Thank Jesus and the Baby Jesus, it’s over. No more of that shitty music playing everywhere, the retarded decorations, bah humbug, and no more tacky Santa and Baby Jesus manger yard sets. Best of all, an end to what the holiday has come to mean to most Americans: unabashed and mindless consumerism.

As an aside, the whole virgin birth thing (not to mention parting the Red Sea, walking on water, and a host of other magic tricks) never added-up for me – the dots simply don’t connect, and I don’t believe it any more than I believe in the Easter Bunny. I do, however, give props to the creative storytelling.

“You stay,” Craig said, shutting the dogs inside. I was at his place in Fort Collins to take him to the hospital. Tally looked at us with sad eyes and perky ears, and Charlie, Tally’s brother and absolutely the sweetest dog in the world, thumped his Santa Claus cast against the floor – every time he goes in for a cast change, the vet school students paint a new design. “Man, Tally’s got the worst farts,” Craig said. “Afraid she’ll drive away all the hot nurses.”

Profess piety? Volunteer at a homeless shelter. Give to the needy. Help someone – even if they believe in a different fairytale than yours. Be grateful. It’s weird how, on an individual level, an overwhelming majority of people seem good and without malice. Yet about half the population (or more, based on recent elections) support policies and politicians that ensure the richest get richer while the needy suffer. An overwhelming percentage of these people claim to be Christian (most Americans claim Christianity, and more so on the conservative right). I’m no Bible expert, so correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m pretty sure it goes, “Love thy neighbor” – not “Fuck ‘em.”

I’m convinced that, as a collective people, our greed and hubris will consume us. Yes, Merry Christmas, reality.

Anyway, Charlie’s leg cast comes victim of an idiotic chick’s unleashed Pitbull-mix’s (yes, he, like your Pit mix, had never done this before…) completely unprovoked attack on him in a city park this fall. For the rest of Charlie’s life, he won’t run, and Craig made him a trailer for his bike so Charlie could again feel the wind in his face.

Before Charlie’s leg, as Tally suffered mysterious health problems that included loss of vision, they’d still chase the ball in the yard. Craig describes Tally chasing around, but sometimes running into things, unable to find the ball. After a few rounds, Charlie stopped going for the ball himself and would lead his sister to it, until she was so close she could see it, pick it up, and together they’d run back to Craig in a double bundle of unchecked happiness.

I feel sad for them, but they don’t seem to feel sorry for themselves. I look at Craig and his dogs and remind myself that I’ve been a whiney bitch about this shoulder thing, and my pissy Christmas attitude isn’t helping.

“Maybe we could’ve brought Charlie, tell ‘em he’s your service dog,” Craig mumbled as we hobbled toward the hospital doors. “Huhuhuh.” Yeah, funny guy. Like that gimpy bastard should talk. He’s the only one of my friends more fucked-up than me. I was driving him to his third neck surgery – he’s probably had a dozen overall – and around to help with recovery. As to his wisecrack, OK, sure, I still limp a little, with those three plates and 20 screws in my right leg, and my left arm hangs in a sling from a massive shoulder surgery three weeks ago. As we walked I stopped and bent over, twisted to the side, popped my back a bit like I do – remnants from my 2005 spinal reconstruction – while Craig tried to turn without moving his head and neck. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hospital doors, and saw that the strands of gray hair added a nice touch to my five-day scruff and mullet, which had overgrown the remnants of the stripes I shaved in the side of my head. OK, maybe I could use a service dog.

The people at check-in asked Craig if he had a helper and driver. He tried not to laugh and kind of nodded in my direction. Long silence behind the desk.

“OK, sir,” the cheery old woman suddenly said, “We’ll just need you to sign here, and here’s your guest pass.”

“Is there a bar in this hospital?” I asked, just for effect. She smiled and laughed – a holiday-induced nicety? – if so, cool, I can get behind anything that gives us an excuse, or reason, to be nicer to one another, or to connect with those we care about. (Which begs the requisite question: What have we become that we need a reason for that?)

A few days later, back at Craig’s house, he struggled to walk though excruciating pain as the dogs bounced around, tongues flopping, wiggling their butts – neither have tails – completely unaware or unconcerned about their conditions. Craig tried to herd them together and I set the timer for our Gimpy Christmas photo. Charlie smiled, his Santa Claus leg cast tapping on the floor, and Tally wiggled with joy, her latest round of chemo helping her feel normal again, completely unaware or unconcerned with the incurable bone cancer that’s not only giving her nasty farts, but that will take her life in a few months.

I had to smile, because at least someone had the spirit, and those little rascals didn’t even know it was Christmas.

What’s a blog for, if not to brag? Well, a lot of little people have helped along the way and Big Daddy Cordes want to thank to all of them, but most importantly I am famous: type “mullet stripes” into Google images and see what you get. Very first image. Numero Uno. Little did I know that searching for ideas would lead to such sudden, complete fulfillment. God bless the interwebs. Here’s a screen shot:

We just re-did my stripes this morning, and the mullet is coming in nicely. Since my recently fucked-up shoulder (which is actually doing well, at least it feels good, though I’ll know more when I get the MRI results back) has me almost assuredly delaying my trip to Patagonia, the silver lining might be that I can better grow-in the mullet (to say nothing of the creepy mustache). It’s a sign of cultural respect, that’s all: every dude in Argentina rocks the mullet.

I was to leave for Patagonia in a week, and was going to climb with Tommy, as I’m quite certain I can jug anything he can lead. Man, the guy is inspiring, and I just wrote about his and Kevin Jorgeson’s current project here. For those who don’t know, they’re trying to free-climb a line up El Cap’s Dawn Wall — crazy steep and blank, stacked with 5.13 & 5.14 pitches, about seven of each in the line’s 30 pitches. They’ve been working on it for three seasons, trained their asses off, and Tommy told me he’s sure that it goes — just not sure if they can do it yet. But they’re trying, which is way more impressive than coming up first on the interwebs for having a shitty haircut.

