I might be over being cool

At least as far as climbing is concerned. On Saturday I let Forrest drag me up the Whitney-Gilman Ridge on Cannon Cliff. Now Cannon is where the cool kids climb, it's regarded as some of the best climbing in the world, if you like that sort of thing.

This was my first trip and even though I'd heard all the stories about the arduous approach and the loose rock and the potential for an epic it didn't come close to preparing me.

The fun started with the hour long hike up to the base of the climb. Straight up, through a field of loose rocks. I had been talking to Forrest about how I have this ridiculous heartrate when I exercise strenuously and he didn't believe that it oculd really be 180 bpm, so he had me wear his heart rate monitor on the approach. Maybe 180 was a slight exaggeration. It was more like 176 or so.



The climb itself is 6 pitches and I made Forrest lead them all because I am a big wuss when it comes to placing gear. (And by "big wuss" I mean, I don't want to die/kill anyone with my ineptitude.) The climbing WAS fun. Harder than I was expecting, but a lot of fun. Look how much fun I'm having!



(Also, look how my helmet makes my head look all weird.)

The fun continued for over 6 hours until we topped out. Then we had to hike back down which was similar to hiking up except it was longer and also raining. I think we gave new meaning to the phrase "Wet to the skin." And also "exhausted" and "hungry". For about 30 out of the 60 minutes of slipping and sliding down a mountain in the rain lugging increasingly heavy gear I actually thought I was in hell. By the time we got to the bottom, I was reduced to shuffling along because I literally could not lift my feet anymore. Clearly the only cure was a huge meal at Emperor Chinese Restaurant. At the height of our delirious descent all I could think about was eating a scallion pancake. And then about how the thought of pitching a tent in the rain and being damp and cold all night was the worst possible end to the day. The more we thought about it, and how it didn't seem possible that we could even climb the next day anyway after getting our asses so thoroughly kicked, the better it seemed to just drive home.

We arrived back in MA around hour 21 of our day (got up at 5 am) and crashed. As I fell into bed I thought, Well, I've done Whitney-G. Now I never have to do it again.