A Beaver in Wale Country

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.

I’m just going to start off with how I should never be allowed to buy a €3 bottle of Jagermeister all for myself ever again.

That said, Berlin was one of the best places I’ve been thus far. This post will probably be a bit long as I recap most of the trip, not for ya’ll’s enjoyment, but because after a few more dozen bottles of Jager I might not remember it as well.

After the ever-occurring “hurry up and wait” airport scenario, we arrived in a cold (-2C or 28F) Berlin and hopped onto the U-Bahn to our hostel, the Circus Hostel in the heart of the Mitte.  It’s a lovely building, and even though Sam, Sophie and I were in different rooms, I was able to socialize with the 7 others in my room. This was my first real hostel experience, and it was great! It was amazing to be able to talk to my Netherlands, Spain, Columbian, South African, and Norwegian roommates, and how we all ended up in the same place.

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SATURDAY: The Mitte

We didn’t exactly have an itinerary, it was more, “Oh shit this looks cool let’s go here!”. We started off the morning in a lovely Communist cafe adorned with red and mirrors spanning the wall so that you know that Mother Russia is always watching. The food was spectacular- smoked salmon, goat cheese in avocados, bacon, cheeses and eggs (without breaking the bank!). After breakfast we set out to the Museum für Naturkunde in the North West part of the Mitte, with minor yelling at me for me navigating us in the wrong direction since I was using paper maps instead of evil evil Google Maps. The museum was incredible, featuring a Brontosaurus, Trex,  various taxidermied animals, a HUGE pickled fish collection, and other amazing natural wonders! After this we started off to the main attractions: The Reichstag Building and Brandenburg Gate. Ignoring the zombieesque herds of selfie-stick tourists (I’m not gonna mention how we had one too… wait, shit!) we gawked at the beautiful construction of these places. Berlin is an amazing mix of old and new, with degraded stonework perfectly meshing into stainless steel and glass structures. The highlight of those trips was a tiny…. hiccup? So get this, we are standing right in front of the Brandenburg gate, trying to get that perfectly obnoxious camera angle to that the bronze statue and us are all in shot. In order to do so, we need a long arm. Now, praytell, how do you measure arm length? Oh by standing shoulder-to-shoulder and raising your arms. YUP. Exactly. I fucked up. With my right arm partway up, Sam slapped it down yelling “MEGHAN NO”. What resulted was me in the fetal position laughing and crying at my shame for almost accidentally doing a Nazi salute RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING BRANDENBURG GATE. Sheesh, I can be such an airhead sometimes, feel free to judge. So after that, we headed off to Checkpoint Charlie and the (closed) Jewish Museum. On the way we ran into a gaggle of girls with signs “Pussy grabs back”, so upon finding the museum closed we turned around and went to a Trump protest! It was a great gathering, with great energy. Being cold and with my knee pain, we left for our hostel early-ish and found food at a vegan Japanese place (my soul was crying with every bite).
Peter Eisenmann’s Holocaust Memorial, a truly moving place

Breakfast Saturday morning- an absolute feast! 

Rose and the Doctor

At the gate- post arm fuckup

Aforementioned fuckup fetal position  

Impromptu Trump rally with some amazing gals!

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SUNDAY: East Berlin

So. Much. Food. Four and a half plates of it, to be exact. Cafe Gagarin has a €11 breakfast buffet of the most amazing foods. There was a plethora of eggs, fancy meats and cheeses, fruits, yogurts,  and my favorite: salmon, dill, and cream cheese stuffed eggs (I ate six, no regrats). After our feast and 45-minutes of espresso sipping food comas, we set off to wander the area. This part was filled with amazing parks, architecture, and the biggest toy sand-pit excavator I have ever seen (greedy ass 6 year old was hogging it, the bastard). After emerging from our food comas we set off to the East Side gallery. The remnants of the Berlin wall were amazing. They conveyed deep emotion and absolute artistic expression. There was everything shown from politics, repression, sexual expression, world peace, and cats. It was amazing to see such an important piece of history, and feel the connection that I had to it as an American, seeing the signs “YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR”. The only walls that should be built are pillow fort walls, people. After the wall and chilling at the River Spree for a bit, we embraced the cold-as-balls weather and went ice skating! It was a small ring, but it was an affordable and fun way to get to ‘accidentally ‘ punch little bratty boys in the face for running into me! After a full and fun day, we sadly had to part with Sam, who took off from Alexander Platz for her plane home. After that, Sophie and I met up with a friend of hers for an absolutely lovely Persian meal (my love for labneh know no bounds). Exhausted, and overly full, we retired for our final night in Berlin (a bottle of smooth whiskey helped).