Yeah, in the words of Kenny Powers, fuck this noise — it’s time to go train.

Damn, this doesn’t get any easier. Guess somehow I wish that it did, or maybe I thought that it would.

I’m not talking Election Day, sick as I am of the ads and incessant bickering, though I hope everyone votes. Sorry for the political dive, but I’ve got a point and a connection here: Too much of the problem with today’s world is the feeling of hopelessness. Who gives a fuck, right? I mean, corporate influence, power, dollars, rule all. Seems like nothing has anything to do with doing right or helping each other. Easy to just tune out.

So we do what we can when we have the chance, and try to help in real ways. (And yes, I voted, too.) You can be nice to the person next to you. You can help the person who needs help.

We can help bring Joe home. Joe Puryear, a friend and one of the most accomplished alpine climbers and adventurers of recent years, died last week while doing what he loved in remote Tibet. His climbing partner, David Gottlieb, last saw Joe with a huge smile, flashing the thumbs-up sign before going ahead (they were unroped at that point, on easy ground) to scout the route on unclimbed Labuche Kang – but David then rounded a rock outcrop and saw where a cornice had broken off. Joe was gone.

Joe was a star in my book, one of many I looked up to: intelligent, humble and unassuming, funny and unbelievably accomplished. He was more of the unheralded type, seemingly disinterested in hype. Not unwilling to share his adventures in words and photos, though – he’d just do it refreshingly, without ego. And yet the guy ripped it up in the Ruth, sent all over the Alaska Range, rampaged the Desert, and did three major first ascents of previously unclimbed peaks in Nepal in the last two years.

Joe (L) and Mark Westman -- Mark: "Early Morning Spire, summer of 1996. The days when filthy white long johns and tights were cool. To us."

I first met Joe and his longtime climbing partner and dear friend Mark Westman, another unheralded badass, in the Ruth back in 2000. I’ve kept in touch with both, seeing them here-and-there over the years, and I’ve relied on them for key info for the AAJ. Joe wrote the definitive guide to the Ruth Gorge for the 2006 AAJ – did it for free, as do all AAJ contributors – and later published his phenomenal guidebook, Alaska Climbing.

I really admired Joe, even though I didn’t know him all that well. I have a memory of him and Michelle near the Kesugi Ridge trail in Alaska back in the early 2000s, after one of my trips, I can’t exactly recall the details, I guess I’m getting old, not sure if they picked me up hitchiking or if we just ran into each other or what. I think it was soon after they’d met, but I’m not sure. Doesn’t matter, really. But they were lovely, and they married on the Ruth Glacier in 2004. Michelle wrote about Joe the other day. It’s beautiful because such openness and love doesn’t find us every day; the lack of regret, lack of bitterness, and the genuine appreciation of someone who lived fully. Of course the irony is always the same: the very thing that helped make him who he was, who we loved, also took him away.

Joe and Michelle at their wedding reception.

Anyway, I don’t know where I’m going here. I just know that nothing in life, no matter how short, is more precious than living beautifully, but my heart aches for Michelle. She and some of Joe’s family are traveling to Asia to bring Joe’s ashes home. It’s expensive, bringing him down, cremating him, the travel, and if you can help even just a little (I did), please consider it – if you can’t, you can’t; most of us don’t have much, but maybe we can skip a beer or marg or meal to help out, or just help anyway and toast that beer or marg to Joe, and send our love to Michelle and his family.

Here’s the link, with the donate button on the upper right:

http://climbtibet.blogspot.com/

And let’s remember these words – Mark Westman wrote them the other day, thinking about Joe:

“Do that one last pitch together. Have that beer. Stay a little longer. Say what needs to be said. Cherish your friendships and every last ounce of life. My alpinist friends, watch every step, and don’t ever lose your fear in the mountains.”

Joe Puryear, RIP. Photo by Mark Westman.

Quick post here, as urged by my sister. She’s smart, I’m not. She read my TCL post about my dislocated shoulder — yeah, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I dislocated my shoulder two weeks ago and I’m supposed to leave for Patagonia in four weeks, but recovery takes three months, fuckfuckfuck — and she liked the post, asked if I’d linked to it from here. Uhhh, well, I haven’t quite gotten around to it yet. I’m a busy guy. “If not, you’re a douche,” she said. Ouch. The WebTV-Baby Lady is calling me a douche. But don’t she know I got shit goin’ on? Right now, for

Life imitating art?

example, as I type, I’m swilling a marg, drowning my sorrows, preparing to go out for Halloween. Fortunately I don’t even have to dress-up — cheapest, easiest costume ever thanks to my new haircut and stylin’ ‘stache.

My buddy Craig is telling me about Halloween parties growing up in Kentucky, and just said, “We got into a big fight this one time, like six on six, and one of us was a parapalegic — and he’s the one who started it, cracked a guy across the head with his crutch.” His story ended with, “And that’s when I realized I couldn’t fight while intoxicated.” He just told me that my Halloween “costume” is what started the topic of fightin’ in Kentucky.

Anyway, I know this is the lamest post ever, but a much better one, the story of my shoulder, can be found here.

What's to come for me over the next couple of months.

I swear it’s not you, it’s me…. I just, I just, I have a lot on my mind right now. Like climbing, drinking margaritas, climbing, a new bottle of Cabo Wabo Anejo, and some work. Priorities.

Professional athlete.

OK, that’s my slack ass apology for not posting in forever. Well, um, I’ve been writing regularly for someone else. Patagonia’s award-winning blog, The Cleanest Line. I just forgot to link this to that, because perhaps my sister was right about the effect of my new haircut (She goes: “Seriously, Kel, it makes you look mentally challenged”). This is sweet, I’m psyched. I make my living as a writer. I am not a “professional climber,” nor do I deserve to be. Yes, I have some sponsors, and I’m hugely grateful – nobody owes me shit for going climbing – but that’s not how I make my living. Momentary side rant: Michael Jordan was a professional athlete.

