Month: December 2016

Saturday, 10th December 2017

Early mornings are always fun, with the city still drunkenly asleep. Streets are deserted and alight with the dull orange glow of pre-dawn. At 5AM my alarm goes off, I shower and shuffle the last of my gear together. Sipping industrial strength coffee I cooked a simple breakfast and set off into the damp darkness. Meeting up with the others, we had more room than expected, so we picked up my bike and set off at 6:30AM for Scotland.

It was a good drive, spaciously seated in a van with Rosa, Eben, Adam, Ed, and myself.  While drifting in and out of sleep we journeyed ever Northward, jamming to a mixture of good music. We arrived at 7PM, and settled into Nethy Station, a great bunkhouse in Nethy Bridge, Scotland, near the Northern border of the Cairngorms National Park. It has multiple rooms lined with comfortable bunks, fully stocked kitchen, drying room, plenty of bathrooms (with showers), games, TV, and more. We settled in, made some plans with our guide Graeme Ettle before retreating to the comforts of our bunks.

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Sunday, 11th December 2017

6:30AM Alarms erupt from bunks

7:00AM shoddy breakfast on sad gluten free bread

8:00AM HYPE HYPE FIRST DAY IN SCOTLAND. Guide is here, and we’re rolling out for Glenmore Forest Park, to work on basic navigation skills. The mountains were beautiful, with towering golden peaks emerging from a spattering of bogs, lakes, waterfalls, and rock screes. In the hills surrounding us, lonely patches of snow cling onto the north facing slopes, teasing us of the possibilities of Scottish summer. Normally at this time, there’s ice everywhere, snow piled high for the joy of all adventurers. Without snow, we can’t do our winter climbing, the exact thing we had gone there to do. So, instead of climbing, we turned to basic skills of navigation.

Graeme led us around the hills, instructing us on bearing, pacing, timing, map projection, ect. We did micro and macro navigation around Ryvoan bothy, and circled Craeg nan Gall. Despite having no snow, it was a great day that reinforced essential outdoor skills and introduced me to the physically demanding landscape of the highlands.

After a full day of going off path (Scotland has right to roam, you don’t use trails!), and sucking boots through bogs, creeks, rock slopes, and heather, we enjoyed a large chili dinner, before piling into a cuddle-puddle of Planet Earth II amazingness. Sleep followed.

Monday, 12th December 2017

5:30AM ALARMS BLARE CHILDREN CRY AND MOTHERS WEEP

6:30AM Steve, Leo, Jim, Eben, and I load up and set out to East Ridge, Beinn a’Chaorainn. It’s a lovely time of morning as our van glides through the asleep wilderness. With headlamps on and fierce caffeine driven determination our party sets off through the bog. We follow a small creek, alerted to the presence of waterfalls by sound alone. Birds begin to chirp as the squidge of our boots in Scottish peat remains a constant beat. In a movement both sudden and unnoticeably small, light pours into the valley as we stand in a field, stripping to base layers in the warm morning light. We set on upwards and trace out way around a forest patch, cursing and panting as the dense brush pulls at our legs (remember, no trails in Scotland). We make our way to the ridge, and look upward to its arched spine. After a brief snack, and after wind layers and helmets have been adorned, we set on upwards to the heavens.

The scramble was quite fun; an exposed mixture of cautious walking and upwards climbing as wind battered us from the east. Before long we had ascended up into the clouds, and the wondrous Scottish valley below us was masked by the depthless mist. Happy but wanting more, we finished the scramble on a clouded plateau, working our way to the over growing cairn. Without much visibility we saw to reason to stay, and began our descent down the backside. After a steep knee-slaughtering descent we drifted into a pine forest, following a babbling brook through the dense brush. Happy to be on flatter land, we zagged all across the brook, and stopped for lunch under a beautiful pine. Sitting atop a mossy rock, to the sounds of birds and water, olfactory senses alight from pine, petrichor, sap, and moss, I felt like I was home, in Oregon.

That night, the crew relaxed and celebrated by finishing off a keg of Trade Winds, while I happily sipped wine and my beautiful concoction of rum and cocoa.