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Chilling on the River Spree, next to the East Side Gallery 

Being a monkey, of course! 

A piece of wall art, always applicable

MONDAY: Megalodon’s Day Out

I’ve finally done it. The one uniting and fulfilling thing about being in the UK… and I did it in Berlin! What is this thing you might ask? I had beans on toast! Sophie and I went to a lovely candy shop cafe on a small cobblestoned strip, and filled up on tasty tea, meat, and gluten free toast! After breakfast we perused the area, seeing amazingly intricate statues, breathtaking churches, and a fun wooden carver shop full of cuckoo clocks, clogs, and doilies! From there is was onto the main attraction, museum island! It’s an island full of museums. Oh, are your panties not dripping at that thought yet? Well, this particular island currently has the Bust of Nofretete, a plethora of sarcophagus’s and walls hieroglyphics from pyramids,  artifacts from the stone age to late Roman occupations, the FUCKING ISHTAR GATE, and other Islamic artifacts. Panties on the floor. Boom. Done. Gone. It’s basically a history nut like myself’s wet dream, and it far exceeded my expectations! Even beyond the exhibits, the building themselves are works of art, being made of amazing stone carvings and columns reminiscent of many past eras. So after spending a few hours with my jaw on the floor lusting after the displays, I begrudgingly pulled  myself away from museum island and went on a quest to find a bouldering gym (I really want to go back though, and spend an entire weekend in them). At the suggestion of a friend, I settled on Berta Blocks Boulderhalle, and it did not disappoint! It’s comprised three large rooms with different climbing styles in each, including columns, aretes, deep 10meter cave/ceilings, all with the chance of topping out instead of dropping/ downclimbing. Definitely on of the best climbing places I’ve ever visited! After three hours of bouldering up to their 6A+ level (while somehow still failing to get some of their 5B’s?!??!) (Full disclosure: my climbing greatly improves when I know shirtless hot German guys are watching), unfortunately my ankle started to hurt more than my pumped forearms, so I walked back into the brisk twilight and descended back into the U-Bahn, on a quest for pudding. After locating pudding, I met back with Sophie and we went back to the first restaurant we visited, and I got a half chicken (with labnah) and a salad for under €5 .  Soon, with heavy hearts, we said our farewells to Berlin and went home.

Or, so we thought.

Fourish stops from the airport, the rail stops and everybody is told to get off. Cold, confused, and worried, we stand on the platform waiting for an announcement on when the next one will come. Finally, after 20 minutes or worried pacing, the rail arrives and everyone pours on, in a seething tide of anxiety. It’s a smooth ride until the lights flicker, and go out. In total darkness we shuffle onwards, our pace slowing, with Sophie elbowing me in the ribs for humming the Jaws theme  in the darkness. We roll to stop at the station and the people pry open the door- thankfully this was the last stop. Everybody pours out of the rail and begins the sprint to the airport for our impending planes. Needless to say, it was an exciting end to our trip!

The Berlin Dome and an amazing statue of a woman fighting a lion 

Berta Block Boulderhalle! SO amazing!

Overall, I am extremely happy with this weekend. Berlin is an amazing city that I felt happy and safe in. It has the same progressive expression found in Portland, is equally  hipster and new-age, and has a beautiful language! It is now one of my favorite cities, and I will now pine to return once more to its amazing espresso’s, museums, and climbing centers.

