5.14.2011

Tuff Luck

How could I possibly resist? After a rather lackluster winter, my motivation for climbing has somewhat returned though the integrity of my tendons lags behind. After 6 days of coursesetting last week at the now recently opened Seattle Bouldering Project, all the holds fresh out of the mold, my fingertips looked and felt like they'd been held under a belt sander; my finger joints, supple and limber from months of guitar playing, felt once again like blocks of wood; my elbows ached with the classic signs of overuse. What better venue for rehabilitation, then, than the sharp, tweak-prone pockets and skin-mangling edges of Smith Rock?















































Truly the Dream Team of northwest climbing, we planned on taking the crag by storm. No route could possibly stand against our campaign of Chalk and Awkward Humor. With our TheraCane and my secret talismans, SLCD's and chocks from an outmoded and all-but-forgotten style of climbing, the trap was set for any unwitting 5.14 sport climb. All we had to do was wait for one to take the bait...


...and wait we did...


But soon, our glorious plan was in effect: the sweeping walls of enhanced pockets and epoxy-reinforced flakes began offering up their most precious gems out of sheer terror at our might. With thunder in our step and lightning in our eyes, we prepared to release the fierce maelstrom of our fury...






















Jeanna almost redpointed Toxic but the nefarious route had used subterfuge to divine her weakness: reachy, dynamic moves...










































Brian fought valiantly against White Wedding but it soon played an unexpected wild card. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Brian screamed as he was spit off the top of the climb by the revered tactic oft referred to as the "redpoint crux two moves below the anchor"...






















Though the air was rife with the foul smell of defeat, I unsheathed my blade for a duel with the master of deception: the feared Slit Your Wrist arete. With such formidable weaponry as 'one of the sharpest edges in all of Smith with a little nubbin the pokes right into your right index fingertip' and 'weird sideways teardrop-shaped enhanced pocket that tweaks the shit out of your tendons' I was clearly outclassed. Apropos of my apparent defeat, I whined of sore fingers and called on Brian as my second to vanquish the foe and establish a toprope that I might somehow redeem my ego, though that also was not to be.


In a show of ultimate cowardice and ignominy, I unleashed my devices of medieval torture on the unsuspecting and harmless peasantry of Lion's Chair and set up a toprope so we could all further its submission. Victory at last!