 

Tuesday, 13th December 2017

6:00AM ALARMS BLARE WIDOWS WEEP AND GOATS BLEET

We wake, eat our sad carbo-loaded breakfasts, and set out for Cairn Gorm ski area. It’s another wondrous pre-dawn morning. Pulling into the parking lot there’s just enough light to void the necessity of head torches, so we set off up the winding trails. The trail itself is a glorious strip of tan gravel set against endless bouldered fields of dry grasses, crossing creeks as it meanders upwards. We go until our parties split ways, Eben and Jim go off to free-solo, while Barney, Leo, and I continue onward to find our cliff. We keep walking, past a giant boulder marking the beginning of a fun rock field. In jumps and lunges we cross, then arc leftward and begin a treacherous ascent up a goat trail. Grunting at the severe gradient and wailing winds, we trudge upward in a confused manner, trying to find the bottom to Fingers Ridge in the minimal visibility. After overshooting, we traversed back down to an area that seemed acceptable, and began to set up our three-pitch ascent. Barney led the first pitch as I belayed. The route started with a gnarly heel hook (in B2’s, keep in mind) that required a complete weight shift to the heel, and a lot of trust in your boots to propel yourself forward with no hand holds. After that move, it was an easy loop up and around to a sheltered boulder ledge. I had a hard time on the first move since it took me a while to trust climbing without feeling my foot placement, me being used to wearing climbing shoes. Once after the first move however, it was smooth sailing (except when the wind gusts picked up me and my pack, trying to blow us off the mountain). Once all three of us were on the ledge, I geared up to lead the second pitch. After Barney sent a head-sized boulder cascading down the mountain, I headed up the treacherous slope, more of a scramble than a climb. At the top, as I searched for a suitable anchor spot amidst a wall of rickety cracks, I felt the ground shift. I jumped upwards and reached for a small ledge, just as an exercise ball sized boulder dislodged from where I was standing and tumbled down, playing an orchestra of booms, cracks, and whams in the mist below. The scale of carnage and noise it caused was tremendous, and as I later found, of medium concern to my climbing companions who couldn’t see or hear me.

Once all three of us were there, Leo lead the final pitch. This was the hardest, and the most fun pitch. It started off by going over two questionably stacked rock chunks, then winding up and around the ridge. Climbing up a crack, you surfaced out to the top of the ridge, and climbing up a column (one of the ‘fingers’), before finally settling down on top. Now, I say settling, but by this point the mist was heavy and wind beginning to pick up. Finishing up there we loosely pack our gear and begin up the last scramble, a 10′ horizontal crack filled wall. Topping out we were slammed with wind, and decided the best course of action was to bugger down the cliff and back to the ski resort cafe.

8:00PM I am approaching drunkness, having finished off my wine and a sizable portion of rum in cocoa. Games and general tomfoolery occur whilst the crew gleefully approach finishing keg #2. I repeat, A SECOND KEG. Now, there weren’t many of us, but serious damage was done. Steve and Eben had 15 and 13 pints, respectively, in one night, not to mention whiskey on top of that.

9:30PM I am suitable gone. At some point we played Codename, Steve and I were on a cow, and Noah’s Island was watched. I’m out of rum, wine, and have done serious damage to whisky. Meghan gone. Somewhat spinny. Brush teeth. Pass out in bunk.

Wednesday, 14th December 2017

7:00AM (Maybe? ) Noise, no response

8:00AM (Maybe?) Noise, no response

9:00AM (Maybe?) The urge to empty my bladder stirs me from my drunken slumber. Lights pierce. My body is slow to come to grips with reality, a 4/10 on the hangover scale (2/5 for you proper fraction folks). I cook a massive fry-up for everybody who stayed back from either injury, sickness, or hangover. After feasting on eggs, bacon, black pudding, sausage, toast,and Reggae Reggae, and after comfortably caffeinating ourselves, we settled in for a long day of doing nothing. We sat, relaxed, gawked at our collective alcoholism, and got destroyed at Age of Empire by Steve.

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Thursday, 15th December 2017

X:00AM No alarms, just the rustle of the sleeping bag as I wake and stetch my pleasingly fatigued body. I cook an ample breakfast and wake Leo, then sip tea and watch Sherlock with Will. After waking Leo for the second time, I begin to prepare my bike gear.

