Quilotoa Loop, Central Highlands

We went for a walk and it was very nice. We tented on the shore of this crater lake, and then walked through the next couple towns from Quilotoa to Chunchilan.




A Half-Hearted Post from the Grave

We are sick as dogs. I think it´s the altitude. Pavlo thinks it was the Cotipaxi cheese. The power has been out for two days. I was up all night throwing up - Pavlo says to me ¨finally you´re the one with some issues.¨ At 4am I heard him vomiting too. I´m back on my feet now - he´s bedridden.

But the mountains are so beautiful - I can´t imagine a better place to be sick.

There is much to tell, but I´m simply not up for it. No pictures cause this computer sucks. Festivals in Quito. The most amazing bull fighting. A flat-bed into the mountains and two days of trekking. Crater lakes and so much beauty. I´m going back to bed.

Bull Running in Quito

Hemingway wrote that an artistically good bullfight requires “good bullfighters and good bulls; artistic bullfighters and poor bulls do not make interesting fights….” He is right and I wrote a story about it, and it made me cry one single tear, and then I deleted it, and now you´ll never see it, and I can´t seem to write it again no matter how hard I try, and it´s really quite a sad loss.

Needless to say, bull fighting is pretty cool and pretty brutal. I couldn´t believe the things I saw on this day.

Pavlo and I took bets as to which bull fighter who be killed. Pavlo bet Yellow, I bet classic Red. Pavlo won in the first fight. The man was stabbed against the ground many times by the bull. It didn´t kill him - but in the spirit of the bet, I give the win to Pavlo. The man later stood up and killed the bull dishonorably. The third fighter was really quite magnificent and he taught us what the sport is about. The fifth fighter shall not be spoken of until I can re-write the story mentioned above. The last fighter was booed out of the arena.

The crowd was amazing.

At one point, a man ran onto the field with his own cape and tried to fight the bull. This man tried very hard to taunt the bull with his cape. Another man tried very hard to tackle him as he did this. A group of men tried to distract the bull. The bull tried to kill everybody. Eventually the man go pinned against the side of the arena with the bull in pursuit. He brought his cape up in defense, but a man grabbed him and held the cape down. This man was punched in the face promptly and the bull was avoided. The police came from behind and grabbed the man by the neck dragged him backwards over the arena wall. All very amusing.

This man has the unfortunate job of having to stab the bull
over-top his horns and using both hands at once. The bull is not
wounded when he faces it, and the man has no cape to aid him.

I felt this man was under-appreciated by all.

Quito, Ecuador - Safe arrivals

We have landed in Quito, Ecuador. Just look how beautiful it is:

They speak spanish here. Like a lot.

The country´s largest festival is in full swing - we have tickets to the bull fights tomorrow.

Best moments have all been Pavlo. "The !#$ing toilet won´t flush and it !"#$ing has a terd in it."
Pavlo has eaten a napkin.

Pavlo has cried in public.

Pavlo is the best travel companion ever.

Las Vegas

I'm last in line to board the plane. I hand my ticket to the attendant - Vancouver to San Francisco.

"You guys goin' to Vegas?" he  asks through a smile.
"How did you know?" I reply puzzled.
He says nothing and waves us onto the plane.

The ticket reads San Francisco.
Maybe he overheard a conversation?
Maybe he saw my connecting ticket?
Maybe he watched us chug those 24 oz beers in the restaurant across from the gate.
No. I decided that we are oozing some kind of unmistakable Vegas aura. The stoke factor is high: we're heading for the bright lights and the dessert. Sunny weather. New rock. New friends. New adventures.