Not a professional athlete.

If you still live in your parents’ basement or in your truck, and earn less than a janitor for going climbing, you are not a professional climber. I’m talking being paid to climb; not paid to write, or to take photos, or to guide, or to work in a gear shop or have a paper route on the side (the kid – or pro climber – delivering your papers is not, for example, necessarily a journalist,). OK, now I’m laughing – that seemingly ubiquitous “pro climber” claim cracks me up like a scene from Waiting for Guffman. Anyway, my primary, meager living comes from writing and editing (and if you’re reading this drivel, you’re surely thinking like those folks who see modern art and go “my kid could do that”).

The Cleanest Line is awesome, but they wanted more climbing. Given my pathetically one-dimensional nature, it seems a good fit. I can blather-on endlessly about the wonderfully worthless world of climbing. Granted, for my TCL posts, I’ve had to tone down the f-bomb (fuck) and I probably won’t rant against other companies (like I did here, here, and here, for example), and my clown suit jokes probably won’t make the cut, either, but I can do such things here if I get the urge.

An obligatory, random climbing shot. It's from a route we climbed about 10 days ago -- was so psyched, given my leg. I've got a summer of recovery post coming (if I get around to it...).

What I want to do here is post updates about my TCL posts, like a little bit about the stories, maybe some stories behind the stories, and so on. We’ll see. Maybe I can at least remember to post a link when I do a TCL post — shit, I’ve been writing for TCL for two months now, and this my first update here. Oops. I hear a little voice: “Dude, if writing is your living, then you are quite possibly the worst businessman in the world.” True enough.

A couple of notes on some of my TCL posts:

• My most recent post: Going Up. It’s basically about desire and the secret to hard climbing. I’ve always thought of it in the alpine sense, and on my best alpine routes I’ve seen it in my partners: badasses like Jonny Copp, Scott DeCapio, Jim Earl, Colin Haley and Josh Wharton. I’m seeing it in other realms of climbing and in life as well, and will write more on the topic soon.

• The post before gave a sort of update on my recovery: Just a Five-Minute Run.

• Sometimes I’ll be TCL’s editorial voice introducing a climbing story, like in the three-part series about Tommy & crew’s China trip. Here’s part three, Tommy’s superb trip report.

• Yes, the margarita recipes are there. The good folks at Patagonia insisted on it. I’m like, “Really, you guys sure? I mean, I don’t drink many margaritas…” Here’s one (my opening post), and another. Reminds me, it’s about time for a new one.

• They’ve got my posts filed under my name, so if you’re suffering from insomnia and want to read them all, here you go: http://www.thecleanestline.com/kelly-cordes/

Hey, anybody ever see that Onion headline a few years back: Internet Outage Sends Nation Into Spurt of Productivity. Well, for all four of you who read my blog, so long as we don’t suffer an internet outage I’ll do my best to try to keep distracting you – if not here, then at least over at www.thecleanestline.com. Not that I’m trying to diminish productivity and bring you down to my level, no, no – I’m just all about spreading the love. It’s not me, it’s you.

Here I’d been thinking that I had nothing to write. And then I fell on my face and head. Yes, leave it to me to make the safest climbing possible – overhanging sport climbing – as dangerous as possible. Was at Wizard’s Gate, with my friends Quinn and Wes, was feeling good – all of us were climbing well. Anyway, I jumped on a hard (for us) sport route, and at the steepest part I pitched off, and my body was fairly horizontal but I think my foot stayed on the hold just a little longer, thus launching me into a back flip, and somehow along the way the rope spun me and I swung back into the wall head-first. Smashed my head and face, blood dripping into space, gnarly. Fortunately my neck is fine and I didn’t fracture my skull.

Really, I felt fine. I lowered, Wes put a sweatshirt on my head and we walked out, freaking people out on the trail, and thought about just going to the bar – fuck it. But we went to the ER first, good thing – 13 staples in my head and 14 stitches in my face and mouth. Just what I need – I got uglier.

I was not wearing a helmet. I’d been getting complacent when cragging on good rock – stupid, yes. But maybe not? I have no problem attributing blame to myself, for sure, but overhanging sport climbing without a helmet, on good rock, must be the single safest form of climbing. I’ll bet the “if you’d have worn a helmet” thing is, maybe, what? one in 10,000 with this scenario? Seriously, just stay inside. No, for real, stay on the couch and watch TV. Nothing will hurt you there. Then again, had I broken my skull or neck (though the helmet wouldn’t have likely prevented a neck injury anyway), that one case would’ve been catastrophic. Makes me shudder to think about. Just like if my rope would have cut and killed me – also extremely rare – I’d have wished I’d been climbing on double 11mm ropes. I don’t want to be defensive, but I also hate how anytime there’s an accident, every douchebag in the universe tries to jump to one single thing that would magically be the panacea for all evils, accidents, and tragedies in the universe (and such reactions often seem suspiciously close to the shallow self-justification of “Well, you wouldn’t catch me don’t that” – yes, you’re right, we wouldn’t, because you were inside on the couch). It’s weird, like, sure, a helmet would’ve helped some. I almost surely wouldn’t have the staples in my head (the least of my worries…), but would probably still have the gnarled-up face. So, IF I had worn a helmet, it’d have helped. Yet IF I didn’t have such a thick skull – who’d have thought it’d such an advantage? – I’d have been fucked. Better: IF I’d have been a better climber I wouldn’t have fallen. I’ve got more to say about all this, and I might ramble-on about it later.