Traveling like this is fun because it allows you to explores sides of yourself you may never have before. I don’t like Google Maps, it makes it too easy, too unadventurous. While my mates used their phones, I enjoyed walking around with a free Starbucks map and asking for directions in choppy German. Hostels are a great way to force new perspectives by seeing what other’s your age are doing, and what they’ve gone through. Finally, it forces you to be a better person because it’s unavoidable when traveling to not be hungry, sleepy, and overall grumpy. You can’t let this get to you, keep wearing those rose-tinted glasses and be open to new people, new things, new adventures! You can’t truly enjoy what you are doing if you’re pining over the past or focusing on the negative. I’m still not the best at this, and I’m certainly known for being a complete demon when hangry or sleepy (as my parent’s know too well), but I accept those faults and actively work to change for the better!

So, in closing, Berlin is spectacular. If you ever get the chance to travel, do. It will make your life amazing.

Mit viele liebe,

Meghan

P.S. IF YOU CAN WATCH THE NEW SEASON OF PLANET EARTH, FUCKING DO IT <3 <3 <3

“Fuck.”

.

.

.

The text I woke up to this morning, November 9th, 2016. It takes me a few seconds to register,  then I feel cold, sad, angry at no one and everyone, and fearful… so very fearful. No one thought this would happen, everyone joked, we had a party last night and watched SNL until votes finally started coming in and then still, we were optimistic. Trump couldn’t win… he just couldn’t.

How could the United States do this? How can a majority of the population openly embrace such extreme levels of racist, misogynous, xenophobic hate? Obviously I’ve been privileged to be raised in such a blue state- I never saw the extent of the damage and degradation of the rest of the country. I never realized the extent the American public were sheep to the media- doesn’t everybody know that it’s false and corrupt?

I’m done with trying to be understanding, trying to not openly hate other humans, but what else can I do? I hate those who voted for Trump, every single one. I wish them pain, insecurity, and fear. I want them to risk losing everything they hold dear- land, education opportunities, money, family. You know why? Because that is how they have made my friends feel. All across my Facebook feeds are posts of fear and sadness, and anybody who causes such pain on my friends will face my wrath tenfold.

If this doesn’t hit home enough, think on this. If you’re reading this you know me, you might even consider me a friend, or family. Well, I’m a bisexual female and a sexual assault victim. Pence wants to have conversion therapy,  severely limit women’s reproductive rights, and Trump has sexual assault claims in the double digits. I am afraid.

However… fear, anger, feelings of betrayal, confusion… use these. These feelings are our weapons. Protest the bad changes. Keep fighting the patriarchy, the binary, the unjust justice systems. More than ever, we cannot be quiet, we cannot let tyrants destroy the little success we’ve fought for for hundreds of years.

I can’t understand everything everyone is experiencing… I have the privilege not to, and I recognize that. But if you need to talk, yell, punch, I’m here, I’ll listen. If you want to debate my views in any way, get the fuck out, you are the problem.

“What a world this will be when human possibilities are freed, we discover each other, when the stranger is no longer the potential criminal and certain inferior!”  -W.E.B. Du Bois

 

Smith rock is composed of tuff, a porous and sharp rock type consolidated over time from ash expelled during a volcanic eruption (Geologists can correct me on that), offering grippy and blood-letting climbing

The Eugene Columns (Skinner Bute) are filled with wonderful basalt columns and offer plenty of crack climbing and chances to cheesegrate down their slick surface in rain

Symonds Yat in the Forest of Dean is limestone, and can get quite polished from extensive use as eager climbers imitate Indiana Jones and climb through jungle-like conditions

And then there’s the Gritstone in the Peak District.

Upon entering the club I heard many comments jokings about gritstone, and “Grit season”. Here’s the all knowing Wikipedia description of Gritstone, describing it as ” a hard, coarse-grained, siliceous sandstone”. Climber Magazine describes it as “a coarse textured form of sandstone but it deserves its own article because it gives us such distinctively unique climbing”, which I find to be closer to the truth. See, gritstone requires great technique and the ability to 1) Smear 2) Hand Jam 3) Lay Back. Unfortunately for me, I’m still pretty lacking in 2 & 3. The rock itself is incredibly grippy, so much so that you’ll leave a lot of skin (and blood) there. It tends to be straight up or in a slight overhang, with multitudes of horizontal cracks arranging themselves into beautifully broad shelves or pinky-jamming rounded torture slopes. It offers little in the way of nut & hex gear, so be prepared for run-out gear placements unless you use cams.

