" /></a></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Did I mention it was cold? Allapa, allapa, yes, cold as a van of I.C.E. Agents throwing up dust in a carrot field. Since I had never climbed Pk. 1900+ (though it has undoubtedly been well walked-over by members of the Oregon Creek mining community who lived at the foot of it some time last century), I left my skis strapped to Super Smooth Andy, and set out to bag the summit. Leonard couldn't go up because he had neglected to bring his Micro-Spikes, and the snow, which could no longer be deemed snow but simply ICE, seemed really a bit treacherous, take-off-like-a-rocket-on-easy-ground kind of thing.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgck-ZPrmqJbVcptRPBVwrRDZbseYlBAa5SzT2yIFAxG8Sa2RU-yLz3FVbPFWwRB_C6l7hJH1-ii_d6-Hy9pvKeoX4YOn-uZrauNxWgfm4WC0CNZcr2ksl1DoUBukuJY1cAl239gZZGI5u4/s1600/kigluaik+mountains+from+Oregon+Creek+hill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nome Alaska hill summit climb ski snow-machine" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgck-ZPrmqJbVcptRPBVwrRDZbseYlBAa5SzT2yIFAxG8Sa2RU-yLz3FVbPFWwRB_C6l7hJH1-ii_d6-Hy9pvKeoX4YOn-uZrauNxWgfm4WC0CNZcr2ksl1DoUBukuJY1cAl239gZZGI5u4/s400/kigluaik+mountains+from+Oregon+Creek+hill.jpg" title="Nome Alaska hill summit climb" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shadow selfie on summit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> "Could this be the mist bootyful somewhat we half ever seen." Just short of a Donald, Pk. 1900+ evinces a pleasing architecture, the ridges like runnels, the kigs-view as encompassing as any hill's, jagged as it is into the big flows of weather that stream across the peninsula between the Norton Sound and Imruq Basin, the very flows that had hardened our ski into an ice climb. </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDur3XNd-wNXWQGD_sEPQN5oSrfU_cOn4wupor0ksa3fZZXSG6ai52eEOsqh-KSTs1d1p_yL8fafgSjfqJ3Eapj3v2FokvR6Q4QNsgogckrtvYMVTFj2cE2TOKUPUS8hB1WOwVQPeVYWdM/s1600/ian+mcrae+kigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDur3XNd-wNXWQGD_sEPQN5oSrfU_cOn4wupor0ksa3fZZXSG6ai52eEOsqh-KSTs1d1p_yL8fafgSjfqJ3Eapj3v2FokvR6Q4QNsgogckrtvYMVTFj2cE2TOKUPUS8hB1WOwVQPeVYWdM/s200/ian+mcrae+kigs.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> With the attainment of this high point, all of my dreams and ambitions had been realized. Buddha-hood, achieved. Ego/Id structure, momentarily stabilized. My self-identity was no longer in doubt for I had become nothing. There lay the Kigs in the near distance to the north. The GLUE TENDRILS simply vaporized into wisps that dissipated in the clear, cold air. </b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZ6q9PHFxhcmumr6wXClyjlptGuxzBgspOwYqz-dc56gL1bfClwSLh3IUMfNHk1imq3SwF_OjgloFfa3wBIRECS0SYRsRa7JqT_LR1CDPlZn6Icvy2UApz-7z1NtERJiCFsF0E4uLhibE/s1600/can+you+see+Oregon+Peak+from+Nome%253F.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nome Alaska Seward Peninsula ski snowboard adventure " border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZ6q9PHFxhcmumr6wXClyjlptGuxzBgspOwYqz-dc56gL1bfClwSLh3IUMfNHk1imq3SwF_OjgloFfa3wBIRECS0SYRsRa7JqT_LR1CDPlZn6Icvy2UApz-7z1NtERJiCFsF0E4uLhibE/s400/can+you+see+Oregon+Peak+from+Nome%253F.png" title="hill visible from Nome map" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One looming question remains. Is Pk. 1900+ the intriguing summit that often pokes up behind the Snake River hills as I am driving home on the Beltz Highway from Nome? The one that sometimes gets mistaken for Osborn because of the way it pokes up? <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2011/11/peemark-penny-crags-pk-1460.html" target="_blank">In other posts,</a>, I have attributed this peak as Pk. 1460, the one out by Cabin Rock. So I drew this little map to see if there existed a line of sight poking through the Snake River hills. Thinking now that peak must by 1900+. What an utterly exciting discovery to make in a mundane life of driving back and forth from Nome to home. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-77071614236652948422017-03-13T12:32:00.000-07:002017-03-13T13:18:27.294-07:00Moon Mountains 2017<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32zYjPwAFq_TIPeH1GLRdBET2RX3FRKrG76stXJ0OA-zwcGgD-XLQDCxUHkefmduYFNn0OlV-HVlwY6gQZDyB4E-YloaH6jMxXLHtxvg5BcNkbLiX1bJf-73qvML-91S-Z1NR1K22hzYC/s1600/DSCN1208+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32zYjPwAFq_TIPeH1GLRdBET2RX3FRKrG76stXJ0OA-zwcGgD-XLQDCxUHkefmduYFNn0OlV-HVlwY6gQZDyB4E-YloaH6jMxXLHtxvg5BcNkbLiX1bJf-73qvML-91S-Z1NR1K22hzYC/s400/DSCN1208+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nameless crags of schist by Fairview Creek<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was many and many a year ago</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In a kingdom by the sea,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two Park Rangers and a teacher</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Started hiking happily</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Toward the Mountains of Moon</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where exactly a year before</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They had wandered lost, chilly and cross,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For what seemed like many years more.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, to return, and step at last</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the Mountains of Moon,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To reach the barren tundra</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where grey is the tundra's hue,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And hope that the fog racing over the bog</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sweeping up from Woolley Lagoon</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Would not suck them again, completely within,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On their way to the Mountains of Moon.</span></b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6LtQADIQcUJn9dR_3VjDJqIKJ6QLam6GoxK0RJ3deGB0v61aMaGVtqm4FahkM3aeILGXn64hrBkLik2dAlYnZEYswXQ-wpWFHDfnyGIblK4ma8_65pZcC1XMZHefESbNPxxxEREKDQKd/s1600/Livingston+Creek+Teller+Road+rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="rocks seward peninsula Teller Road Livingston Creek climb" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6LtQADIQcUJn9dR_3VjDJqIKJ6QLam6GoxK0RJ3deGB0v61aMaGVtqm4FahkM3aeILGXn64hrBkLik2dAlYnZEYswXQ-wpWFHDfnyGIblK4ma8_65pZcC1XMZHefESbNPxxxEREKDQKd/s400/Livingston+Creek+Teller+Road+rocks.jpg" title="rocks seward peninsula livingston creek" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bouldering of Beringia </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To publish in a blog, the 'tudes of the Moon</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Might piss off the corporation--</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not to mention the spirits of the land</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That dwell in that sacred location</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On a mound from the war, they left their sorry car</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And headed southeast towards the Moons,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The season was Fall, Friday the call,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And they figured they'd get there soon.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But the bog was all squishy</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And the mountains so far,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They pitched tents in the darkness</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Still rather close to the car.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And started hiking by ten when the morning came again,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Keeping on a southwest tack,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Until they got to the cut bank at Fairview Creek</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where each one dropped his pack.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then past the Cranestock Tors, they hiked</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Past <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/2015/12/moon-mountains.html" target="_blank">Skin Folded Badly Rock</a>.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Just ahead lay the grey tundra bed</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They had hiked so far to walk.</span></b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmU7d68laMavbbLb1sY4WpgyEQG8cSAqNihZlSLZWfZAnYG604ugpJQb12MJtg7IO-o7tXs_Pfxe8OfD29XcARfsS3UHwuEUWI6TwvfN6shqDB_CRdTFU2LENWo1HOGoAoX1awL_-rYiQ-/s1600/Cranestock+Boulders+Teller+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmU7d68laMavbbLb1sY4WpgyEQG8cSAqNihZlSLZWfZAnYG604ugpJQb12MJtg7IO-o7tXs_Pfxe8OfD29XcARfsS3UHwuEUWI6TwvfN6shqDB_CRdTFU2LENWo1HOGoAoX1awL_-rYiQ-/s400/Cranestock+Boulders+Teller+Road.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek, Lucy, and David, with the Cranestock Boulders in background.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And they came to a hutch, between two creeks,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The ptarmigan dormitory,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The birds took to the air, the hikers walked right in there,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Into the tundra food factory.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bushes to the left, bushes to the right</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bushes above and around;</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fur on the branches, blood in the halls,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And feathers on the ground </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of little ptarmigan rooms</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where birds hopped through the willows.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The bellhops were all foxes.