For now, I will say that, in thinking about why I don’t always wear a helmet (aside from the bigger picture of thinking about times where it’s really not needed – like, almost always on overhanging sport climbs), a lot of it comes down to comfort. Wearing a helmet sport climbing feels cumbersome, as would climbing with double 11mm ropes. A new, wussy modern phenomenon? Ha! Get a clue. Half the old-schoolers never wore helmets even in the alpine because they weighed more than three days’ food. We base a lot of things on comfort. We don’t want to make things such a hassle that it removes some of the aesthetic feeling we love from these activities, even things like sport climbing (oh no, am I about to lose my alpine merit badge by saying this?). That’s why the dudes spouting “You always [insert helmet or whatever the ‘rule’]….” are poseurs, and they always have been, and they always will be, because anybody who’s been around knows that “you always” doesn’t exist. Situations vary.

My new helmet: Trango Skull Cap.

So, here’s my pitch for super light, low-bulk helmets. Because you’re more likely to wear them. I have a Petzl Meteor 2, but it’s significantly bulkier than their original one, and I don’t wear it that often. Pathetic of me, I know. I also know of zero people who’ve had head injuries from leading sport routes without a helmet. So forgive me. And, still, it damned near happened to me. Allow my dumb ass to provide the example: If it’s light enough, and low-bulk enough, maybe I’ll wear it. Just for those outlier instances – like last Tuesday. I’m glad it wasn’t worse, I’m glad I’m not drooling on myself, and I’m glad to get back out there doing what I love. Thank you, Malcolm Daly – a longtime pal and badass climber, who works at Trango – for the helmet. It weighs nothing and it’s super low-bulk. I’m hoping it’ll help keep me going, loving life, for as long as I can do it. Thank you, too, more immediately, to Wes and Quinn for taking such good care of me last Tuesday.

The QuinnWes Shake:

Wes and Quinn at Wizard's Gate.

After I splatted, Quinn and Wes not only remained cool and careful, ensuring I was safe on the way out, but they also hung with me in the hospital and then at home – they made the below spiked milkshakes and even stayed the night, just to be sure I didn’t have a closed head injury that’d show later (highly improbable, but the doc said it wasn’t a bad idea to have someone stay with me just to be sure). A few times throughout the night, Wes even got up and came to check on me. Thank you. I’m grateful for my friends. I wasn’t allowed to eat solid foods at first, due to the cuts inside my lip. So, the margarita and milkshake diet – doctor’s orders.

Now it’s Monday. Margarita Monday at the Cordes cabin. But for the rest of the un-acclimatized margarita world, perhaps something a little softer might be good – you know, ease into the work week. Softer can be good, like when you bust your face and head open. Thus:

Shake #1:

Bailey’s Irish Crème liquor (creamy, beige…)

Strawberries

Bananas

Vanilla ice cream

A little water (or more Bailey’s)

Shake #2:

Same stuff as above, add or subtract what you will. Instead of Bailey’s, use Disaronno (an Italian amaretto liquor)

Mash it up in the blender. It’s a delicious, refreshing, summertime drink. Drink. Get up the next day and do what you love. Think about whether or not to wear a helmet.

My god was I lazy yesterday. And all week. Never one to rest on my laurels, today I pushed it and went even lazier. Perhaps even challenging The Dude himself in the running for laziest man worldwide. Today I fell asleep mid-day with Motörhead blasting in my headphones. Now that’s lazy. Or maybe it indicates that I’m really really tired, from such a stressful week? Yeah…

Much like alpine climbers who stop wherever they feel like it and try to claim a completed route – the “modern ascent,” “new bail,” or proverbial “end of the difficulties” – I’m looking for a justification for my failure.

I came up with three possibilities:

1. I inexplicably ceased margarita consumption for the last several nights. Likely a record of some sort. It’s not even that I’m trying to cut back – after all, nobody likes a quitter – but I just haven’t felt like drinking. Weird, likely a shock to my system, but some things defy logic, like crop circles, curling as an Olympic sport, and Dolly Parton’s titties.

2. Did my biggest gimpy hike yet earlier this week – to Sky Pond and back, which is 9 or 10 miles round trip. My awesome PT, Jeff Giddings, had encouraged me to push myself a little and see how it felt. Everything I’d been doing had been feeling great, so leave it to me to then overdo it. Made good time on the way up (decent gimpy time, that is – I used to do personal trail-run time-trials there, damnit), but took twice as long coming out, and was hobbling pretty hard by the time I returned to the parking lot. It was a little much just yet. OK, now I know.

By the way, anybody notice that the farther you get from the trailhead, the cooler the people (usually)? It baffles me that people can be so rude in such a spectacular place. Must be an indication as to how unhappy they are, but I wish they wouldn’t be such dickheads. “Excuse me, comin’ thru!” with a big smile and a “How’s it goin’?” too often results in a scowl and an unwillingness to clear the trail. I’d think they’re just offended that a dorky gimp is passing them, except it used to also happen when I’d run the trails. I don’t get it. In the past, it used to so annoy me that I’ve come soooo close to lowering my shoulder into someone (the thought then makes me laugh, and I go back to enjoying myself), but I’m kinder and gentler now. It probably especially annoys me because I go to places like this to escape people like that. I know, I should feel sorry for them and rise above it. But I’m still not ruling out the shoulder check option. Namaste.

3. I sent my stupid little “proj” last weekend. This, in my temporary new life as a sport climber, perhaps justifies my subsequent laziness. At least I’m not as lazy as Josh Wharton (he might try to defend himself with “Ohhh, but I have a broken back and wrist,” but buck up dude!). Josh and Erinn, his wife, just moved to Estes and, more importantly, they got cable TV. I always did like them. This project of mine is a whopping 70 feet or so, probably easier than Scotty D and I think it is, and is one of three lines up by some crag we got lost trying to find and that we know absolutely nothing about. Don’t even know the names or ratings of the routes, just that this line was the hardest of the three (via its direct variation, anyway – there’s a JV way around the hard part). Neither of us could onsight it on our first few tries. Several days prior, I flailed again, Scotty sent, and then I broke off a key hold off, making it harder. So, I maintained, Scotty hadn’t really done it. Nor had Wharton. Thus, clearly, I needed to send.