We arrive in Las Vegas just after midnight and we're hung over already. A cab takes us to the Sahara Hotel. Fifty years ago the Sahara Hotel was the camel's pajamas. A lot changes in fifty years. Frequent exposure to cigarette smoke takes a tole on the luster of any wall papering and the new atmosphere of the Sahara attracts a budget clientele. I watch row upon row of joyless slot-players in the dingy smelly open room. A 70 year old woman sits hunched over the "Playboy" slot machine fondling buttons with pictures of girl's asses. I ponder the health effects of n-th hand smoke and I spend $1 on the slots. I don't understand the game - how do I make these things align? I suck at this game. We leave the hotel to search for late night eats, but the nachos were synthetic. At least the beds are soft.

The next morning we go to The Strip, find some much better food, and then head to digest it by the pool. We make it half way to the pool before getting distracted by signs advertising "Indoor Skydiving." We jump off the bus and don full-body jump suits. The four of us enter a vertical wind tunnel and take turns experiencing simulated free-fall. After twenty minutes, we are ready to forsake reality forever and spend our life's savings on a wind tunnel - how hard can it be?

Darkness falls fast and we change out of our jump suits and into our alter egos: moustaches for the gents and dangly earrings for the lady, we all have retro 70s regalia and cool aliases like Chaz, Wayde, DeMonte, and Feather Johnson. Dinner, margaritas, and our own renditions of Queen kick the night off right. The group comes together. Then the Bellagio and six straight wins at the black-jack table. Soon, I'm betting the farm on green. Fate's fickled finger points to thirty-three red and we feel the first loss of the night. Humbled, Chaz and I briefly retreat to safer bets. 

Not destined for a conservative night, soon the chips start to roll and I place the first big bet of the night. 

I'm not thinking. Black. $100 chips feel just like $5 chips until they're on the table. I regret the bet immediately.

"No more bets" and a wave of the hand. 

I can't watch. I walk away and from a distance I watch Chaz watch the wheel spinning. What have I done? What a waste.

Chaz winces and lowers his head in defeat. Walking over he groans, "sorry man." My heart and my colon meet. 
"You @#$%ing won!!"  he lights up. We laugh and I promise I'll get him back for this deception. We have beat the Bellagio - it's time to move on. 

Feather, Wayde, DeMonte, Chaz
(Front to Back)

Our group gets separated and Chaz and I are outside waiting on the Strip. We sit down just off the walk-way. We idle but for a second. I fill my hat with change and place it at Chaz's feet. We heckle and cajole. "Can you spare some change for two hustlers down on their luck?" The suits, the moustaches, it's all perfect. We earn $7 in the first three minutes.

Time to hit the clubs. Feather gets us VIP with ease. "Except him," says the bouncer, "you'll never get him in anywhere wearing those." He points to my choice of footwear for the evening. People don't appreciate high-end flip-flops. 

We're already on a first name basis with the security guard. She jovially escorts us to a store where we can buy shoes. Closed. 
Plan B: We begin to canvas the area looking for men with size 10 shoes. I offer up to $150 to anybody who will part with their footwear. Only one taker - his feet are too small. Fifteen minutes pass and I'm still unshod. 

Plan C: We find a new store. It's open but sells no shoes. I buy a $4 pair of navy blue socks and put them on over top of my flip flops. Back to the VIP line, we breeze past the first bouncer. Then we're through the full body search. Elation! We're in!  $30 cover? We walk away.

I disappear from the group. It's time to get Chaz back for his tricks. Soon a crowd of ten plump 50 year old women are all cheering loudly. "Chaz! Chaz! Chaz!!" He answers the call. He's so smooth. I egg on the crowd more until their cheers change "Do it! Do it!"  Chaz looks baffled. "What!? What am I supposed to do?" he screams over the cheering. It takes a while - then the largest of the women yells "Your Elvis Impersonation!" It takes a second but soon Chaz is twitching his legs and twisting. He grunts "ah huh huh" over and over, but he clearly doesn't know a single Elvis lyric.

It is true that if you double your bet every time you lose, then you'll almost certainly recover your loses. However, my pocket book failed to sustain exponential growth and we quickly found ourselves facing the inevitable catastrophe. We consulted the fates and they decided that we should go for it: one final spin of the wheel with the rest of the night on the line. 