Now I’m sure you’re wondering, how was the trip leading up to the grit?

‘Twas a dark and stormy night, when van #1 creeped up to the Scout Lodge in a small village somewhere around Sheffield.  Much like Ursulmas, we layed our mats shoulder-to-shoulder in the hall, as the smell of musty backpackers wafted through the icy air. The atmosphere was jolly, and after dropping our gear we headed over to the bright pub to socialize with those who drove up in cars. In the juxtaposition of old and new, modern pop music drifted over the mounted antlers, rustic photos, artifacts mounted to walls, with the sounds of our laughter melding the whole scene into one of absolute comfort and companionship. Lubricated by bubbly beverages, hugs, laughter, Trump mocking, and route planning were had by all. The fun kept on rolling until 2AM, when we decided that sleep might be a neat idea if we didn’t want to be complete zombies the next day.

After a cold night, filled with rampant snoring and sleep-kicking, we set off to the cliffs, where after a fun scramble along the base of the walls we settled at Stanage Plantation. After watching my climbing companions wiggle awkwardly and amusingly through Helfenstein’s Struggle, I went off to do my first trad lead on gritstone, an easy rip up Hollybush Gully, a fun route that helped to improve getting ‘creative’ with gear placement ( no cams = runout line) . After that, and to the arrival of more CUMC folk, it was time. To. STRUGGLE.

Geared up with as little as possible, no chalk bag, no cams, no hexes, and minimal nuts I faced up to the 16m black rift of doom; Helfenstein’s Struggle.  See, the route itself isn’t hard for the first 97%, hell, I didn’t place any gear until about 10m up. But once you’ve left the ledge and gone up through the chimney it gets… interesting. See, this route has STRUGGLE in it for a reason. At the very top of the route there’s a boulder conveniently blocking a majority of the escape. So what you’re left with is a 1′ x 2′ (if that) gap shaped like a cat laying on its side in a sunbeam, not the most ergonomic for the human ribcage or ass. See, it’s called Helfenstein’s Struggle because Helfenstein was never able to finish it, well, only his top half finished it, the rest of him had to be pulled out with ropes and slings after becoming wedged. The guidebook description of this route is “something every climber should do once (and only once)”. A fair description.

I scramble up onto the first shelf and start shimming up the chimney. I reach the hole and look upwards to the grinning, mockingly-amused faces of Steve, Eben, and a few others. As I reach upwards for a ledge, it becomes increasingly apparent that my torso is enclosed by rock, my shoulders facing forward, and hips at a 30 degree angle left, employing a perfect full-body jam. Upwards movement is impossible as my body is jammed thoroughly between a rock, a hard place, and Doctor Jones by Aqua. As I wiggle my jiggles trying in vain to dislodge something, anything, I curse every piece of chocolate I’ve eaten in the past week and contemplate what’s worse: My current predicament wherein my ass decided to be a cam, or Steve’s infuriating music choice causing traumatic flashbacks to a childhood involving ‘Barbie Girl’. Eventually I decide on a tactic, and wedging my elbows outward like a constipated chicken,  completely dropping my legs to hang around limp like an eunich on a nudist beach. Ass cheek by ass cheek I inch upward, to the screams of MegWan below judging my terrible performance whilst enlightening me on how my performance is bringing dishonor on my family. Finally, as ungraceful and grunt-filled as the miracle of childbirth, I slithered out of the hole to the cheers and congratulations of the sarcastic crowd, disheartened that I didn’t struggle more for their enjoyment. Helfenstein’s  Struggle definitely lived up to my expectations, and I wholly recommend it to all.

Now, I’m a lazy ass, so I’ll just summarize the rest of the trip briefly. The committee cooked an amazing dinner that managed to knock everybody out, and everybody slept deep and content with their feats of the day (Oh, copious amount of alcohol also helped with the sleep).