Erinn and Josh, on their merry way to the crag (me: "I think it's this way...yeah, yeah, I've been here before, I swear").

Last weekend I called up Josh: “Hey dude, how’s the back? Yeahyeah, anyway, can you belay yet? No? Oh. Uhhh, say, what’s Erinn up to today?”

The long-suffering Miss Erinn had probably thought she got some respite from belay duty, what with Josh in the Stormtrooper suit, but hey, what are friends for? I’m classy like that. Here’s the damnedest thing: Erinn says she likes belaying. Finds it relaxing (every climber guy just said, in unison: Duuuuude, does Josh know how lucky he is?!). She’s an elementary school teacher, meaning she deals with chaos all day every day, and so she says it’s peaceful to simply be in a beautiful place with her husband (or her husband’s deadbeat friend…so I hope), enjoying the surroundings. No shit. How cool. And somehow, I felt good climbing that day, too – maybe it rubbed off. Namaste.

**

That Motörhead video I linked to, up top, is so good I’m embedding it. Quite possibly the best ever metal song — or whatever genre you call it — fuck it, as Lemmy himself is known to say, “We are Motörhead. We play rock and roll.”

This post is about safety. I know, WTF? (Boooorrring!) But there’s a first time for everything, and contrary to all indications otherwise, especially given my banter about Disaster Style, sometimes I try to be smart. It’s not always easy, what with my low IQ and all, but Disaster Style is all about living. By trying to be smart, and stacking the odds in our favor when doing such life-affirming things as climbing, it’s simple: we stick around long enough to keep doing it. Helluva deal. Along those lines, let’s get to it: slings. Excellent recent info from DMM (video here; article here), with test results from climbing slings, warrants examination.

The key with this sort of data, in my mind, is this: How does it apply to the real world? One could be forgiven for looking at a chart of numbers, and videos from industrial drop towers, and tuning out. I see two major factors from their tests, confirming what we already know:

* Elasticity – huge difference between nylon and Dyneema slings – as noted by the guy in the video (Graham “Streaky” Desroy, I’m told), a typical leader fall might only generate 4–7 kN. That’s with a climbing rope, which stretches to absorb and distribute impact. But even a very short fall with something more static can generate catastrophic impact forces. Dyneema stretches about as much as a steel chain. Nylon stretches more. This doesn’t mean to avoid Dyneema slings, as they’re great in many ways. It means be aware of the situation and application.

* Shock Loading – pretty much always a bad thing. It receives a lot of attention with anchors, with many considerations about the best setup regarding equalization and shock-loading (summary: trying to pre-equalize and tie-off an anchor rarely achieves true equalization, so if one piece fails, the others get a shock-load anyway; sliding-X type configurations are less likely to fail in the first place; bomber pieces are the most important in any anchor). Yet we shock-load gear when we take leader falls, and pieces rarely blow-out. Why? See above – elasticity of a climbing rope. Put this info together, and you see that static shock loading – like falling directly (no rope between) onto a sling equals disaster.

Note that DMM’s drops were done directly onto the slings – no climbing rope attached. The dynamic properties of a climbing rope save our asses. So, when would these tests apply? When you’re clipped-in directly to a piece of gear or your anchor, like using a sling as a daisy chain at belays (or simply using a daisy chain; the results here would seem to apply). For example, if you’re clipped-in with a 60cm sling (thus 30cm long, since it’s a loop), if it’s not taught, like you’re standing on a horizontal ledge, it could dip just 15cm (about 6 inches) down and back up to you, and so if you fall off the ledge you’re taking a factor-one fall onto a static piece — check out the forces. That’s a direct free-fall, but wow. Enough to break a piece of gear, possibly the sling, and your body. Yikes.

Take-home message: don’t clip-in directly with a Spectra or Dyneema sling and jump off the ledge. Duh. Sometimes, though, we might slip off the belay ledge, or climb above the anchor to mess with something above (like adjust the top piece of the anchor) and easily slip and shock-load.

For protection pieces? I don’t see this as any reason to ditch your low-bulk, lightweight Dyneema slings and draws, because you’re clipping the rope – the greatest shock-absorber in the system – into the sling/protection piece. I’ve long carried one or two nylon quick draws or runners on my rack, though, for the very purpose of minimizing impact force on a sketchy piece or my first piece off the belay (when your impact force from a fall would be much greater, due to less rope out). Seems a negligible contribution to rack weight, and maybe just a tiny bit of extra saftey. I figure I do enough stupid shit already, and so, when I can, I should stack the odds in my favor.

Interesting side note: In DMM’s drop tests, a knot in the Dyneema sling greatly weakened the sling, of course (we’ve all long known that the bends of knots make any material weaker than when straight/unknotted), and it snapped like a twig in the drop, breaking at about half the force of the unknotted sling. The nylon sling also recorded a lower force, but – but but but – the sling didn’t break. Huh? Yeah, it actually reduced impact force, without the sling breaking, in one of the tests. How? Most likely due to nylon’s elasticity allowing the knot to act as a shock absorber, dispersing the force, making it less of the sudden shock-loading, catastrophic jolt that snapped the Dyneema sling. Whew, the mind spins a bit.

It’s tempting to simplify, but I don’t think that these tests indicate any need to stop using lightweight gear, like Dyneema slings. Dyneema slings have superior abrasion resistance and, at least unknotted, are much stronger than nylon, and they absorb less water. Only idiots take a single piece of information (“that sling broke at XXkN!”) that’s part of a complex system and jump to a rash conclusion.