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fluffing up the pillows.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The desk clerk was an aklaq,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They saw the poop on the floor,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The three hikers tip-toed on by</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Singing on the way out the door.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The doorman was a raven</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hanging with two pals.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His hands were full as he perched on his stool</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With a parking lot full of owls.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All day at the buffet, with their families,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The owls were three to a bush;</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With all the secondary consumers all around,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The hikers bushwhacked out in a rush.</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwGZgv2FUPz7DfjJvb1lpPV7t1UESYO0ECeN1tXLhdFhD3ExHu1l1fq8TF5vPgJ9pIx4K-Iq8z9yuC2s5G1_ElswE5-8Es9RJ_LjKvyZ3Y_hLdz3XmKBqiVpHNxNLNiKvd-4P3K2VYykH/s1600/moon+mountains+hike+pt.+1630+.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwGZgv2FUPz7DfjJvb1lpPV7t1UESYO0ECeN1tXLhdFhD3ExHu1l1fq8TF5vPgJ9pIx4K-Iq8z9yuC2s5G1_ElswE5-8Es9RJ_LjKvyZ3Y_hLdz3XmKBqiVpHNxNLNiKvd-4P3K2VYykH/s400/moon+mountains+hike+pt.+1630+.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjjdo_r52Obw1vjXvUfwY3ueuP9LLl_g7Rt3qT-01_RQmrh-fE4i3ZRnjIRUPRRX6HGgplL7C9nzfDuoV4o14hwp_bu3gM62qbxbcTy4lWpwkomP1mXQIFk_3EG-fG8zxFP4E5y3tSMH5/s1600/Moon+Mountains+Teller+Road+pt.+1630+.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjjdo_r52Obw1vjXvUfwY3ueuP9LLl_g7Rt3qT-01_RQmrh-fE4i3ZRnjIRUPRRX6HGgplL7C9nzfDuoV4o14hwp_bu3gM62qbxbcTy4lWpwkomP1mXQIFk_3EG-fG8zxFP4E5y3tSMH5/s400/Moon+Mountains+Teller+Road+pt.+1630+.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrL8YnRhhvbM00dnk6o5xlzOGNkfdUs30gv6U4-wlZqehw7SNj1u0qA86JDe4Gic144Anzd3EQJZAxdTLDaRdH22P28BDJordE-Zv1l94Aub1iyNjFTjRuZuFm4dzmok2WjuU2i_FBrTYn/s1600/DSCN1171+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrL8YnRhhvbM00dnk6o5xlzOGNkfdUs30gv6U4-wlZqehw7SNj1u0qA86JDe4Gic144Anzd3EQJZAxdTLDaRdH22P28BDJordE-Zv1l94Aub1iyNjFTjRuZuFm4dzmok2WjuU2i_FBrTYn/s400/DSCN1171+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three photos of the hike in to the Moon Mountains. We only barely penetrated to the lunar "playa". The peak in the distance on the bottom picture is probably the high point of the Moons. I have not found evidence of a rock climbing cornucopia in here. Mostly the rock seems to be degraded piles of rotten marble. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>And they came to a land like the surface of the moon,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Though to the moon they had never been.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Had Qaweraq turned to Nevada?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It could have been Burning Man.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Oh, limestone is a choss rock</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It falls down bonk on your head</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It has saturated the soil</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>And turned the red to gray, instead.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>No wind on the moon like they had it,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>But no less of a lunar cold,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The breeze it did freeze as we hid behind a wall</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>That had the look of a wall of old.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>"So this is all you get, well, </b></span><b>I've seen this before, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>In Death Valley </b></span><b>And the Bristlecone.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Will it someday be a reserve, a</b><b>ll special and preserved,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Or hope they just leave it alone?" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Too far of a way to go</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Down the Valley of Shadow</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Three hikers turned round, for the Glue of Town,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>To come back for the Moon Mountains tomorrow.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>To the north into Livingston Creek</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The travelers made their way,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>An interesting drain that goes against the grain</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>They wandered the rest of the day.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ai4tRNTCmV5Ej_g7NF7N8MjOU0L96COKDJJY_TTdR0PwNrJj2GOb3vR7Nn7s9HE9erALKL88GY9RpEI_aUYzsCTJMDXsfBOqYirpE3pXNRaQZ1UyuRO2eQpchOi0mE1C0S6o7CMYiHQM/s1600/Climb+moon+mountains+seward+peninsula.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ai4tRNTCmV5Ej_g7NF7N8MjOU0L96COKDJJY_TTdR0PwNrJj2GOb3vR7Nn7s9HE9erALKL88GY9RpEI_aUYzsCTJMDXsfBOqYirpE3pXNRaQZ1UyuRO2eQpchOi0mE1C0S6o7CMYiHQM/s400/Climb+moon+mountains+seward+peninsula.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof of climbing: the author, resembling a patch of lichen, is visible dangling from numb hands on another enjoyable highball at the Fairview Creek crags.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>At Livingston Creek, a swarm of crags</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Came up on the horizon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Lined up on a ridge</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Like heads on Easter Island.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The rock was choss, as a matter of course,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>A not unagreeable kind.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The vibes were good and it was understood</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>That there would be time to climb.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I grabbed a jug and hoisted high,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The jug held in its place.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I yarded another, testing the wine,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Just a little taste.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>And then great draughts of climbing,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Of cruising over the stone,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Your ass hanging over the land</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Out in the great alone.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Jugs with crinkles of lichen</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Jams full of dirt and grit</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Wearing the desert like clothing</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Trying not to fall off of it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Crack and chimney, crimp and bone,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Clutch on the moss, cling to the stone;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>A thousand years is passing by,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>A part of the rock you have grown.</b></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSCJyODXohyphenhyphenHhxXiG1o2k_TdxKHmmCmZv08S5ARzIhq1hb1WhOY703RHsqfF6-KcaMzbPhlw19MiNkpvb2xENKf1fbFQkyZM3FTdeYXjfWtli-faUKHPID3TKZ6refj7kLgqilCvIYy2x/s1600/IMG_3006+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSCJyODXohyphenhyphenHhxXiG1o2k_TdxKHmmCmZv08S5ARzIhq1hb1WhOY703RHsqfF6-KcaMzbPhlw19MiNkpvb2xENKf1fbFQkyZM3FTdeYXjfWtli-faUKHPID3TKZ6refj7kLgqilCvIYy2x/s400/IMG_3006+%25284%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp at Fairview Creek. Pk. 940 in background.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>They walked a circle on the Moon.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It was time to get back to the module.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>They got back to their tents at Fairview Crick</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>And crawled through their vestibule.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Nothing was said, though everyone knew</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The three had changed since they began.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This place they had traveled, its mysteries unraveled,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This place where the peninsula ran</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Counter to the grain, had taken them in,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This land of playa and fog;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>What resonates with beauty becomes beautiful</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Felt the hikers and the dog.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The GLUE of TOWN began to come down,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>They rose the morrow morn,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Back to the car to go,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Someday to return.</b></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgaCu6clNXx-sn5N_wr9DOxeg7HWwvWsJPJqbad2PpiFX1hE6G-nhlUZkwneMlHoPyvfbsI7m0ILMN_WlXz_ilD549Iyu35EpGX84pQ7xs2de_K9aRHCk51ZS1GfEZMLQLmfyuzO-ieIK/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-03-13+at+10.53.24+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgaCu6clNXx-sn5N_wr9DOxeg7HWwvWsJPJqbad2PpiFX1hE6G-nhlUZkwneMlHoPyvfbsI7m0ILMN_WlXz_ilD549Iyu35EpGX84pQ7xs2de_K9aRHCk51ZS1GfEZMLQLmfyuzO-ieIK/s400/Screen+Shot+2017-03-13+at+10.53.24+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David's record of our hike made by his Delorme, for which I am grateful, because I can't for the life of me ever figure out where we hiked in this region. The area is plagued by electromagnetic anomalies that interfere with my already poor sense of direction. It's as if the Moon Mountains are permanently shrouded in a fog of the mind as obfuscatory as the ones that sweep up from Woolley Lagoon. The jury is still out on which is the shortest way to hike in to the Moons from the road. There is a 4-wheeler road we saw intermittently that covers this same ground. Hopefully, we will return each Fall for our own, lonely, cold, Burning Man celebration. Thanks to David Panepinto for supplying a few pictures and this map. And thanks to Edgar Allen Poe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-58465828954453247242017-01-01T22:20:00.000-08:002017-01-01T22:20:31.633-08:002016 Greg Stoddard Memorial Yahoo Ski Trip To 3870<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxHmQL9zHOfkBH_d1NFkg0vM-t17Pq_YS2mv5dwFtfW59EQn_OPRGQTWS0hsJUGGrUcSvkwjxWg2Vc5J3F_9w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