10:00AM Leo and I roll out on our Scotland epic. We cross rolling farmland and begin to ascend into Scottish pine forests, notable for their grey bark bottoms and red tops. With a beautiful loch to our right Leo and I turn right and begin our ascent up to the Cairn Gorm ski resort. We climb, climb, and then climb some more. The roads make me think of Italy, steep winding switchbacks providing incredible views of the highlands. After climbing upwards (and taking en-route pictures and SnapChat to numb the leg pain), I finally see the sign for the ski resort. We pull in, happy and feeling accomplished, and drop our bikes in the cafe. Sitting over my espresso I look down to see a happy little 18 miles on my STRAVA screen, though it felt like a bit more. After a brief rest, we set off down the mountain, starting off by passing an annoyed Mini Cooper. We tear down the curves, bending and shaking and screaming at 40mph and then… get stuck behind a van. Absolute suffering then occurs as I am unable to pass this black-smoke spewing machine of sadness and death. Eventually we pass it, and begin our mighty gravel epic. Up past the reindeer sanctuary, we start up the trails. They start off beautiful, but eventually have patches of rough terrain, root jams, and aspiring lakes. We see all types of terrain, passing lochs, rivers, grasslands, fields, old Scottish forests on our road. We get minorly lost, but that only adds to the sense of adventure, right? After finishing our ride with an hour of light still, we do an extra scenic loop. This ride may have been the highlight of the day, doing single track and hopping about by a beautiful loch, in beautiful deep forests.

Near twilight Leo and I roll back, shower, and snack in preparation for a pub trip. Once the rest of the crew is back, we… ({66h6 max is cool} Max’s contribution) … we all head out to the pub for some pies and drinks. Enjoying another round of trade wind (How?!?!? You just downed two kegs?!?) my companions and I happily sit and banter in the very Brittish, Scottish pub. I work through their selection of whisky’s, happily tasting and further refining my pallet.

Friday, 16th December 2017

6:00AM Our last day in Scotland! Hype hype! It’s another odd breakfast, working around my pain-in-the-ass dietary needs. We drive out again to Cairn Gorm, this time Steve, Rosa, and I went off on a multi-Munro adventure (a munro is any Scottish hill over 3,000 feet high). We started off with Cairn Gorm itself (1244m), then we dropped down a steep rocky slope to  Loch Avon, a beautifully picturesque lake! After a quick photo shoot reveling in our limited visibility of the mountains, we started up A’ Chòinneach (1016m) in the mist. From there we dropped down again, then started climbing up the rocky grasslands to Bynack More (1090m). Here, we experienced the epitome of Scotland. There, on the mountain, sheltered behind the cairn from the 20mph+ gusts, Steve, Rosa, and I sipped whiskey and listened to Scottish music all while watching the clouds roll by. It was beautiful. Soon, we continued our journey down the mountain (where I found a dope fountain pen as crag swag!). It was around a 22km/14mile day of pure explorative fun. Upon our return, we cooked incredible fajitas and began to pack for our departure.

Overall Scotland was incredible. I saw things I’ve never seen before… beautiful mists rolling over tremendous hills, steep gully scree fields, ancient Scottish forests, and so much more! I am once again thankful for having such opportunities to experience everything through the CUMC. Yeah, I wish we had snow and ice to play in, but I’m not going to focus on that. Instead, I’m going to focus on the incredible memories and lessons I’ve learned. I’m going to focus on continuing to create lifetime friendships and enjoy myself to the max. It’s a grand ‘ole life I have here.

 

As with most Fridays now, I threw my travel gear haphazardly into my suitcase after class, stuffed some food into my face, and launched out the door to the bus stop. Sam, Sophie and I were off onto our next adventure: Switzerland (ft. France ). We offloaded from the bus and hurried our way through security only to adhere the ever common travel wisdom: hurry up and wait. Our flight eventually goes onto the screen, followed alarmingly soon by “last boarding call for Geneva”. Shocked, we all looked at each other then become ‘those’ people, sprinting across the airport to our gate (Seriously the gate announcment and last call were ridiculously close, usually you have time to amble to the gate at a decent pace!). So after a nice anaerobic session we were boarded and ready: We were off to Switzerland!