So, more take-home points? I’m no rocket surgeon, so don’t listen to me, but here’s what I figure:

* “Having slack in the system is bad news,” as Streaky says. Keep in mind that we’re particularly talking slack with a static system here – slings, particularly Dyneema slings. No rope incorporated. Clip-in with the climbing rope, and you’re fine.

* Don’t tie knots in Dyneema slings if they can be shock-loaded. They’re too static, it makes them snap. They’re fine at their regular length, though (so long as you don’t shock load them without a rope involved). What about Dyneema slings knotted for an anchor? I don’t know, good question. We’ve always known to avoid shock-loading anchors anyway, but this becomes especially pertinent.

* Shock loading something static is bad news (again). A very short fall can generate deadly force in a static system – just a couple of feet, like imagine you’re standing on a higher ledge, clipped-in directly to the anchor with a Dyneema sling, and your foot slips and you shock-load the anchor. Especially if you had a knot, maybe for length adjustment, in your Dyneema sling. See-ya! Even if you’re backed-up with the rope, the force you’d generate is likely enough to cause you internal injuries.

If I were to distill it all to a single useful point: if there is any risk at all of your shock-loading your piece or anchor, use the climbing rope – not a sling – to anchor yourself in. It’s usually simplest and fastest anyway. Reach the anchor and clip-in with the rope – usually a clove-hitch to the power point or a single bomber piece that’s connected to everything else (always thinking “what if this were to fail?”). Related point: when clipped-in directly to a bolt or piece of gear, only hang on it. If you’re going to boulder-up and work a move (shock-load risk), be sure you’re on the rope, not directly in with a sling or draw.

A crucial thought, along the lines of crucial general thinking: “What if this were to fail?” The associated question, of course, is “what is the likelihood of this failing?” If I’m at a hanging belay, and on hard terrain where a fall is more likely, I’ll be more vigilant with how I clip-in, and with backups. If I’m on an enormous ledge, one where a lighting strike wouldn’t knock me down the face, sometimes I won’t sweat being unroped (or I’ll at least allow myself a bunch of slack in my tie-in point). Just like how I don’t wear my seatbelt when I’m sitting on the couch, watching Cops every night.

OK, I’ve repeatedly repeated myself enough already. Use the gear correctly, with some thought, and you can go lighter safely – it all adds up, as grams become ounces become pounds. Just remember to think – problem solving is part of what we love about climbing. Going lighter means going faster, which means more climbing in a day, which means the day ends with time for margaritas. Really, it’s all about the margs.

Are the days gone where anybody mans-the-fuck-up and apologizes? I’m talking a real apology, not one of these politician apologies (I’m sorry if anyone misconstrued my construed intent…). Does anyone anymore just say, “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I messed up, I won’t do it again, and here, please, let me try to fix it.”

The magnificent Cerro Torre. The Compressor Route roughly takes the spine along the upper half of the spire (starting off to the right), visible in the center of the photo.

Another Cerro Torre controversy. What is it about that spire? If fantasies build any peak, they make Cerro Torre. It is beautiful, hostile, otherworldly. Were it not for its bolt-ladder Compressor Route, with its sordid history, it would surely be the most difficult spire in the world. It attracts not only the obsessed, but also the crazies. And now, the commerce-hungry corporate-funded junkshow. Sure, in many ways it already has been commercialized, as photos, film and stories from Cerro Torre have inspired so many of us. But where to draw the line? How badly does its incomprehensible beauty and inhospitable nature clash with our hubris? Especially when someone’s willing to trash it to make a commercial.

In a nutshell, 19 year-old rock climbing phenom (mostly sport and competition climbing) David Lama, from Austria, and heavily sponsored by Red Bull energy drink, wanted to free the Compressor Route on Cerro Torre. Red Bull hugely pimped it up, complete with big talk from Lama, like:

“Back in the days of old school mountaineering only conquering the peak was important – not so much how this goal was reached.”

“Cesare Maestri, who made the first ascent in 1970, left an entire highway of bolts and pitons in the mountain’s south-east face, which has nothing to do with today’s climbing ethics.”

“Daniel and myself will be carrying all of our stuff into the park and out again. Transport flights are forbidden, but it’s not in our interest to leave any traces anyway.”

OK, whatever. Lama and team (film crew with guides, etc) got pretty much nowhere in their three-month expedition. But what they blatantly omitted reporting was that they fixed 700 meters of rope and abandoned them. Subsequent people had to clean what they could of the mess. They also added 60 bolts (they claim less, like 30, but that hardly matters) to the already most overbolted route in the world. Since the route went up 40 years ago, it’s been climbed likely more than a hundred times, attempted far more, and all without the addition of another bolt – until these clowns showed up. Basically, they built a ton of hype, brought in their movie crew, trashed the place, and left.

Back on May 6, on Red Bull’s Lama-hype page entitled “A Snowball’s Chance in Hell,” about Lama’s plans, I posted a comment. At the time, there were only three other comments, all fanboy type stuff. I asked some questions about their mess, as I’d heard of it from rock-solid sources, and I also emailed Red Bull. On June 10 I got a reply, a canned response that they sent to others:

From: Red Bull <consumer.information@us.redbull.com>

Date: June 10, 2010 12:35:05 PM MDT

To: “kellyaaj@gmail.com” <kellyaaj@gmail.com>

Subject: David Lama’s free climb

Hi Kelly,

The Red Bull Media House is producing a film featuring David Lama’s attempt to free climb the compressor route on Cerro Torre. Due to bad weather, the production had to be stopped and is currently on hold waiting for the next Patagonian summer.

Red Bull takes the protection of nature and the safety of human lives very seriously and has a long history in producing high quality productions in extreme circumstances and exposed areas. The entire shoulder and wall has been cleaned of our — and older — material which was found. Only one haul bag and 30 bolts, which had do be used due to falling ice and to protect the main climbing route, has been left. Every step of the whole endeavor was planned and executed in close accordance with the local administration of  Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. After completion of the project, everything will be removed.