Keith Conger and my dog Lucy are but specks in my primitive iPhone 4 as they race down the west face of 3870.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQEbN3gcSH_DtNHUQ1Yon54yDwKCJnyQQoMYUE_BwViSm0SpLoD6vjrx0osEcgUTYsHgsUtknOJMusv8XRGp4C68ppvYmdvamxZXBmC3_g9NT2Tv-gt3RBiwfICUghHqvyTpbGQQaEqnk/s1600/3870+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQEbN3gcSH_DtNHUQ1Yon54yDwKCJnyQQoMYUE_BwViSm0SpLoD6vjrx0osEcgUTYsHgsUtknOJMusv8XRGp4C68ppvYmdvamxZXBmC3_g9NT2Tv-gt3RBiwfICUghHqvyTpbGQQaEqnk/s640/3870+ski.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>Looking east from 3870, May 7, 2016.</u> Lucy is standing at the top-out of the North Face route.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
The vernal equipose when the roads around Nome are open for driving while the snow yet lingers in the mountains... Tailgate parties on the Kougarak Road... great convoys of snow-machine trailers lining the shoulders... big gully skis on firn in T-shirts... </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
Time for the Greg Stoddard Annual Memorial Yahoo Field Trip To 3870, our annual ski descent of that most iconic of Teller Road hills, to celebrate both the renewal of Spring and the athletic debauchery of ski mountaineers everywhere, including the arch-powder fiend himself, Stoddard, who departed Nome long ago...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgQw0TFc-GgBSmq_0p6c2_6Z-TSdrJdkPFEbhWNj3oHF9I6EidctoyD_ILxQbzVhtAmgCY2x_EmiQ-shpNbKA9jyPqCuXUQoY4d29crJjTfSK7EH_gFeghySG8ZEoKAPzj2GH1VfBh9_m/s1600/Grand+Singatook+3870+ski+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgQw0TFc-GgBSmq_0p6c2_6Z-TSdrJdkPFEbhWNj3oHF9I6EidctoyD_ILxQbzVhtAmgCY2x_EmiQ-shpNbKA9jyPqCuXUQoY4d29crJjTfSK7EH_gFeghySG8ZEoKAPzj2GH1VfBh9_m/s640/Grand+Singatook+3870+ski+map.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>"Solar Sidewalk" Ski Route on Thirty-Eight-Seventy.</u> A strip of drift-snow lingers into May and provides a continuous sidewalk from car to summit. Note the secret parking area north of road, shortly after the Woolly Lagoon sign. The yellow arrow shows where Nils Hahn and I descended a few hundred feet down onto the north face in June of 2004-- any further down the ridge to the east and we would have needed to rappel a hideous cliff.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhs2T97T8GYRMA_WAj8NuPzZZ3Zlt3MijoQJqdujYgnhxmoPeLCBpXYhUX9KgrUTfTBYFn3ZJttFvu3aiA0jGVg1NdhDWWPbUbDEE_rD4-0hBpLSsT0JtkJH1ChmH8tLs-SvkTaAZrFKq/s1600/grand+central+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhs2T97T8GYRMA_WAj8NuPzZZ3Zlt3MijoQJqdujYgnhxmoPeLCBpXYhUX9KgrUTfTBYFn3ZJttFvu3aiA0jGVg1NdhDWWPbUbDEE_rD4-0hBpLSsT0JtkJH1ChmH8tLs-SvkTaAZrFKq/s640/grand+central+ski.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KigBonus Pic: <u>Lizzy and Raina ski touring up Grand Central Valley, May 1, 2016</u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-10690688531190417232016-12-11T18:08:00.001-08:002017-01-01T21:50:06.568-08:00April Sinuk Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Significant penetration into the Kigs occurred early April. Like bacteria trailing the whiplike flagella of our own vanishing snow-machine trails through the freshly fallen</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;">Blog-Lag: 33 Saturdays Ago. An all-time kigsblog high.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTJWHwlQsctqGhCZvUcOeliBqisJwVBa_ggwAg5RD97if5znglfam3FB_vnwQWtuqEo8w3V3TzBxLBg5gcODS45v8rYNljZebhCiShteQL5cX9sYwXdUqtH7CvV3z9M1LovZ9JSABgQkz/s1600/IMG_2713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="taken by ian mcrae at Sinuk headwaters" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTJWHwlQsctqGhCZvUcOeliBqisJwVBa_ggwAg5RD97if5znglfam3FB_vnwQWtuqEo8w3V3TzBxLBg5gcODS45v8rYNljZebhCiShteQL5cX9sYwXdUqtH7CvV3z9M1LovZ9JSABgQkz/s400/IMG_2713.jpg" title="kigsblog" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Pk 3050+, looking west, taken from the ridge between the Upper Sinuk and Grand Central drainages, April 9, 2016. A cool descent drops out of sight down the northeast couloir to the right, between the twin summits, the "Z-Couloir" (referred to elsewhere in kigsblog as the "Snakey Couloir"), snow-climbed to the summit but not skied by Mikey Lean and I in some distant year. (Lift leg: <i>Mark!</i>)<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDw07nE39BIaG_mFeEn2v1xj5aWdGs84mNCM3oVKKjA5lvD_TMlj1PLIFdTXwUQVmnHnzNvMU7vyEkX68SZlxSrcfyuhGvm2U1xWgqImDaO8ijUrUhsXqacrUmjtAt3_g6QBqnVUNcfXHi/s1600/ski+kigluaiks+Z-couloir.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDw07nE39BIaG_mFeEn2v1xj5aWdGs84mNCM3oVKKjA5lvD_TMlj1PLIFdTXwUQVmnHnzNvMU7vyEkX68SZlxSrcfyuhGvm2U1xWgqImDaO8ijUrUhsXqacrUmjtAt3_g6QBqnVUNcfXHi/s400/ski+kigluaiks+Z-couloir.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pk. 3050+ from Grand Central Valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">snow, David, Leonard, Lupe, and I, three teachers and a park ranger, on three machines, motored into psychological darkness north of Nome on a Friday night after work, laden with winter camping gear and downhill boards for the next day. The GLUE tendrils, all those elastic lines of force that might draw us back toward town (my sled that flipped and broke on the pass between Snake River and Stewart River, the weather forecast that had predicted storm for Sunday, my own fears and laziness) stretched, stretched, snapped, and popped, one by one, with no recoil to our forward movement, as the mountains took us in, looming invisibly on all sides, mind set free.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBg-xlK9LwLeH8Zs1vS8TtRkCvxOflFNJBFMF7yslINX33guE-XJex6kD_XaDJCcjP76zNueEX1AAX7RsMVg1UDtDq35Hv3brGPiPN59bRc6cshyphenhyphen0hEdZOOGpHIQjvjGSPBoKwxYmbqht/s1600/IMG_2710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBg-xlK9LwLeH8Zs1vS8TtRkCvxOflFNJBFMF7yslINX33guE-XJex6kD_XaDJCcjP76zNueEX1AAX7RsMVg1UDtDq35Hv3brGPiPN59bRc6cshyphenhyphen0hEdZOOGpHIQjvjGSPBoKwxYmbqht/s400/IMG_2710.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fine morning on Upper Sinuk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Given that a storm was forecast Sunday, my lawyers would be bound to get me off with a JUSTIFIED BAIL if I didn't do a big climb the next day. To do a big climb I would need to separate from my party of friends, not allowable under the NO SKETCH PARTNER LAW. On the other hand, if I didn't try for a big hard-ass climb, I would place myself in possible violation of the SNOW-MACHINE MOUNTAINEERING PROVISO, which states that a snow-machine or all-terrain vehicle may only be used in support of a reasonably hardcore climbing objective, not simply for the sake of snow-machining itself. Another problem with <i>not climbing </i>the next day was the SNOW-MACHINE / MOUNTAINEERING RATIO: the minimum threshold is 1:1, or "fifty-fifty" snow-machining to mountaineering, but if I didn't pull off a full-value climbing day the next day, the ratio would shoot sky high, and I would once again be out of compliance with the MANDATORY CLIMBING REQUIREMENT LAW.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstl8CZS9H-tcx-eQ0Dx6BWbscjW5LbSOw98dkEa76ZQxHacmrduGdZETQ3dtahtsp7kDBP7LQ_98CQUgHYJx1YM4dHciYkH4_t52NHpBgXFli7B2aK_3bfhk0awEUYIUi4HMegkRk14sY/s1600/IMG_2714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sinuk river looking south" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstl8CZS9H-tcx-eQ0Dx6BWbscjW5LbSOw98dkEa76ZQxHacmrduGdZETQ3dtahtsp7kDBP7LQ_98CQUgHYJx1YM4dHciYkH4_t52NHpBgXFli7B2aK_3bfhk0awEUYIUi4HMegkRk14sY/s400/IMG_2714.jpg" title="Sinuk river climb" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking southwest out the Sinuk headwaters. In another distant year, Laurent Dick and I fabricated a mixed climb out of that low-angle ridge visible background left, the northwest rib of "False Tigaraha." (Lift leg: <i>Mark!) </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> My self-prosecution received a dismissal the next day when we managed a fine little skin-up and ski-down at the direct head of the valley, thus barely avoiding a NON-PARTICIPATION CLAUSE. The deal was sealed when we saw tracks: an <i>aklaq</i> had recently emerged from its den not 300 meters from our chosen line. To the southwest, weather began to loom up off the ocean and head our way. A long ride home awaited us. Dave shredded on his splitboard. I managed on my telly rig.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Sufficient evidence of demonstrable danger on all sides forced the Kigs-Judge to throw out the TECHNICAL CHICKEN-OUT, bringing the dismissal. Redundant, really, when one considers the monumental <i>Kigsblog vs. Allapa</i>, where a summit attempt on Turncorner Mt. was thwarted by a long nap on a ledge and the case brought to court, in which it was decided that the presence of beauty obviates the need for any self-prosecution in the first place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Beauty abounds in the upper Sinuk Valley. Just to be in the sacred cirque is rad enough, and to be there with friends elevates the experience to a joy so pure so as to consign narcissistic drivel such as that demonstrated in this blogpost to the realm of pure silliness.