Saturday morning brought about a whole new level of chaos: trying to find something to eat in a town where a Big Mac is 11FS ($11). I had my Huel so I was set for most of my meals but a stumble across a farmers market left me 0.90FS less for a beautifully crisp apple. We played the transport jungle with minor difficulty, but were soon off on our bus to Annecy, France. On the way our star-crossed paths mixed with those of two other Americans….that, well… erm… were nice? Well, they had a pH greater than 7, let’s say, and I’m still not convinced one wasn’t a Trump supporter. Ask me about Becky sometime, it’ll be a fun tale.

So, Annecy. A picturesque lake village set on the heels of the French Alps. It is a town composed of small cobblestone lanes that rupture into beautiful fountain courtyards walled by pastel buildings, turquoise canals cutting through the land as the city builds frequent narrow bridges around. It is a town of nooks, small beautiful areas best found by wandering aimlessly in a “oh look something shiny” manner.

When we arrived in Annecy, we were met by two of Sophie’s friends, Marion and her mother Katrine, two natives of France. What followed was pure joy and beauty. Katrine spoke little english. I speak little French. What followed was some of the most entertaining conversations I’ve had in a while while Katrine led us around. I would use gestures and interpretive dance to communicate. We talked about bikes, being annoyed at slow walkers, the beauty of where we were… all without knowing each other’s language. We went to restaurants where I ate cheese, perused sublimely beautiful Christmas markets where I ate cheese, and went to some larger shopping areas where I ate cheese. After seeing the town and having lucid wet dreams about mountain biking down it’s windy stairs (wall riding heaven) we took a walk down to the lake. You might have noticed me not saying much about the alps so far… because we couldn’t see them. Visibility was so low, that we caught our first views at the lake, a fleeting view of their sobering prominence, before clouds rolled back in. We plucked around town a bit, ate some cheese, then sadly had to depart. Before leaving we swung by a shop, and got a bottle of local French wine. Our bus back was nap-filled as the sun set, and upon returning we set off to Sophie and Sam’s airbnb for some recuperation (and wine). After sharing the bottle of SPECTACULAR wine and face-timing Mom & Dad, I set off for my CouchSurfing homestay. My host was a lovely man from Paris, who upon my return (1/2 wine bottle deep) proceeded to fill me with another 1/2 bottle of French wine and chocolates, a nice sympathy gesture as he destroyed me at chess. Fueled by the warm fuzzies of a bottle of French wine, I slipped off to sleep, content with everything.

The next morning was a bit more frantic, waking early to go rent a bike so that I could bike out and around Lake Geneva. Upon getting to the store, however, I found that my rough French translation, and their skeeviness, did not equate to me actually renting a bike. They wanted to over-charge me for a steel warhorse, when I wanted something a bit lighter and speedier ($30/day for a shit cruiser is not worth). So, with biking out of the question I debated catching a bus to the mountains, so headed towards the tourism area for some maps. Just outside were some outdoorsey looking blokes (always trust someone wearing 2+ articles of Arcteryx, Mammut, Marmot, or Patagonia) so I asked them about hiking. They had been yesterday in similar weather conditions, and going super high to snow/ ice level was the only way to get visiility… for a measly 150FS cost. So, with alps hiking and biking out of the equation, I set off for a local hiking area down the Rhone river. It was a beautiful hike filled with old trees and rolling hills adjacent to the turquoise water. Two hours and a few miles in, things got exciting! Coming around a bend were some mountain bikers speaking English , waiting at the bottom of a jump cercuit. I waltz over and instantaneously start shooting shit (I’ve always been irked by overweight middle-aged men on bikes that pay for a year’s tuition). So I’m there waiting, chattin’ bikes, and hear a “HELP HELP” from above, where the rest of their crew was. Not being in clips, I tear up the slope to see what’s up; a broken nose, gashed forehead, and upper lip becoming well acquainted with his cheek. With firefighter training flashbacks I worked with them to help, stabilizing the neck, doing a quick concussion check after seeing the split helmet, and working to stop the bleeding with the bountiful napkins I was carrying. He was okay, just in lots of pain as his vibrantly red blood painted the brown autumn leaves red. With his patched up and paramedics called, I washed my hands in the icy waters and continued back into the rolling hills. The hike was indeed sublime, totaling 4 hours for just over 9 miles of hills and frequent stops for sightseeing and lunch. I turned around after popping into a small town and refreshing myself at an ancient fountain, to the chirps and screeches of a nearby bird sanctuary. Hike over, I headed back into town.

