The climbing trip; That beacon of light at the end of every part time climbers tunnel. The holy grail many long to drink from, thirsting for an escape from modern life’s complexity. This ray of hope guides the thrill seeking adventurer though whatever mundane means of monetary compensation they spend their week slaving away at. Grinding the day away whilst the mind wanders to the warmth of the El Paso sun. Basking in that urge to plummet into the primal passion to push physical limits and heed the call of the wild that lingers in the soul.
In my travels, a couple weeks in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge is always preceded by 6 months of drooling anticipation. The purchase of pretty new ropes, sexy new draws, shoes to painstakingly break in, cams big enough to keep a gators mouth from closing on your head, and of course, a Thule rack to cram it all in. The email blasts that go ON and ON and ON clogging your inbox and distracting you from any actual work you probably should be doing. The creation of road trip mix to help you through the 30 hours of combined drive time to this middle of nowhere refuge of rock ecstasy. Let us not forget the chart mapping out the various pizza topping combinations you plan on sampling at Miguel’s this year and the cooler ready to be packed with AL8 ONE ginger ale and Kentucky Bourbon.
I have gone on the extended excursion to the Red River Gorge. Every trip reveling the days away through the endless overhanging sandstone the Red is renowned for. Every time returning with my mind stuck in an uncomfortable place that is the mut of woe and ecstasy. The trip always a success, but never nearly long enough to satiate my needs. The longing for more time climbing filling me with each passing mile on the long road back to Boston.
I recently flew to Salt Lake City to spend a long weekend in Utah’s gorgeous bouldering mecca, Joe’s Valley. I spent 4 days scrambling around sampling an array of boulders that I could spend a lifetime climbing. A LIFETIME!!! and I was there for 4 DAYS!!!! Such a measly fraction of what could truly be. At Joe’s camping is extremely simple and also extremely free. To top it off you can wake up, walk out of your tent, and get on the plethora of boulders that cover the entire valley. Also, did I mention camping was free? Like, as in, you pay zero monies for it. Zilch, nada, a big wonderful goose egg. Music to a dirtbags ears. On a serious note, always remember to adhere to leave no trace and not blow free camping for broke jokers like myself. Oh sweet climbing trip, how i dote on thee.
The problem for me seems that with the passing of each climbing trip the louder the call of dirt bag echoes through my soul.
“Come to me Boof” the Californian Buttermilk boulders whisper to me as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. “Leave it all behind and I will sooth you with my embrace.”
I whisper back something about how I can’t, lying to myself, but losing my resolve with each reply.
The open road continues to call my name louder and louder through the monotony of each passing day. The simplicity of completely immersing myself in the world of climbing beckons to me like the flashing white stick figure of the crosswalk lamp. How can I resist the allure of temporarily freeing myself from the inevitable shackles of rent, utilities, traffic, work, and the other rigamarole that many of us pass each day slogging through. It’s like saying no to Buffalo Wings. I can resist at first but inevitably those delicious bits of spicy chicken are going to enter my mouth.
Don’t get me wrong, I live a good life and am happy with who and where I am. Life has treated me well and blessed me on so may levels. This does not stop that savage howl from piercing my soul, pleading with me to leave it all behind, hop in my car and dedicate my time and money to the perpetual search for the perfect climb. Spending each day concentrating on becoming the best that I can be in this discipline which I have come to cherish.
It’s hard to truly develop to my potential as a climber without taking this leap. If I truly wish to achieve reaching the pinnacle of my climbing ability. I MUST become totally immersed. The main focus of the day can only be on my development and this can not happen without first escaping from anything that may hinder this progress. The only logical outcome of this conundrum is to cease any useless resistance and allow the road to carry me away.
Picture this. It’s the crack of dawn as the sun breaks through the bug net of your tent. You roll off your crash pad, (as it does make for the greatest mattress one can find on the road) toss on your warm wonderful camp clothes, and pop out into the welcoming glow of the morning sun breaking over the horizon. First and foremost you get the water going for the coffee. You drink said coffee as the cresting suns warmth increases. Then you get the calories in for the thrashing that shall ensue, this morning we will crush some eggs and homefries (I LOVE to cook, especially camp stove style). Hop into your car and zip to the closely awaiting crag of your choosing (they all are so nice but you have ample time to try everything so you may as well throw a dart at a map of the area. You warm up slow, making sure to avoid injury (the demon that lurks and waits to strike the most devout dirtbag). You have no agenda. You climb every inspiring line you find and when the sun goes down you head home to OBLITERATE the 2000 calorie burrito you intend to make. Wash it all down with whichever spirit tickles your fancy (I’m a whiskey or beer man personally) and spend the remaining hours of post sleep reading, writing, or twiddling your damn thumbs, while huddled by the warmth of a fire.
That is the dream of every person who truly loves climbing. It gets NO better than that and my ability to resist this is waning away to nothing. I have a car. I have money saved up for a rainy day. I have other warriors who I am sure would tackle this adventure with the ferocity of a bengal tiger. Whats stopping me? What’s stopping us? The fear of change and the unknown can only hold me back for so long. I must follow intuition and overcome this fear, taking to the open road as the newly hatched turtle takes to the sea.
My life is really not as boring or awful as the above may suggest. However, when I compare my life to the perpetual dream of life as a climbing vagabond; it’s a no contest. One day I will transform into the road warrior on an epic quest to slay boulders and vanquish sport lines (hell i may even try out this trad climbing that all the true baddasses throw down on); living the dream of climbers of all ages. I will go to the Red for the whole fall or to Joe's for weeks on end, throwing myself around like a voracious and possessed rag doll. Each day the call grows louder and much like the protagonist pup in Jack London’s Call of the Wild, it’s only a matter of time before my innate impulses overrule all that keeps me from who I truly am at my core ( at this point I ask that you imagine the savage howl of a hungry wolf). See you on the road.
- BooF
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