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GtgKzIsBVgcotkbvdwWoHiBcveuse9SX98ZpWLOLH9kUhT6_3pzyoDCyuWPFmAusWES4BuhIVGWNx5ugwNEvWQs97FFXxBytDsyrfYtruLe08Gh8YaL8JkyKsFZcD0BMlrZzgPdPYVO-/s1600/IMG_2720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ski kigluaik mountains" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GtgKzIsBVgcotkbvdwWoHiBcveuse9SX98ZpWLOLH9kUhT6_3pzyoDCyuWPFmAusWES4BuhIVGWNx5ugwNEvWQs97FFXxBytDsyrfYtruLe08Gh8YaL8JkyKsFZcD0BMlrZzgPdPYVO-/s400/IMG_2720.jpg" title="tigaraha from northeast" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tigaraha, the Finger, looking southwest. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-68932163646620280212016-08-11T14:00:00.002-07:002016-08-11T15:44:38.017-07:00Iyat<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="climb serpentine" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudyqUWiCO73w18WEbvC8tlxD5aMz-rMHDyZ7Av3dD4siG9RTw7Vi-Lgtpi7KbJ1RQAhOjKPeybow6BQjiE_Rp4l7aS7G9v1fpMjQ7YHzayONZv7LPyNTU4aCjoPR_MipHvOoGG89BYYZY/s400/Climbing+Serpentine+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Serpentine Hot Springs granite tors covered in snow" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"The PHI waves were so palpable they seemed almost to be visible."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lv1H3lRvWEB7JgzLYlajkD7ki9Xkv4lsRZXoA2f5VfERD2xMlHs-T6l-osHKNNhVPD9c7FxTJf-QD5ereR4cq1IYVL_znHNrja-1rgoVLOXwMErinFsNlP_c6VLNh8J3YsC8FImSFFLc/s1600/kigsblog+phi.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lv1H3lRvWEB7JgzLYlajkD7ki9Xkv4lsRZXoA2f5VfERD2xMlHs-T6l-osHKNNhVPD9c7FxTJf-QD5ereR4cq1IYVL_znHNrja-1rgoVLOXwMErinFsNlP_c6VLNh8J3YsC8FImSFFLc/s200/kigsblog+phi.png" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Phi</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The moment we reached the Serpentine Hot Springs area, PHI readings shot off the scale. We turned off our snow-machines for a moment, and just listened, despite the breeze, despite our puffy headgear.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Ten to the negative fifth past one!"</span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Off the scale, at least for Alaska. I've only seen PHI like that in the Southwest deserts."</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Surreal... what could be causing it?"</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Well, that's what we've come to find out, isn't it?"</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> We ripped our machines back to life and continued through the waning March light towards the National Park Service Bunkhouse just ahead, where we planned to stay for two nights while we did research in Bering Land Bridge National Preserve. One-hundred twenty miles we had snow-machined to get there from Nome, often bumping over bare ground, the whole way with a daunting North wind pummeling our faces, a wind that had shut us down at one point in a total whiteout and sent us scurrying into an unlocked miner's shack to unpanic. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But any frostnip or ass-poundings we might receive that day would soon by repaired, we knew, with a long soak in mineral-rich waters at the end of the day, waters ionized by the very electo-gravimetric anomalies and frequency modulations we had come to study. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*</span></span></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3AP85rqp-Kw0996PXfODze0hYYRSkeLIY93QeTkqqcbgljnP9dYkiojkLP0b4sdcBEOzWuypx5ckvy9pFJEM_UUWJ1G8iS5XGMO2yHhCRQMRrcaalycKVBTjyxZxCbUz203evUUsp3vQ/s400/snow+machine+to+Serpentine.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pluton underlying Serpentine hugely contributes to the elevated PHI levels of the region</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3AP85rqp-Kw0996PXfODze0hYYRSkeLIY93QeTkqqcbgljnP9dYkiojkLP0b4sdcBEOzWuypx5ckvy9pFJEM_UUWJ1G8iS5XGMO2yHhCRQMRrcaalycKVBTjyxZxCbUz203evUUsp3vQ/s1600/snow+machine+to+Serpentine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> A significant domain contributing to Serpentine's elevated PHI levels is its history. Consciousness, according to <a href="http://integratedinformationtheory.org/" target="_blank">Giulio Tononi's Integrated Information Theory (IIT)</a>, is whatever level of recursive informational complexity remains after a "thing" is subtracted from the "thing itself." <span style="color: blue;">**</span> One reason Serpentine Hot Springs registers as more than just plutonic rocks and geothermally heated groundwater is the fact that humans have been visiting this site for over a millennium. Eskimo stories, rites, rituals, and experiences relating to the place of Serpentine Hot Springs are embedded in the fabric of space/time, creating coded transforms of information that contribute to a morphogenetic field which resonates in sync with the actual place. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The informational complexity of these human experiences adds ever so slightly to Serpentine's degree of consciousness, to an almost negligible degree, true, but one which a PHI-Sensitive Device (PSD, or "Phi-Si'" as we like to call it in the field, pronounced like "Sci-Fi" but reversed) should be able to register. <span style="color: blue;">***</span></span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="offwidth in crampons" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTsaYsc0R_ifngm0fJSldIt8-zMaJ4C93MdvF2dyoNfqMhkXfpqN_VDWJjXSNhG-62prVboY_8ABngklzyEXp1Nin1OzXhO9TMioz-v-goTVSHPpiqHW4OiPGFNzBxcgG35lweL5l7pi0/s400/seward+peninsula+offwidth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="ian mcrae posing in offwidth crack at Serpentine Hot Spring granite tors" width="300" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Author wedged into a squeeze chimney. Sketchy doing heel-toe jams in crampons.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTsaYsc0R_ifngm0fJSldIt8-zMaJ4C93MdvF2dyoNfqMhkXfpqN_VDWJjXSNhG-62prVboY_8ABngklzyEXp1Nin1OzXhO9TMioz-v-goTVSHPpiqHW4OiPGFNzBxcgG35lweL5l7pi0/s1600/seward+peninsula+offwidth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></b></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> So, as I swung the door to the Bunkhouse open, not knowing who our roommates for the weekend would be, I was not surprised to find several Inupiaq-speaking friends from Nome inside. Several were more than just acquaintances— they were individuals configured into the same Karass Potential Field (KPF) as I, sucked into the same causality-attractor on the day as David and I by the wampeter known as Serpentine Hot Springs. (I hesitate to refer to Serpentine as an "entity"-- much as we long for the landscape to be alive, the PHI we surveyed that weekend was just not sufficient for that kind of categorical leap.) </span></b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Syncronistic encounters such as meeting our friends at the Bunkhouse, on the other hand, are a predictable outcome in a micro-region charged with elevated levels of non-entropic <i>Mental Process</i>. If we could match the space-time of the syncronicity with a generalized PHI bulge in our data, the encounter at the Bunkhouse might offer support to our theories of rock sentience<i>. </i>However, we would need harder data than this if anyone were ever going to take us seriously.</span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="climbing serpentine" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4fkAxQmlYllisyvIAvvqSwXY2J28OR8QPELvatGt90xDb3F3BkRuMKzkieg-NoNZB3CkdkKSdTRGKvOp9dbly6feS51lkEGdEkW6PGVVYc0lSuKStl9zdMYhEdly7uFUJvbrrKqdbrpG/s400/Serpentine+mixed+climbing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="man climbing serpentine hot springs granite Tor" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Climbing around on one of Serpentine's tors in cold, snowy conditions</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4fkAxQmlYllisyvIAvvqSwXY2J28OR8QPELvatGt90xDb3F3BkRuMKzkieg-NoNZB3CkdkKSdTRGKvOp9dbly6feS51lkEGdEkW6PGVVYc0lSuKStl9zdMYhEdly7uFUJvbrrKqdbrpG/s1600/Serpentine+mixed+climbing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </b><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The next morning, after a great night in the tub listening to Jim's wild-west tales of U.S.A. / U.S.S.R. border shenanigans across the Bering Strait in the 1970s, David and I got ready for the most important segment of our weekend scientific survey: a visit to Serpentine's granite tors. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> Various reports had trickled in to me of Serpentine's granite, of rock so grainy it disintegrates into ball bearings at the slightest touch. If climbers in the past had made any effort to summit Serpentine's overhanging tors, on average about sixty feet high, those climbers had kept it a secret. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Not only had I come to climb around for fun, but to employ the stone of the granite tors in our survey of Serpentine's consciousness via the Chi Amplification Method (CAM): our PHI-Sensitive Devices would be used to harness the electromagnetic properties of the tors, which are essentially giant quartz crystals poking out of the tundra like so many Stonehenges, to detect elevated PHI levels that we suspect flow in the immediate region of the tors. The only equipment needed would be my two Black Diamond Cobras, crampons, and helmet, which I strapped onto my machine, and roared out of camp, racking the silence of the valley with the hideous whine of our machines.