Now, what trip would be complete without stumbling upon another rally? Well this was was complete with “Viva le Resistance!” as Earth Protectors screamed to stop TISA in an energized mass of red and gold flags, surrounded by full riot police and tension. It was fun to shout and be part of it all, only to step some 20m away into a calm and happy Christmas market. Once I was reunited with my companions, it was time to head home, content at the amazingness that was our journey.

Well, after several hours of delayed flights and boredom-fueled airport antics, that is. Eventually, we did go home and collapse into a happy pile of sleep deprived mush.

Not that I slept much, I was up at 7:30AM to work on a research presentation, which I crushed! On a side, my research is going well, I’m getting damn good at FEA.

No pictures, I’m too lazy this time. They’re all on Facebook, so check that out.

With love and cheese,

Cheese

 

 

How do you give thanks? Do you stay quiet and blush, too shy to speak your gratitude? Do you embrace  in long enveloping bear hugs crushing away any doubt of insincerity? Do you simply say “thanks”, knowing that your sincerity is conveyed simply and straightforward?

Because I’m not sure how to give thanks, to you all, for simply being there.

November was the month of ‘thankfulness’, but I feel that should be December. This is the final month of the year, the final month to create new incredible memories and bonds in 2016.

I have a lot to be thankful for and since I’m a soppy ass, I’ll name them!

OSU West hallians (Benjamin, Noah, Kevin, Corey, Jessica, Andrew, Christina, Calvin, Christiana),

OSU Cycling (Connor, Robert, Zach, Canten, Kellson, Adam, Simon, John, Jimmy, Matt, Kim, Ben (Ebony Falcon), Victoria, Kali, Austin, Grant, Duncan, Nick, Ian, Hayden, Julian, Ben (Da MTB Shredder), Rutger, Scott, Randall ).

Other OSU shitshows and affiliates (Maxx, Jennifer, Nawaaf, Will, Soe, Amanda, Hamada, Mika, Tomena, Brady),

CRF’s and all Social Justice Warriors, all SCA folk, and all my new Cardiff Mountaineering Club family.

I am thankful for more than these people who bring me such joy, I am thankful that I have the opportunities to pursue all that I love. I love biking, climbing, hiking, running, watching shitty horror movies, trying new adventurous food (usually to the horror of my house-mates), and creating ever stronger and broader friendships.

Christmas has always been a very special time for me. As a kid with separated parents it was a time when we were together. If I had to make a patronus, I’d remember to when I was around 10(?) and came out Christmas morning to a large blanket-wrapped gift under the tree. At Mom’s encouragement, we tore into it, pulling away layers of blue knit fabric to find Dad underneath, who emerged to swallow us in a warm bear hug of pure happiness. The love, joy, and squealing laughter of that morning is what I think of for Christmas. Christmas is a time for family, and not just those of blood. It’s a time to surround yourself with everything that warms your heart and gets you closer to feeling that 10 year-old immeasurable joy again.

It may sound soppy, but I’m going to love the shit out of this holiday season, like every year, in a vain attempt to stay connected to that joy. I’m going to listen to Christmas music everyday, draw reindeer and penguins and shitty fir trees, and try to keep this childish glee. It’ll be hard though, I miss everyone back home a lot. I’ll be crying while thinking about the OSU Cycling White Elephant party, about picking a $5 tree from the Boy Scouts with Dad, about decorating our homely tree with Mom and Donnie (such a helper). So, send me some Christmas love this year, I’ll need it to stay positive and bright through this warm holiday season.

Make sure to kiss your family, hug your friends, and spread joy this month. Don’t underestimate all the wonderful things you have and all the things you can do to brighten your own, and someone else’s day.

Thank you all very much, I’m so thankful for you all being in my life!

Some pictures of the beloved people, that always make me smile:

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I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.