Just returned from a great weekend in Joshua Tree – not much personal climbing, but that’s OK. Sometimes it’s not about that.

The Friends of Joshua Tree puts on this cool little event, and Patagonia sent me to teach clinics and do a slide show, ironic as it may seem since the event is named “Climb Smart.” Midway through my show, it struck me that all of my best stories – the ones you naturally tell when giving a show – have very little to do with being smart. For the clinics, though, I tried my best to help and to teach, and I brought my A-game safety-wise, which I can do – after all, I’m the guy who Josh Wharton accused of “AMGA-ing the anchors” on Shingu Charpa. (“Sorry dude,” I remember saying early on the climb, “I’ll make ‘em sketchier and faster” – he was right…)

The coolest things about these events are the passionate beginners. Un-jaded and ego-less, eyes wide open, trying their hardest. Everything new, the opportunities unlimited – it’s the beauty of the beginner’s mind. I love it when people have personal breakthroughs, those “Aha!” moments. Such moments are universal, no? We all have them at our individual levels in our individual pursuits, and someone else usually helps us. Remember some of yours? What have they been?

Takashi and Mike at J-Tree

A young man named Takashi came to the J-Tree event – it was his second time climbing outdoors (his first was at last year’s Climb Smart). He’s polite and quiet, smiles a lot, and has a thick Japanese accent that’s stuck with him since immigrating to the U.S. 12 years ago. And he’s game. I think he took all six clinics over the weekend. Many others skipped out, taking breaks to head for the shade – understandable, as it was unseasonably hot and all of the clinic climbs roasted in the sun. Takashi kept smiling, sweating bullets, and kept climbing. The last clinic of the weekend was a bouldering clinic, put on by an awesome guy named Mike Duncan from Black Diamond. Takashi took Mike’s clinic last year, too, and kept trying a particular boulder problem, but he never got it. This year he tried again, with Mike’s coaching, and then he tried some more. Still, no dice. Hot, sweltering rock, and the end of a big weekend. Late in the day, everyone else had packed-up and left. Takashi, seemingly reserved by nature, thanked Mike for his time and politely retreated. Except Mike would have none of it, insisting that Takashi try again. One more try. And so Takashi smiled, gently nodded his head, and took a big breath. He dipped into his chalk bag, stepped onto the rock, and tried his hardest. “C’mon, Takashi, you can do it,” Mike whispered. Mike cheered as Takashi stuck the crux hold and topped out. As the afternoon sun baked the Joshua Tree landscape, Takashi stood atop the boulder, pumping his fists into the desert air and smiling to the sky.

The New Yorker recently ran a painfully funny satirical piece about social media and publishing in the modern age. Yes, it’s mayhem. Time to jump on board. So, I got my Facebook going (hate to admit it, but it’s addictive) and even Twitter (no idea how to use it). Not that chaos is anything new. Reminds me of going climbing, actually, especially the early days back in Missoula, when we knew nothing and threw ourselves at everything. Nobody epitomized the ideal better than The Chief, and somehow I keep returning to a trip we made to the Canadian Rockies…

His dented, pea-green hatchback with its plexiglass side window sped way too fast into the Canadian border patrol station. The interrogation began immediately. No “hello,” no “where you going,” nothing. First words:

“When was the last time you smoked pot?” the woman cop in the booth asked The Chief.

The twitchy redhead, with his scraggly, unkempt beard, long hair and tattered clothes snapped his head to the side.

“Oh, dude. Like, years, man. Years!”

The Chief back at the High-Speed Pod after an epic ascent, and bumbling descent, of the north face of Mt. Edith Cavell, ca 1996.

God damnit, Chief, I thought, burying my head in my hands.

“Please pull into the port on your left, sir.”

The Chief’s continued, incessant chatter answered the search-guard’s questions before he finished asking them (yes, The Chief had been through this before). The dirty-sock stench wafting from the gear-pile trainwreck in the back of the small car elicited only a sigh. The search cop’s head hurt from the Chief’s ongoing barrage. He just wanted it to stop.

“Well, I guess you’d have to be pretty stupid to bring anything across, eh?” said the guard.

“Yeah, that’s right, man, I mean, look at me! Dude, like, you don’t think I get searched every time I come up here? And another thing—”

“—OK, ok, enough, just…stop. Yeah, eh, so…just be on your way.”

We hopped in the High-Speed Pod and sped up the Icefields Parkway, The Chief not missing a beat.

“See, that was my plan – hey, grab me another beer, will ya? – I knew that he was going to ask about…” and on, and on, and on.

Johnny Cash bellowed through the speakers, competing with our prattle over climbing objectives and the regular sound of cheap beers popping open (this was back when we were all stupider than we are now). We sped north, trying to decide.

A-strain? Exit pitch missing.

GCC? Too big, too far.

Humble Horse? Wait, which one’s Diadem?

Edith Cavell? A 4,000-foot north face, only 5.7. Plus, the guidebook said something like, “A competent party can climb the face comfortably in a day, given an early start from the parking lot.” Competent, early…sounded like us.

We rolled in to the trailhead in the dark and drizzle, low clouds obscuring the face. We set the alarm for 3 a.m., woke at 4:30, stumbled toward the face and promptly got lost. Thirty hours later we were still lost.

And so it continues. When I feel like it, and maybe sometimes when I don’t, I’ll post stories, rants, and random thoughts. Like it or not, the world is changing, no? But maybe some things never do.