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="Ian climbs Serpentine" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3ftEWVMkO6vnIgd2x9L8OvdXSJV5SIjfXziPu4uiQJSFaXcQ5-BfsECFUoRJpJJHRH684u30tW7UlOgc_hHblTe1z5qeW05m1yMRql39iZ0kFJy_rePnwSnIXr853w7kyMmQdLN8LwSk/s400/serpentine+climbing+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Ian posing with his rig designed to prove Serpentine Hot Springs has a consciousness" width="300" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Author kitted out with sampling rig: climbing gear, neural network, electromagnetic antenna</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3ftEWVMkO6vnIgd2x9L8OvdXSJV5SIjfXziPu4uiQJSFaXcQ5-BfsECFUoRJpJJHRH684u30tW7UlOgc_hHblTe1z5qeW05m1yMRql39iZ0kFJy_rePnwSnIXr853w7kyMmQdLN8LwSk/s1600/serpentine+climbing+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <b> Stampeding murmurations of caribou parted before our machines as we bumped across the divots left in the snow by their many hooves. I drove out to the nearest tor, dismounted, and madly began to fondle the surface grains of granite.</b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "This rock doesn't seem so bad."</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Gloves off, I crimped down on a micro-flake, set a plastic boot on an edge, and cranked a move.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Mark it down for the record— climbing <i>is</i> possible on Serpentine's rock."</span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Though the temperature was below zero, the day was sunny with only a light breeze. Such an unusually fine day, it raised the spectre of Anthrogenic High Pressure Syndrome (AHPS), good weather caused by human thought, a controversial idea still only the province of Wooists and concert-goers, but shown to have an increased probability in regions of elevated PHI. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The tors appeared from a distance to be coated with a white frosting which I had forlornly hoped to find was a thick, well-bonded rime ice, but which turned out to be dry, cold, powder snow, useless for swinging picks into, and difficult to troll through. I would end up summiting no tors that day. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> This did not prevent David and I, however, from completing our scientific mission: to measure the degree to which <i>Mental Process</i> infuses the Serpentine Hot Springs area; to calculate its degree of consciousness using Tononi's algorithms; and form hypotheses as to the causes for the elevated sentience of the micro-region.</span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtzG6KYeDeLlHhC0JP7mpQnhvc9M4O9AkFkbwGkzgPAkBMbNSuB2Z_EwUOe5831tWECiXjwUh9xBc_L71u-1KuL7SV90p2DKWPd3fPatKlJZmqNFCMHmwvA6ujp1PZlXPwZXHbcxugyfl/s1600/serpentine+granite+tors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="PHI climbing" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtzG6KYeDeLlHhC0JP7mpQnhvc9M4O9AkFkbwGkzgPAkBMbNSuB2Z_EwUOe5831tWECiXjwUh9xBc_L71u-1KuL7SV90p2DKWPd3fPatKlJZmqNFCMHmwvA6ujp1PZlXPwZXHbcxugyfl/s400/serpentine+granite+tors.jpg" title="The PHI waves were so palpable they seemed almost to be visible" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tors at <i>Iyat</i> (Serpentine Hot Springs)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> We vectored our machines over to an attractive clump of granite tors protruding from what appeared to be the highest hill in the area. Here we set up our field laboratory, happy to shut down the yawping, smoke-belching iron dogs for a while. David erected his mobile neural-network antenna and wandered off to a silent corner to calibrate. I donned my helmet, crampons, and Cobras, turned on my PHI-sensitive device, calibrated, and started bouldering.</b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiy8CbRe7MKrWiyqPsO9sh5wlzpMMACiCsBo6v2TG9DEOdSpzryHPNE8NJG4LJ0LF8XSwDVXaMHcnRfCuxRfL66eWQUmXKQSh35bnwnUzvRllAPSBm_0OawIZHj2DZJozrb_4RT-wtCMrI/s400/get+ready+to+climb+Serpentine.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mobile climbing laboratory at Serpentine Hot Spring granite tors</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> The place was unreal. The tors were etched against the filtered arctic light as if photoshopped by a hypnagogic action. The PHI-waves were so palpable they seemed almost to be visible. Like a heat mirage that makes the road ahead go blurry, so my mind was affected by the sentience of the place. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> As I harmonized my Phi-Si to the rock's frequency through the communicative act of climbing on it, the device began to crackle to life with that familiar buzz, not unlike static electricity, but occurring independently of the five human senses, and a quick glance at my readings showed a degree of consciousness emanating from the rock that, if not anywhere near a level that could truly be called "sentient", </b></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">was at</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> least orders of magnitude higher than the sheer fact of the matter-field making up the rock.</span></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> But then, suddenly, I had more pressing concerns than science. So intent was I on gathering electromagnetic data, that I had not noticed myself climbing out over a 30 ft. drop. Crampon front points screeched over rounded rugosities in the porphyritic granite. For my hands there was nothing, so I mantled down around knee level onto a scoop in the granite, tools dangling, threadbare mitten palms trying to dig into the rock grains through the thin film of ice crystals.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> My Phi-Si still crackling wildly, I extended my left leg over a horizontal sill and began to worm my weight onto the leg. </span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I hated hearing the gore-tex fabric of my million dollar shell pants grating against the quartz and feldspar crystals in the rock. </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Suddenly the remaining front points on my right crampon disengaged with a horrible "SCREECH!" My weight came onto the floppily cammed left leg. Was I coming off?</span></span></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="Panepinto" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsTrCRglzGf-HJeNIN_wOv3DGVjlzJkduoxg47wVEcnfgmBlt7ToguUVGhhTm_Ookqf6N7HTW5DpxCqMyvDe-8od-kRiNB2g7Kf7_VRU8UveL4M3WGbPu8jq26BHthMHO_UxHHIUWiEfS/s400/David+Paenepinto.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="David Panepinto at Serpentine Hot Springs granite tors" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">David synced to the weird vibe that pervades this area</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsTrCRglzGf-HJeNIN_wOv3DGVjlzJkduoxg47wVEcnfgmBlt7ToguUVGhhTm_Ookqf6N7HTW5DpxCqMyvDe-8od-kRiNB2g7Kf7_VRU8UveL4M3WGbPu8jq26BHthMHO_UxHHIUWiEfS/s1600/David+Paenepinto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Adrenalin pumped from my endocrine causing my neural-network antenna to cascade and flare. At the same moment, the cusp of my own Personal Death Attractor (PDA) shifted, slightly, imperceptibly, but <i>measurably</i> closer to my present point in the space/time continuum, where my body clung desperately to loose little sand piles of snow perched on rounded ledges. </span></span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I felt my PSD crackling with indicators of Mental Process, like a cell phone vibrating in the middle of a sketchy climbing move, but I dared not pay any attention to the device. Every facet of my being was focussed on the weight shift onto my left leg. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Also simultaneous with my risky activity occurred a Continuum Shift (CS). Every individual act I had ever perpetrated in my entire lifetime elongated an infinitesimal distance within space/time as my Death Attractor hove closer to my consciousness proximity. The boundary layer of my Infinite Possibility Matrix (IPM) shifted frames, not far enough for me to be truly worried-- I was confident I could climb my way out of the situation without dying-- but far enough, I hoped, that I could parse evidence of the shift from the data once I took it home to Nome for analysis. </span></span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog_G03pS8drDP-8v_XnUNO8kdJxipr4zbVC6lbXatq97zdtDfwqlahx7WQW4ZwQb9lZIrjMCulctQs50osXkGFZBmC4db-8-wOdeyVnq36i5tdwQ3hk4AP0XIYZcgblEpYs812dT480hn/s1600/IMG_2682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="David Panepinto" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog_G03pS8drDP-8v_XnUNO8kdJxipr4zbVC6lbXatq97zdtDfwqlahx7WQW4ZwQb9lZIrjMCulctQs50osXkGFZBmC4db-8-wOdeyVnq36i5tdwQ3hk4AP0XIYZcgblEpYs812dT480hn/s400/IMG_2682.JPG" title="David Panepinto wandering Serpentines Granite Tors" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">David taking readings on his PSD</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I bouldered for hours, staying close to the ground because of the slippery sketch-factor. Unprotected chimneys and offwidths will be the key to summiting the granite tors at Serpentine, though with the PHI-readings we registered that weekend, climbers would do well to avoid probability shifts that might result from too aggressive a Summit Orientation Ego Indicator (SOEI). </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> David wandered the corridors between the tors, collecting photographic data, though pictures, like words, are of limited value in conveying the <i>feel</i> of the place. Like the place is watching you. Like the place is all inside your head, which it certainly is, by definition, because the Serpentine you experience is only a version of the Serpentine itself streamed to you by your brain.</span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">****</span></span></span></b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2TFT8ERKISD6VkQAH8fwXQkypSLIvP0EoaiyA0Hliwoc05KbtCt-OzlsCW21g6mGxqR_-54CWGTVAogjCjPapaXImgYs-kglLlgVAMzuZBqOtnN5Fazlh_T3N5pC7iXwikIVtqZahQ0O/s1600/IMG_2688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="Ian McRae" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2TFT8ERKISD6VkQAH8fwXQkypSLIvP0EoaiyA0Hliwoc05KbtCt-OzlsCW21g6mGxqR_-54CWGTVAogjCjPapaXImgYs-kglLlgVAMzuZBqOtnN5Fazlh_T3N5pC7iXwikIVtqZahQ0O/s400/IMG_2688.jpg" title="Portrait of a man with frozen sugars" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Selfie of author. Note the damage to the protective plating on my PHI-Sensitive Device.