Have a soaring day,

Emily

Red Bull

Word got out, and scores of outraged comments appeared on Red Bull’s site (it’s now up to 83 comments, almost all condemning Red Bull and Lama, many harshly so, and many from Argentina – though Red Bull has also deleted many comments). Argentine climbers started a Facebook page, “RED BULL, CLEAN UP THE MESS LEFT BY DAVID LAMA IN PATAGONIA!” that has 362 members and growing.

Lama posted a similarly lame comment as Red Bull’s email reply (above), clearly showing that he doesn’t get it. He and Red Bull miss the point completely – it’s not just about the park’s rules. Lama and Red Bull sound like they should be working for British Petroleum. Of course some extra metal on the world’s most beautiful spire isn’t as damaging as the BP oil spill disaster, but we should care about the things we love. Otherwise, if we play the “it’s not as important as…” game, why not just throw your garbage out the window?

For what it’s worth – not much, I’m sure – I replied to Red Bull:

From: “Kelly Cordes (AAJ)” <kellyaaj@gmail.com>

Date: June 22, 2010 10:35:00 PM MDT

To: Red Bull <consumer.information@us.redbull.com>

Subject: Re: David Lama’s free climb

Hi Emily,

Thank you for the email, but you sound like you should be working for BP. Just because it may have been “legal” doesn’t make it right — that’s the disappointing thing here, is that Red Bull is so woefully out of touch with the climbing world that you/RB simply don’t get it. Lama, while obviously a phenomenal climber in his specific genre, clearly doesn’t get it either. Imagine if someone went to the Alps and trashed one of the most iconic routes there? It would be legal, sure, but it wouldn’t be right. And you all did this for one reason — commerce. How lame.

Others have come before you and produced terrific media in Patagonia, and specifically on Cerro Torre, without trashing the place. Dozens, if not hundreds, of climbers have bailed off Cerro Torre in far more extreme circumstances and exposed areas than your RB team encountered.

I, and all climbers, sincerely hope you do remove everything, as you say you will. But based on the team’s utter failure to clean up after themselves last time — and after what, three months? — I think you’ve got a lot to prove.

How can you not see that you (RB) screwed up? Seriously? Instead of the BP tactics, perhaps you should consider actually apologizing to the climbing world — a real apology, not a B.S. “I’m sorry if the climbing world misconstrued our Cerro Torre soaring day intentions…”, and not only cleaning up, but doing something extra for the area and local conservation efforts. Maybe help with some trail building or one of the other projects going on down there. I’m sure that your marketing department could even figure out a way to gain publicity from it. It’s not required, of course, but it would be the right thing to do. Something to think about.

Best wishes,

Kelly

—

Kelly Cordes

Senior Editor

American Alpine Journal

*

Colin Haley descending the Compressor Route after climbing Cerro Torre via another route.

At least Maestri was an obsessed maniac, wrong but deeply passionate. For those who don’t know, in 1970–71, Cesare Maestri fixed thousands of feet of ropes and placed some 450 bolts, solo, while hauling up a gas-powered compressor, in his attempt to “conquer” Cerro Torre. He littered bolts near perfectly good cracks and used them deliberately to avoid natural features via extensive bolt ladders. His assault was largely the impetus behind Messner’s classic diatribe The Murder of the Impossible. For a fascinating, impeccably researched article on Maestri and Cerro Torre, check out Rolando Garibotti’s article from the AAJ 2004, A Mountain Unveiled (free download here). But Red Bull and Lama? What’s their excuse? They trashed the place to help sell their fucking energy drink.

And they can’t even apologize – really apologize, not a politician’s apology – and do something to right their wrong? Maybe they will. I hear they’re working on it. We’ll see – the expedition happened last winter and now it’s late June – just how many meetings with their spin doctors does it take to come out and say “We screwed up, and we’ll fix it”? It’s both Red Bull and Lama’s mess – they’d both reap the rewards if they’d have succeeded, and they need to take responsibility for their mess.

Thing is, commerce and marketing can exist in the mountains. Fine, insert puking sound here, but I’m not going to give it a blanket condemnation because, as with most things, it exists on a spectrum. So, what’s commerce? Taking a camera? What if you don’t sell any of your photos, though? OK, but what if you had hoped to sell some, but your photos just sucked? Did you write an article? (Sellout!) Did you tell anyone? Commerce and marketing can be, often are, extensions of storytelling. I love good storytelling. It doesn’t have to be a rape-and-pillage Red Bull junkshow. My friend Rolo Garibotti, unquestionably the single greatest authority and historian on Patagonia climbing, and unquestionably one of Patagonia’s greatest climbers (and he’s still in his prime…), reminded me of some examples that show stark contrast to the Red Bull fiasco, such as Werner Herzog and crew making a film on the Compressor Route without adding bolts; the phenomenal imagery of professional photographer and climber Thomas Ulrich from his climb of the route, and also of the West Face; and, as Rolo wrote: “In 1985 Fulvio Mariani made one of the best climbing movies of all time when he filmed Cumbre, documenting Marco Pedrini’s solo ascent of Cerro Torre. They did so fixing three ropes, and nothing more, without placing a single piece of fixed pro. Obviously, as Lama and his entourage prove, there has been a big regression since then.”

In the end, the unfortunate reality is that this probably won’t hurt Red Bull or Lama, and they’ll learn no lessons, they’ll go straight back to their bullshit, and they’ll keep selling their adrenalized cough syrup not to the climbers that they use for marketing and whom they disrespect by actions like this, but to frat boys and hipster douchebags slamming it with vodka. Ahhh yes, guys, have a soaring day.

*

Back in 2000, Christian Beckwith, then-editor of the AAJ, commissioned an interesting article, Commercialization and Modern Climbing, with three authors (Will Gadd, Steve House, and the great Russian alpinist Pavel Shabalin) expressing their views.