Sunday we woke, packed, and headed out to Bamford, a different section of the same area. It was superb climbing where I spent the day leading, free-soloing, bouldering, and cursing at Gunpowder Crack (at least 10 attempts of the start- a gnarly overhang requiring some acrobatic heel-hooking, we eventually set up a top-rope and watched others grumble at the start, before gawking at Eban free-solo it in a flash).

After our second day of climbing till dusk we hiked gleefully back across the wide rocky plains, watching the vibrant pink glow of a dying sun set across the great green hills, wincing as icy wind lapped at our faces and gray clouds began to loom and suggest our nearby wet future. The drive homeward was a mix of happy conversations and falling asleep on Thom (Shoutout to bus #1 crew: Sam, Erin, Will, Barney, Marianne, Callum, George, James, Jake, Thom, and Camilla… BRAAP BRAAP!).

Here’s the link to the video of the trip!

Pictures from the trip:

The Sunday crew walking to the crag

Amazing landscape shot by David Maddison of Sam Talbot climbing, that really captures how pretty is was there

The power of Trump compels me!

(I was in the pub a grand total of 15 seconds before this hat was thrust upon me)

In the midst of the struggle

Shit man, still reading this? You must either really like me or need to get some hobbies, I hear climbing is nice.  Now instead of a recap, here’s the usual spiritual insight to what I learned on this trip. As I see more and more of the UK, I find myself scrambling to try and associate it with the familiar. For instance; the landscape this weekend looked a lot like Montana, and I was associating it as such. In hindsight, that is a terrible thing for me to do. I’m here to experience new, exciting things, yet be it from homesickness or a subconscious bias towards the familiar, I am associating these new things to the old. I should be in the moment, absorbing everything as exciting and new, building new memories and foundations instead of building on the old; to do otherwise means I am not truly experiencing. I am ever endearingly thankful for the mountaineering team, who by showing me around this place is defining a new idea of ‘beauty’; one that does not find beauty in the familiar, but beauty in the ‘new’.

With love and grit-butchered hands,

MegHHHHHHHHHan (the H is very much not silent)

 

Holy Mary Mother of Flying Tacos Dammit All To Hell

I typed a whole post and Chrome decided to crash…. lesson learned, save yo shit, kids.

Anyway, this past weekend was spent trying to not look like a complete oaf around the amazing and gravity-defying MegWan (MegTwo), Steve, and Eben in Cornwall.

We spent our time camping in Treen Farm, near the southwestern most point of the UK. Thanks to the generosity of my partners and their willingness to loan gear, it was a very comfortable time in a beautiful sea-side campsite.

Saturday morning we started the day with generous amounts of bacon, peanut butter, and coffee; basically a perfect morning. We headed out to Bosigran, where MegWan and I headed to Bosigran Ridge (aka Commando) and the boys went off to conquer the Suicide Wall. Our climb had us scramble up and absail down to the sea rocks, where the waves were lapping at our heals as we set up our first pitch. It was amazingly fun climbing up the 5+ pitch ridge, with only two parts that had me truly sketched out and questioning my sanity… which is kinda sad, since we were passed by two guys that were free soloing the entire thing, as it is completely soloable. I think if we were to go again, I would be comfortable soloing about half of it, but I am so much more comfortable knowing that there is a rope to save me.

Our Saturday ended with pan-fired burgers, generous amount of wine, and the most beautiful night I have had here yet. It was a quarter moon on a starry night and, with a bottle of wine in hand, we clambered down to the sea cliffs to gaze over the ocean and white breakers, all subtly aglow with moonlight. We moved to a small rock alcove where the moon had the most picturesque glitter I have ever seen, lighting a shimmering path from the horizon across the ocean to my eyes and heart. It truly is a tranquil place here, away from the bustle of the cities. Finally to cap the night off, the moon turned a deep red, a phenomenon that baffled my one-wine-bottle-deep mind but further relaxed my soul.