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In the midst of bouldering, I suddenly realized m</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">y data was invalid. There was no need, even, to take it back to Nome for analysis. The Chi Amplification Method (CAM) I had devised relies on the essential prerequisite that the climber become ONE WITH THE ROCK. This is what makes the calculations possible. If climber (x) is one with the rock (y), then both climber and rock can be assigned a value of 1, making possible a simple mathematical equality, x=y. Consciousness levels are measured by whatever factors sway this equation into an inequality, but it is essential the climber eliminate all emanations from his or her own ego, and quiet the superfluous electromagnetic chatter that fills the cerebrum. The experiment is sound, but the tolerances and error margins associated with it are quite minuscule.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> My brain was too scattered. My mind was way too busy with silly thoughts, useless concerns, comparisons, rankings, cravings, anxiety, and also a creeping torpor that has come upon me in middle age. Usually, the act of climbing is sufficient to calm these flurries of extraneous thought, but not always. Most of the data my PHI-Sensitive Device carried turned out to be only a reflection of my own neurotic tendencies shining against the Plato's Cave wall of my narcissistic </span></span></b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>consciousness. For the CAT technique to work, the climbers mind must be totally empty during the interval the body is making moves over the stone. </b></span></span><br />
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Later, when I ran filters on the climbing data to extract the Mean Fun Index (MFI), it was found, surprisingly, despite the cold and tricky climbing conditions, to be of a very high magnitude of order. </span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZxr5P52vZpdN3lWtouKzHBSISVUvboFVsMuRYDLTArCFLvNBKXmsMsYoXsuZPKIop4q-hyc5jufT1P8nciwewpA881GxPONo-J-e70CgTZAlncfSj1_L7h2GQsxApOqHl4PveodJEZC5/s1600/DSCN0373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="boulder Serpentine" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZxr5P52vZpdN3lWtouKzHBSISVUvboFVsMuRYDLTArCFLvNBKXmsMsYoXsuZPKIop4q-hyc5jufT1P8nciwewpA881GxPONo-J-e70CgTZAlncfSj1_L7h2GQsxApOqHl4PveodJEZC5/s400/DSCN0373.jpg" title="Man boulders at Serpentine Hot Springs in winter" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Attempting to enact the CAM method</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></span><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The GLUE of the hot tub began to tug at us forcibly like a tide. Resistance was futile. We suspended our rock investigations, and departed the cold, breezy hilltops for the hot mineral waters in the enclosed tub at the Bunkhouse. </span></span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Water does not afford as effective an electromagnetic charge for our PHI-Sensitive devices as does rock. The entropy of molecules in a liquid precludes the temporal stability needed to access the phase variances for consciousness detection. Plus, the hot water seems, in general, to exert a dampening effect on our devices, so we did not so much view the opportunity to soak as research, but as a chance to relax. But as we pulled into camp and switched off snow-machines, another piece of data was about to fall into our laps.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Our theory predicts an increased probability of spirit animal interface in a wilderness region with elevated PHI (genetic similarity is a medium of resonance), but it was still with shock and awe I looked into one of the sleds outside the Bunkhouse and saw three wolves laid out by a hunter from Shishmareff. Our PHI-Sensitive Devices would surely have registered a PHI spike at this space/time transect, but by the time I encountered the wolves, our devices were soaked, and possibly giving off false readings.</span></span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAM1n7yRgBAG54MhGcxwuOrLHjHsfzbf6G3Bo0aIZbCQ_-blvh2liEZkaWLdJdXDG3pbd7ByCqgw-xzQO_3pC5buhr4k3ld-W-ASOBuSWvXAwzoM7lU4LoHOw-eVGpulUrzoy327T0OPk/s1600/IMG_2700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img alt="north side Kigluaiks" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAM1n7yRgBAG54MhGcxwuOrLHjHsfzbf6G3Bo0aIZbCQ_-blvh2liEZkaWLdJdXDG3pbd7ByCqgw-xzQO_3pC5buhr4k3ld-W-ASOBuSWvXAwzoM7lU4LoHOw-eVGpulUrzoy327T0OPk/s400/IMG_2700.JPG" title="Looking at the north side of the Kigluaiks from Kougarak Road in winter" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">David testing for LPR from the north side of the Kigluaik Mountains on the return ride</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> In the morning, after another night in the 102° F waters, in which discussed acupuncture points of the Seward Peninsula and their true Inupiaq names with our knowledgeable friends, we saddled up sleds and prepared for the 7-hour ride home to Nome. </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> T</b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he objective functioning of our PHI-Sensitive Devices seemed to be affected by the soaking they had received the day before. The whole ride that day they gave readings as if PHI levels were remaining abnormally high, a measurement we thoroughly suspected as corrupt, though there was no denying the dreamlike feeling that made the surroundings whizzing by at 70 mile per hour speeds look more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Through white shrouds of 3-dimensional gauze we flew down a perfect trail made flat by a dusting of new snow. Across the rolling hills of Bering Land Bridge National Preserve, back over the Kougarak Bridge, the Kuzitrin Bridge (really the Cushman Street Bridge from Fairanks) where the view opened up and the north side of the Kigluaiks was revealed in high-resolution image. Long-wave PHI Resonance (LPR) from this highly sentient range of mountains would have registered on our Phi-Si's had they been working properly. </b><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I gave up on executive function, and just let the GLUE of TOWN slowly draw our machines in like doomed satellites in decaying orbit.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> What puzzled me was that PHI readings remained elevated for days, even once we were back in Nome, as if the phase variation of Serpentine Hot Springs had followed us home and clung to our perception like a drug trip that won't wear off. Regular objects, paper clips, the Post Office, the neighbor's dog, took on a sensory luminescence that lingered for days, long after our trip to the sacred wilderness area was over. It was paradoxical enough to fool me into thinking that the elevated PHI-levels we saw there were just figments of my own mind, a common mistake made by old-school Mind researchers. </b><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am confident that once I get better data and the math nailed down, I will be able to account for the lingering effect of the Hot Springs. </b></span><br />
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> After a few days dealing with humans and foibles and jobs within the GLUE of TOWN, the post-Serpentine luminescence wore off completely. Our PHI-Sensitive Devices once again showed a base reading of 1.0. Life had lost the post-Serpentine glow.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySQEttFdnqr6Gt8_YmLXz7o7fSzFYFpIZ7-1KzCWvuWJxlYuZnQ8tKfdNVHjbl4QvUdueJTi0o9UGvRa3nN4fVq6pzlk1CnBr8cVyL65r4jXQzOKXzKTucxRgqV9dcdGDr6GDcSLgWhPZ/s1600/helmet+hair+nome+alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySQEttFdnqr6Gt8_YmLXz7o7fSzFYFpIZ7-1KzCWvuWJxlYuZnQ8tKfdNVHjbl4QvUdueJTi0o9UGvRa3nN4fVq6pzlk1CnBr8cVyL65r4jXQzOKXzKTucxRgqV9dcdGDr6GDcSLgWhPZ/s400/helmet+hair+nome+alaska.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"PHI readings remained elevated for days, even once</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">we were back in Nome"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>FOOTNOTES</u></span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">* This article is only a blogpost of a trip. Hard data analysis will follow when the project is completed.</span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="color: blue;">**Disclaimer: Other than having read links on the internet, I have no real idea of what I'm talking about here. I need to order some of Giulio's books and read them, also, take a refresher course in Calculus.</span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">***When I use the word "thing", I am referring to any number of dynamic processes for which we may draw a definable boundary. Most likely, there is no such thing as a "thing" for the reason that what we call a "thing" always turns out to be an emergent feature of some dynamic process.</span> </span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>**** It is extremely important to connote here that the word "brain" implies not only the brain itself, but a triad of brain, nervous system, and Human Electromagnetic Energy Field (HEEF) generated by the human body. The HEEF is an often overlooked sensory organ critical to the energy transformations studied on this trip. Any further questions may be directed to the <a href="http://www.supertopo.com/climbers-forum/1593650/What-is-Mind" target="_blank">What Is Mind?</a> thread on Supertopo; somewhere in all the links and pontification, the answer can be found.