Shabalin’s piece, appropriately titled Barbie in the Mountains, had one of my all-time favorite passages:

“Alpinism was exceptional and sacred because it was closed to the masses. And now it finds itself in the same historical situation as is love. When love was poetry, it was exceptional and sacred. When mass media put love in TV and magazines, it became pornography.”

It doesn’t have to be that way, of course, as sharing gives us inspiration. Art inspires. Mountains, nature, poetry. Respect. I suppose we all draw our own lines between love and pornography. And for Red Bull and David Lama, at least in the case of Cerro Torre, it seems clear where they drew theirs.

This rambling post has practically nothing to do with climbing. It’s about babies, raising babies, and the whole idea of web media. Huh? Yeah, stuff that I know nearly nothing about, but that hasn’t stopped me before.

Hard to believe, but we have some talent in my family – my sister, Jill is a TV host. And she’s now asking me to pimp out her new show, My First Baby, on my blog (despite my blog not exactly being her core demographic). She isn’t as old, nor as washed up, as me, and has had a couple of shows that apparently did well (I didn’t have a TV, so couldn’t watch), like “The Best Of” on the Food Network, and “My First Place” on HGTV. She was even on Oprah one time – no shit. Go figure. It seems clear who among us got the looks and the personality. But that’s OK, I like living alone in a shack and relishing my shocking lack of social skills.

Her new show might not be for everyone reading this blog (all four of you), but it probably applies to most people at some point – hell, even cockroaches have kids, and most of us will someday spawn. In most ways it’s way more important than climbing. In other ways, no way, dude, like, I’m working on this project – it’s sick, dude, SICK! – and it’s soooo radgnar, like, you grab this one hold with your left hand and then you go like this and then… The individuality of it all – one of the cool things about life and passion, no?

Scotty (L) and me back in base camp after Huntington, booze running low, but heading out -- just for the Halibut.

I did have my chance at television, once. And, of course, I blew it. After mine and Scotty’s 2001 trip, where we got a bunch of good climbing in on Thunder Mountain and Mt. Huntington, I came out of the range starving and thirsty – we’d run out of booze. It just so happened that Jill had a Best Of shoot in Talkeetna, and after my annoying, “C’mon, let me come. I’m good on camera. C’mon. I’m your brother. C’mon, I’m hungry,” she relented and I got invited on the shoot as “talent.” Who’d have thought? We flew onto a glacier with a gourmet cook, the film crew, my dad, me, and my sis. Only I couldn’t help but crack jokes that seemed funny to me. As we ate fresh grilled Halibut, Jill’s going on with her TV thing:

“And! [insert perky face here] this is just delicious fish! What do you think, dad?”

My dad: “Mmmm, absolutely delicious!”

“Kel?” [Jill turns perky face to me, I quit gazing at possible lines in the nearby mountains and snap-to]:

“Oh. Uh. Yeah! Sure is great! In fact, I’d eat this just for the HELL-i-but!”

Get it? Hellibut? Like Halibut? Get it? OK, not so funny. But I thought so.

“CUT!” yells the director.

“Kelly, you’re ruining the shoot!”

“But I’d eat this just for the Hellibut, Jill, I swear!”

Later, Jill and dad are talking, I’m back to my best behavior, I sip my champagne and lean back in my chair – ever lean back in a chair in soft snow? Ya can’t lean back too far, because the back end digs in and you tip over.

CUT!

Jill was pissed. It was an honest accident, but I was fucking up the shoot. At least the camera guys thought it was funny.

After dusting off the snow, I’m back at it, feeling a little bad now and so I’m hitting the champagne hard. Jill and dad resume talking, cameras rolling, super sweet table set up on the glacier, good stuff. I’m out of champagne, though, and notice that Jill still has some and she won’t notice; she’s talking to dad. So I subtly (need to be subtle; the cameras are rolling, after all) reach over and take hers. The director: CUT!

Off-set and looking good. My sis dealing with a flat tire. Just for the halibut.

OK, so I don’t have a career in TV. But TV is dying in its current form anyway, says I, the guy with no channels and no clue (ever since the heartless bastards turned off my cable a couple of years back, I’ve shunned TV, aside from watching Ultimate Fighting at friends’ houses – I’m so far behind that I’m ahead of the curve…). Everything will be on the interwebs soon. It’s all ball bearings these days.

This is a good thing, as it spares my sister the indignation of selling gadgets on late-night infomercials as she gets older and more washed-up, and spares me the embarrassment of having a deadbeat sister.

It’s cool to see how media is shifting. The openness of it all does, of course, lead to the endless drivel spawned on youtube and climbing forums worldwide, and if I am forced to ever again click a video of watching paint dry some shirtless dillweed slapping an arete on a three-foot-tall boulder problem over, and over, and freakin’ over, to a thumping techno soundtrack blended with his retarded screams, I think I’ll….well, I guess I just won’t click it again. The talented, on the other hand, figure out cool ways to make it work. Storytelling is part of our DNA. Witness things like:

•Vertical Carnival (the one about Yuji Hirayama is my favorite – fully worth checking out)

•BD’s site (full of great gear testing info and updates from their athletes; fancy site sometimes slow and clunky though)

•Dirtbag Diaries (podcasts – great storytelling, you create the visuals yourself, which I love – engaging)

•Tin Shed (watch the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc one, soooo awesome and inspiring)

•The Season (really cool show that followed a handful of athletes through their season)

•The Cleanest Line (Patagonia’s award-winning company blog, not just sport-centered, thus especially rad, though stay tuned for some cool additions coming soon…)

And, of course, My First Baby. Short episodes with all kinds of pointers and shared stories for, and about, first-time parents. Something I know nothing about, but, still, a pretty bitchen idea. Granted, my sister is paying me in tequila to say that, so do with the info what you want. It’s certainly no less entertaining than watching some Neanderthal slap a stupid piece of rock while screaming…