Sunday started off with yet more bacon, peanut butter, and coffee, then off to Land’s End, the most Southwestern part you can get! We climbed only two routes here, but I was okay with that since I was dodging wave blasts from the ocean swell, while trying to lead belay MegWan. After witnessing the destruction of Eben’s food by a wild gaggle of seagulls, we headed off to Roche, where an old stone chapel sits atop a beautiful crag. While Eben and Steve were tradding, I free solod wherever I wanted, just fucking around on nature’s playground and using the last of my hand strength. It was a perfect end to a perfect weekend.

We headed home while I drifted in and out of consciousness, wherein Eben and Steve had their fun filming the Meg’s sleeping. I showed them American country music, and we concluded the trip by singing along to the Team America soundtrack, so a great end to a great weekend!

Here’s a video after the first or second pitch on Commando:

Notes on the video:

Once again, I am a terrible narrator, so disregard my awkward grammar. Also, we didn’t end up free soloing it since we weren’t sure of the route, and it was pretty exposed.

Reflections after the trip: I am more connected to nature than I care to admit. Without realizing it, I’ve been feeling increasingly ‘down’ from sheer lack of contact with the outdoors. I can’t suffer concrete, brick, manicured trees and shrubs long before my mood starts to sour. Truly the most recharging thing is to sit alone (or with friends) in  some quiet, wild area, where my thoughts can cease, my pulse can slow to the humm of the Earth, and I can change my being from one who reacts to the world around me, to one who experiences and blends with the Earth.

I’m starting to fall into a rhythm here- classes, climbing, running, socializing… Is what I WOULD have said had I not changed my entire plans for my time here today.

See, I’ve always had a passion for renewable energy systems. Coming from Oregon, we have SO much potential for renewable, clean energy to power our toasters and motorized sex toys with. Of all renewables (solar, wind, hydroelectric, ect.) my favorite has always been wave/tidal. Basically, that’s harnessing the power of the ocean to make electricity. How is that not the coolest shit you’ve read all day?! Anyhow, since I got here I’ve been inquiring to all my professors about research and after successfully fishing I’ve found a group willing to let me work with them (as to what EXACTLY I’m doing, I’ll get back to you!). For now, I can choose which direction  to go on this project- to work with designing new turbines, if I’m focusing on mechanical or electrical engineering, if I’m going to use computer modeling, ect ect ect. Basically, I can go where my heart wants in engineering, something I’ve never been able to do. This is exciting, terrifying, but you know what? Ever since watching Gilmore Girls in third grade I’ve wanted to be like Rory, a brilliant and strong woman, and my parents have supported me so much that I have become just that; a person who gives fucks about academia, morality, world issues, and chocolate (but gives no fucks about proper use of semicolons). So, even if I get touches of impostor syndrome, bring on the engineering!

(Link to brief description of what I’m doing: http://cmerg.engineering.cf.ac.uk/)

Along with school  (which has finally resolved itself to not being an eight-headed hydra with projectile diarrhea) I’ve been courting my two mistresses, climbing and cycling (and a special naughty affair with running). Both societies/clubs here in Cardiff are filled with the most lovely, joyous, athletic, personalities I could only dream of. It’s been great getting to know them all, and I sure as hell can’t wait for the adventure’s we’ll be having soon.

Some adventures that have happened since last reporting:

• Saw Caerphilly castle with Sam (USA!) and reveled in beautiful stone-work
• Went climbing in Symonds Yat in the Forest of Dean
• GOT A BIKE and took it out for #newbikeday in a torrential downpour hill time trial with the cycling team
• Went paint-balling and I’d say it’s an even rip of completely embarrassing myself and kicking ass

So that’s all for now! I’ll do my best to report more frequently, because this weekend will be chalk-filled (haha, pun) with climbing in Cornwall!

Kieran seconding up a trad pitch in Symonds Yat

Holding up Caerphilly castle

The new braap-mobile! The Cobble Gobbler, stay tuned for our adventures

Finally, If school gets stressful, I’ll try to not get over-Wale-md (not sorry)

 

 

As I settle into my sixth day upon the mighty Whale, I can see how this place will start to feel like my home… given time. This community is rich with history, with personality, and with opportunities for adventure.