</b></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1BQbM7A7IXO4N1hRAhIlxKFUQFG590RuqNZbkBD2zyyHsDwFw4ne546knaDVUiko11n1-IuPbkyzoL7LxOuOyYwb7ly8CyoQEPgWVKJLtO27OIA8Qu1dYYUkh09zoXN6hvy967iBVasq/s1600/helmet+hair+nome+alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<br />allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-63600202405074231152016-07-14T20:06:00.000-07:002016-08-01T14:00:42.657-07:00Bouldering 2015<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> For any climbing narcissist seeking to assuage their desperate need for ego recognition, Facebook provides a far more efficient spray-device than a blog. So prodigious a spray-device is Facebook, I routinely chicken out of posting on it. Of course, I could paint a noble picture of my self and claim this is because Facebook violates the ancient taboo against bragging, or that my ego structure is so Buddha I have no need of simulating my territory to the map of Facebook, or that action is all that counts in this life, but that would be a lie, only to mask the fact that I am another person ruled by fear, prevented from posting by my own introversion and social anxiety disorder. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> So this blog it must be, a smaller, more obscure nozzle to release the great tensions of the ego. "Pee-marking" is what I call it on Kigsblog-- gaining attention online for a move of climbing you have executed. Giving in to the irresistible urge to claim credit for an act of climbing, a first ascent, or even a second first ascent. To matter, for an instant, in the eyes of others, before geological time subducts the climb you have proudly done into an eroded, toxic miasma of the future.</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19KRwboWMMAxHSdws76BsVllXRduyWpFnZPgbAzsdD8kquTqQEMkKI2EZ3cxdWpfOhyphenhyphen_Uy285Bgvx75eb_FLguhGYSYABwEOVLVMjCskTLC9JSeJH7QtQHL1Wanhvu6B98b7BjNFFZwcu/s1600/IMG_1809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Nome Alaska ice climbing" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19KRwboWMMAxHSdws76BsVllXRduyWpFnZPgbAzsdD8kquTqQEMkKI2EZ3cxdWpfOhyphenhyphen_Uy285Bgvx75eb_FLguhGYSYABwEOVLVMjCskTLC9JSeJH7QtQHL1Wanhvu6B98b7BjNFFZwcu/s400/IMG_1809.jpg" title="Nome climbing" width="300" /></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKUj-zx1kjkKM471etAYNk75UZqGUfDuYCxrjd4ix7qMdFmQonpgJADzV4fRETV64l7Wl6SXyu_Km9lF5oLyxSu3Bueah5hvOwzxkMxUFr_OrxPU5Z_fGA6EtTR-f34U_gZje09G7CM1F/s1600/mud+mound+lucy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKUj-zx1kjkKM471etAYNk75UZqGUfDuYCxrjd4ix7qMdFmQonpgJADzV4fRETV64l7Wl6SXyu_Km9lF5oLyxSu3Bueah5hvOwzxkMxUFr_OrxPU5Z_fGA6EtTR-f34U_gZje09G7CM1F/s400/mud+mound+lucy.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great mud mounding action this year, climbing on frozen tailings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Always bouldering... three days a week, four, all year round. Wandering in a dream state, executing little yoga moves on loose rock. Kind of an odd behavior really... A child lost in his imagination. humming softly to himself as he imagines a great abyss under his feet. I am Walter Bonatti stemming a dihedral on the Jorasses, with the soft ground one foot away. In the summer, rock shoes, in the winter, crampons and ice tools. It takes a fervent imagination, but if you can sustain the illusion, the rewards include a reduction of stress, freedom from lower back pain, and abundant adrenalin, as suddenly the child snaps into reality to find that the ground has become much further away in reality.</span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAsg3R_Dgew9xtuvWhEeA5fccDeGcSIfl9gXajbbVJ_OxNnmI4ryfJOCZap4N0jG8gJa-YTqqPnjIDJogbVFrROTGeU5UdkkA0Ra0jTbvPZmmquqCQwIT8UIqtPfp6ZhJBNsodV97c58Y/s1600/IMG_2507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nome Alaska climbing" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAsg3R_Dgew9xtuvWhEeA5fccDeGcSIfl9gXajbbVJ_OxNnmI4ryfJOCZap4N0jG8gJa-YTqqPnjIDJogbVFrROTGeU5UdkkA0Ra0jTbvPZmmquqCQwIT8UIqtPfp6ZhJBNsodV97c58Y/s400/IMG_2507.jpg" title="Alaska climbing" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James on the <i>Orange Wall </i>(5.10a) at Engstroms Mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I hereby officially claim during the 2015 bouldering season that I spread urine on every square inch of rock within a twenty mile radius of Nome. That is, executed or repeated any and all climbing moves which might within an error range of three YDS grade levels be deemed a V0 or easier, (that leaves an awful lot of harder problems left for YOU to claim) at Anvil Mt., the Windmill Boulders, the Sunset Boulders, the Penny Boulders, the awesome Penny Crags, King Mt., and Engstroms Mt., in multiple visits, in continuous circuits, by car, snow-machine, or ski. MARK! MARK! Can't anyone smell this? Look what I can do!</span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXB6fwxFIXp1effCtIAFSiNR5rFEh79PDgRoCv4nULuc5qc52FHHJBcr3k0ptN3k1x93oO5z7tPmK4j36hESGZKDjcYpWhgybfy2JIfVixLAdSKqrPS7MEuULEYk21_FSOEPJinoplr55/s1600/IMG_2504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nome rockclimbing" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXB6fwxFIXp1effCtIAFSiNR5rFEh79PDgRoCv4nULuc5qc52FHHJBcr3k0ptN3k1x93oO5z7tPmK4j36hESGZKDjcYpWhgybfy2JIfVixLAdSKqrPS7MEuULEYk21_FSOEPJinoplr55/s400/IMG_2504.JPG" title="Engstroms Mountain climbing" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James on his "first trad lead," the fun <i>Chimney Route </i>(5.5) at Engstroms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> No. The weather and the tides will wash away the scent of your climbing. New climbers will come and lay their pee-marks over yours. You have bolted no sport lines, you have published no guidebooks, you have left the crags the way they were. Others will post on multiple websites and lay down a golden sheen over these pitiful squirts. There will be no recognition, no ego-satisfaction. Narcissus is forced to get up from the side of the pond and just go climbing, despite the will of the Gods that he be cursed for an eternity to dote on his own profile.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViKvg5j8wZ5nZraFoVEoeVoHoDUNhiRpLS04MZTeG9FqPkTJ3MoTebwbqo41mR6RUGh0DAApBo4Leuv16xCRStTzSn593vsYBi1KubPqJ0L9Ud69zO19NZ_br_-6RRPJoE5dCtcobBRNQ/s1600/Nome+climbing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="climb Nome" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViKvg5j8wZ5nZraFoVEoeVoHoDUNhiRpLS04MZTeG9FqPkTJ3MoTebwbqo41mR6RUGh0DAApBo4Leuv16xCRStTzSn593vsYBi1KubPqJ0L9Ud69zO19NZ_br_-6RRPJoE5dCtcobBRNQ/s400/Nome+climbing.JPG" title="Banner ridge Nome Alaska" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: start;">The big bouldering news of 2015 was the long-awaited send of the </span><i style="text-align: start;">Courtyard Arete </i><span style="text-align: start;">(5.10b) at Windmill Rocks, a high-ball with a treacherous landing. Many was the time I fondled the creaky flakes of the last move, but backed off, as in the photo above. This year, the Courtyard was filled with an extra padding of drifted snow, ten feet thick. Sure felt good to crank off that last move!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Now there is only the next move: a patch of toe rubber oozing off the hold as the areoles of lichen crumble underfoot. A centimeter of chrome moly steel cammed into an icy crack in the schist. The blue of the ocean hoving into view as you struggle to get your foot up so you won't have to look like a noob and use your knee at the top of the crag. And now you're about to break your leg and crack your skull and lie paralyzed dying in the cold as you realize you did not bring a cell phone. It was all meaningless and pointless. The only reason to climb was to climb. There was nothing to say about it all along.</span></b>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3140890987676830023.post-4019563307975227862016-07-13T17:24:00.006-07:002016-07-14T17:29:58.522-07:00Cape Nome Ice, Iteration 2015<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1U-aAU1-6DiIFDdL-UwPaVX_t-Qli_UYT2N9euTjKgRo2meBhWeRLIUcFR5rK6PkTuNEiRVFS05kpfsFvgudQKZUqBKOwgdjy_pphFcRjMY8pv1W2-2gYVoVVSpUZD4srUQfPZoPBNvC/s1600/Nome+ice+climbing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cape Nome ice climbing" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1U-aAU1-6DiIFDdL-UwPaVX_t-Qli_UYT2N9euTjKgRo2meBhWeRLIUcFR5rK6PkTuNEiRVFS05kpfsFvgudQKZUqBKOwgdjy_pphFcRjMY8pv1W2-2gYVoVVSpUZD4srUQfPZoPBNvC/s400/Nome+ice+climbing.JPG" title="Nome ice climbing" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In December light, James is climbing quarried chunks of granite held together by frozen mud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JL51vhOcq2oWG5j9ZI-Lju0CR1N4bPyIaieQSR1duiIEggY4Ed-3A3BA1iuUyD3qTwJy2OuPAR1cbj0p62cKzjGgI7ILPjI5A-wzM49qvnJDxSXtBVP2eIxdD7dgdfHsgsWY365HsslH/s1600/Cape+Nome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JL51vhOcq2oWG5j9ZI-Lju0CR1N4bPyIaieQSR1duiIEggY4Ed-3A3BA1iuUyD3qTwJy2OuPAR1cbj0p62cKzjGgI7ILPjI5A-wzM49qvnJDxSXtBVP2eIxdD7dgdfHsgsWY365HsslH/s400/Cape+Nome.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red arrow points to <i>Ayasayuk</i>, Cape Nome. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfyHaCAt6Nh-iTTR5UnESFOSFel-siZun0D8UA0UgOR9n7eE7vI9cPwDlHNXIISHnwBygn88mB_5roT8UM8DJfykfvHEiApg-ByL80SrejCPDgdGaJAtUyShV1UL8jCl7kqdT13KAlbCE/s1600/Cape+Nome+ice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="Nome ice" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfyHaCAt6Nh-iTTR5UnESFOSFel-siZun0D8UA0UgOR9n7eE7vI9cPwDlHNXIISHnwBygn88mB_5roT8UM8DJfykfvHEiApg-ByL80SrejCPDgdGaJAtUyShV1UL8jCl7kqdT13KAlbCE/s400/Cape+Nome+ice.JPG" title="Ice Climbing on the Seward Peninsula" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Third Tier ice, 2015. We climbed a dirt/ice line out of the picture to the left. James was fated to leave town, the Winter Solstice world grew mega-cold, and the GLUE OF TOWN sealed me over. I never made it back out to climb this pitch.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></b><b style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Cape Nome lies about 20 miles east of Nome. Viewed from Nome on a clear day, the bluff resembles a 5-mile long sausage, with the seaward end of the sausage visibly gnawed-on. Drive out there on the Nome-Council Road and the gnaw-marks prove to be the 450 ft. high Cape Nome Quarry, a long-time source of “industrial grade armor stone and rip-rap commonly used on seawalls, causeways, and breakwaters,” and also, my secret, no-doubt-trespassing, little ice climbing area in the late Fall. </b></span><br />