My senses are adapting to the constant stimulus of Cardiff. In Corvallis, there is quiet time and places for escape from the constant bustle. Here, there are always cars, people, horns, and the creak of old infrastructure serenading you.

Last Friday I met up with Skamp, Vivian, Armand, and their families.  and we all went to cruise around the Cardiff Castle. Vivian added me to her group for the connoisseurs tour and walls tour, and holy hell were they amazing. The Castle is stunning enough from the outside, but to go into the rooms and learn the in-depth history of them while marveling at the artistry was  next-level. The rooms were painted in the most elaborate ways by William Burges, who has a masterful mixture of structural knowledge and artistic skills, leading to each room having a specific theme. There was an Arab Room, a Horoscope Room, a Lovers Room, and much, much more. Truly breathtaking skill went into that room, inspiring me to continue to hone my skills as an artist so that I can one day achieve 1/5 of that ability.

After seeing the interior of the castle, we paused for some Welsh tea, then continued to get a tour of the Castle walls, telling the history of their construction, destruction, and the remaining bits. It was an amazing time that led us all around downtown Cardiff, through a shopping center, and back by the stadium. We traced where the old canal was, and saw how Cardiff utilized it to build lowered structures, and where merchants just haphazardly decided to remove the remainder of the Roman built wall in 1801 *pained eye twitch*.

I am very thankful to Vivian and Skamp for inviting me into their tour group, it was the most enjoyable and educational UK experience thus far. Amusingly, we know more about the castle now than many of the residents here do!

Returning home, tired and hungry since I was not at all prepared for such an outing (I probably walked over 12 miles yesterday), I found that our house had a fun little party in the basement. The blokes here are very nice, so after inhaling my dinner I relaxed with a glass of mead into their wonderful company. At 9:30 we went clubbing at The Buffalo, where a friend group member was DJing. It was alright, though I am not a Drum and Bass fan so I got bored and left around 1. It doesn’t compare to the wonderful shindigs held at The Church/ The Bike House though, and my heart fears none ever will.

And with that, ta ta, all.

Megzzzzzzz

 

 

 

It’s 4PM Greenwich Mean Time zone. Can I sleep yet? No, just a bit longer.
It’s 6PM Greenwich Mean Time zone. Can I sleep yet? No, just a bit longer.

It’s 8:30PM Greenwich Mean Time zone. Can I sleep yet? Yes, yes I can sleep, after over 26 hours of awake time.

So, 11.5 hours of sleep and two coffees later, here I sit in a lovely coffee shop, sipping my second coffee (it’s no Tried and True, but it will do), unwinding and adapting to my new home.  It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in a big city, but boy is it different to Corvallis. There’s always noise here, cars honking, accented folk chatting, sirens chirping; a constant metropolitan pulse letting you know all is well.

The journey over was long, but nice. I haven’t traveled much in airports, but boy did I learn fast. From being told to enter the wrong terminal, not being told that the airport was separated into two parts only travel-able by light rail (with an hour till my flight), to quickly collecting my checked and re-sending of off on my quaint propeller plane to Cardiff. One thing stayed constant through all my nervous airport bumblings: Everybody here is polite, helpful, and patient with an internationally-ignorant traveler such as myself.

My flat is nice, but despite the name, not at all flat! It’s a narrow, three-story building jam-packed with people. The basement has a beautiful kitchen equipped with two stoves and two fridges, a quaint living room, and access to our tiny back lot. The ground floor has two bedrooms and another bathroom. The first floor has three rooms, including mine (which I really like!), and the second floor has another two. Our house is located in a prime location, just near a pub restaurant, grocery store, and coffee house (so this town may yet survive).

An that’s it for all the boring updates, on-wards and sideways to some grand adventures abroad. I’ll post pictures eventually, for now I’m recuperating and adjusting to time ones.

Oh, and I’ll be buying a new cyclocross bike so prepare your arses for some amazing whale-tails on gravel, cobblestone, and road alike. Sorry-not-sorry for that pun.

With love and jet-lag,

Meghan