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b> So loose, such a hanging mine field of rock and mud is the Cape Nome Quarry, that one would never set foot on it unless it were well frozen. The Quarry is a little microcosm unto itself, a self-contained space shaped not unlike a Greek theatre. The ice that "cryo-sucks" down the face each year is a study in randomness, for no two years are ever the same. Somehow, a central flow always develops, but the path followed by the water varies according to a complex equation involving temperature, saturation, and dynamite.</b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> We are used to the ephemerality of ice, but this is ephemerality of Earth. Some years the quarry face has been blasted away completely leaving no trace of the climb from the year before. There is something satisfying about doing a climb which has never existed before, and will probably not exist into the next year. This year's iteration of Cape Nome did not offer particularly high-volume ice flows, but it did offer the usual helping of climbing adventure as I managed to once again to ascend the quarry face from </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">bottom<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> to top, up the middle of all four tiers.</span></span></span></b></span><b style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUtt4ja_zIt316834rGkKxu0zQFkcMVUBNfhk-xIhVLP5xWqqCa0Iz2Y3teKTt1YwnGt0obSCH26PeyNTjrm5A9DMmB6sJrhhbnjBaFDksvkqRE5vXGfB8onaAEx47Ue7OfjMyq3CCl2G/s1600/IMG_2545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cape Nome ice climbing" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUtt4ja_zIt316834rGkKxu0zQFkcMVUBNfhk-xIhVLP5xWqqCa0Iz2Y3teKTt1YwnGt0obSCH26PeyNTjrm5A9DMmB6sJrhhbnjBaFDksvkqRE5vXGfB8onaAEx47Ue7OfjMyq3CCl2G/s400/IMG_2545.jpg" title="Nome Ice Climbing" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James hiking the First Tier, Council Road below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaORhisfcshK-lH3Pa4-FF3oJfq4Qvif7rmR7E7OPY8xDGVAHaJcpr36UY7MTRqxOGT89bglS8ePH52WnNm2TbMoRZgEQotL3YJ0n0je2FfHG_d-_pOnECtNl4Yo2MDt-scqxy9db-kEk/s1600/Cape+Nome+Ice+Climbing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cape Nome ice climbing" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaORhisfcshK-lH3Pa4-FF3oJfq4Qvif7rmR7E7OPY8xDGVAHaJcpr36UY7MTRqxOGT89bglS8ePH52WnNm2TbMoRZgEQotL3YJ0n0je2FfHG_d-_pOnECtNl4Yo2MDt-scqxy9db-kEk/s400/Cape+Nome+Ice+Climbing.JPG" title="Nome ice climbing" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ayasayuk, November 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I drove out there twice in late November to check it out. Some interesting pillars of ice had blossomed, but my first order of business was to complete the yearly game of ascending the quarry face from bottom to top. I started up solo, but in the middle of the third tier, the ice receded into the mud wall, leaving me looking at a hundred feet of exposed, frozen mud soloing. All I could think of was how much better this mud section would be if I could go back into town and talk James into coming back out with me to hold a psychological rope.</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> So we returned in early December. Technically, it was James' first alpine climb. Too bad his first ice climb had to take such a ghastly form. Stupidly, we double-rode on the snow-machine to get out there, bumping across the tundra, getting lost in the fog, and overheating the machine as people passed us by in their nice comfortable trucks up on the road, which was still open, it turns out. </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> We accessed the magical quarry kingdom from one of the access roads that transverse the face, and then dropped down to the main Council Road to make the full, bottom-to-top ascent. The first two tiers of the face are a casual mud romp, no rope necessary. Frozen mud seems to behave exactly like ice, and crampons and axes work quite well if the saturation is right. In between the tiers, the access roads provide big, spacious ledges.</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The Third Tier is the highest of the four tiers, more than a pitch. The main ice flow could be cascading down on the right in a spot that was different than the year before. A new pillar had formed, and above that, ten-inch thick slab of ice was trying to adhere to an utter hanging shit-pile of creeping granite blocks. I fully intended to return for this ice a later date, with a rack of stubby screws and a James now schooled in the ways of ice climbing, but for now, the line was to take the path of least resistance, up a mud groove to the left with an easy piping of Grade 1 blue ice at the back of it.</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> At the spring, </span></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the high point of my solo a week earlier</span></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> where the ice recedes into the mud wall, I made a good belay and brought James up. It's not like the ne</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">xt pitch was hard. There's not a hard move on it. </span></span></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is just something hideous about steep frozen mud climbing. The medium is like real ice, so you whack your tools extra hard, but you feel like some sort of <i>slump </i>or <i>solifluction</i> is going to suddenly pitch you off and down the 45° slope in a great clattering, clawlike mass of spikes and rope. I drove a few Snargs and Spectres straight into the mud. They wouldn't have held a thing. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I really don't know what James thought of the whole charade as he is always rather an inscrutable lad, but I do know I was overjoyed to have him there holding the useless belay. Hard to say whether that pitch was a Class 4 scramble up some dirt, or a real pitch deserving of an "M" rating. Probably the former....</span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The Fourth Tier, only about 60 ft. high, offered more flows and steep ice, but the afternoon light was throbbing with darkness. We did an easy pitch up the middle and reached the top. Waves from the dim sea lapped against the beach hundreds of feet below. An emaciated Red Fox watched us curiously. The December sunset was only a red smudge against the gray pall in the west. The lights of Nome could already be seen, and the GLUE of TOWN began to suck us slowly and inexorably toward it.</span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8o52Jz9qYlRGHaji1ZHTpUkRMdCXiz6rw6prAU6gjwm4YbjoWTC9alPSsSF4b54eTJu9Dofs1vJYgOw5qQQA5exqRA6W407SyyZQbWQLKSac3FUJbHCNNVc-h2xxbUbL1JjUA4HBsw4wu/s1600/IMG_1727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cape Nome" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8o52Jz9qYlRGHaji1ZHTpUkRMdCXiz6rw6prAU6gjwm4YbjoWTC9alPSsSF4b54eTJu9Dofs1vJYgOw5qQQA5exqRA6W407SyyZQbWQLKSac3FUJbHCNNVc-h2xxbUbL1JjUA4HBsw4wu/s400/IMG_1727.jpg" title="Bering Straits ice climbing" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Third Tier from the Proscenium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvdhiVKH_DE7kQdTrB8SzCr6SH4lOBTJ1oEfR8gTw_0PTfb0x7xt26b4ZW9X7gSflZ_THOvA1nYGr_pAj_OVgaOrrky0nNPTvZSkh1GmOmsNEdRXNVTXyEV2pG0RdqGb1sEuhZHTx72Y0/s1600/Nome+ice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ice climbing in Nome" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvdhiVKH_DE7kQdTrB8SzCr6SH4lOBTJ1oEfR8gTw_0PTfb0x7xt26b4ZW9X7gSflZ_THOvA1nYGr_pAj_OVgaOrrky0nNPTvZSkh1GmOmsNEdRXNVTXyEV2pG0RdqGb1sEuhZHTx72Y0/s400/Nome+ice.JPG" title="Nome area ice climbing" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down Third Tier</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> As we zig-zagged down the access roads in the big, deep, Arctic dusk of December, still wearing crampons because the roads were a sheet of ice, I noticed the hydraulics of the ice flow underfoot. In places, birms made by machinery had caused the ice to pool up and grow thicker. Could it be that water flowing down the access roads is the source of the ice flow at Cape Nome Quarry? I had always assumed that some type of aquifer was leaking out the scar of the blown-out bluff, but this makes little sense given the elevation of Cape Nome and the fact that water does not flow uphill. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> Geologists do not seem to have come to a consensus regarding the Late Proterozoic meta-granite of Cape Nome. Is Cape Nome related to the meta-igneous gneiss of the Kigluaiks thirty miles to the North? Just what is this anomalous little intrusion of ancient rock doing here?Marine life seems to get bunched up in the waters off the cape. Before the dynamite and the flu epidemic of 1918, plenty of people lived on the bluff. Strange little men called <i>isragak </i>roam the grassy headland. It was named "Ayasayuk" by the natives, "Tolstoi" by Captain Tebenkov, "Sredul" on an 1852 Russian hydrographic chart, and finally, "Nom" by Sir William Kellet, though what the British explorer meant by writing that word on his map is anyone's guess. </b></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdb4LD2KJfHOq8XYo-g8moNwHQrq0cFuSQcAjTkARTVVwZyjKjKvGgi38NrWaHKwY5UDkYak42G1WtrVYfFBLzpb1rbbeI8dVcFUQt56gFsYMc3lU0C563cUeC7xsoVyIQNkGV66jZurB/s1600/Cape+Nome-1st+Iteration-+entire+cliff+%252B+Ian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cape Nome Quarry 2003" border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdb4LD2KJfHOq8XYo-g8moNwHQrq0cFuSQcAjTkARTVVwZyjKjKvGgi38NrWaHKwY5UDkYak42G1WtrVYfFBLzpb1rbbeI8dVcFUQt56gFsYMc3lU0C563cUeC7xsoVyIQNkGV66jZurB/s400/Cape+Nome-1st+Iteration-+entire+cliff+%252B+Ian.jpg" title="Cape Nome Quarry old days" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The glory days somewhere around 2003 when that Grade 3 ice on the right used to come in. This is almost an <i>entirely different cliff </i>than the one in 2016 (though odd vestiges remain). Begging forgiveness from BSNC... </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>allapahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806383911309882402noreply@blogger.com0