We lost. But walked home with everything we had wanted to win

(... except for all that money)

Photos courtesy of Cowboy J

Published in Drive Out Magazine

Drive Out Magazine published a story about Ralf and his amazing adventure through Africa. They used my account of our time together in Malawi to answer the interview question "Have you ever been stuck badly?" I'm published! Though they took some creative liberties and didn't give me credit ... w/e

Ascending the Northwest Face of Half Dome

Half Dome as seen from Glacier Point

You should know:

1. This was a fairly safe activity.
2. Looking back, this appears to be pretty ridiculous.
3. The indisputable trip leader of our voyage was my dear friend Mr. Dima. He's the man. Whatever emotions this post evokes within you, please credit 65% of them to Dima and 35% to myself. This includes (but is in no way limited to) emotions such as joy, anxiety, concern, gassiness, fatigue, etc.
4. Shoutout to ma family on this one.
5. I don't know why I did this. But I'm happy I did. For those of you who said I shouldn't do it, know that I considered and respect your opinions.

*           *          *

3:45 am - I am politely awoken by a rumbling cell phone.  I'm naked beneath a down sleeping bag. No tent tonight, we camp under the stars. Only half the sky has stars tonight. Snooze.

3:55 am - I am arrogantly awoken by a beeping watch. No more snoozing. "Want some protein bar?" I ask. "No thanks," I hear.
"Want some goo?" I hear.
"No thanks."

Dima on approach. Our climb progresses up the left
of the wall in the background.

We are sleeping 20 meters from the base of the of Yosemite Valley's infamous Half Dome. The 2000' vertical northwest face towered over us, occluding the sky. Dima thinks that we can complete this 2300' climb in a single day. I am dubious. But who was I to tell him we can't?

We arrived here twelve hours earlier in the full heat of the California sun traveling first by plane, then car, then bus, and finally foot. We had approached via some scrambling/hiking on a pleasant walk up The Death Slabs. As I suspected, the hiking was non fatal. But the adventure already had me tired and scared.

We had climbed the first 400' of the face after the hike and watched the sun setting from a small ledge. Turkey sandwiches go well with sunsets. I was tired and had struggled immensely through the climbing - fatigue, dehydration, and hunger was affecting me only a few hours after leaving camp. I suppose my vigorous regiment of keyboarding, 3am bed times, and a strict diet of PBnJ has its toll.

Dima 60m out on pitch 9.
The climb continues up the prominent
chimney flake.

We left our two ropes fixed to the wall and stashed the gear on the ledge. We slept at the base and soon woke. I left my headlamp in the bag stashed up high, so I had to ascend our ropes in darkness. Ascending is easy if you do it right. I learned to do it right after about 1800', so my start was slow and tiring.  When we reached the ledge and the bag, the sky glowed from a sunrise hidden by the wall's shadow.  

The next section of climbing progresses up a long thin crack which arches to the right. This section is too hard for me to climb without help. Dima may be able to climb it, but we are emphasizing speed and safety today - so he places gear into the crack and uses it to aid his ascent. The next bit of climbing is a few grades easier, so Dima climbs it using gear only for protection.  Dima is now has 200' of rope between him and where we started. He reaches a predetermined place to stop and fixes himself to the rock using gear. He signals to me that he is secure and I ascend the rope or climb the rock until I reach him. Repeat this process 23 times, and you've climbed Half Dome.

So that's what we did.  And it was beautiful and consistently intense. There are lots of great people who thoroughly detail what the climbing is like [1] [2] [3] [4]. There is an approximate map below. I'll detail a few highlights.


The Robbin's Traverse  - You are climbing. Your goal is to go up. You reach an impassable section of wall. If only you were 15' to the side ... then you could climb the easy looking rock over that'a'way. You need to set up a pendulum! Fix the rope to a point on the wall, then sit back on the rope and lower yourself downward. Now you can swing freely on the rope. Run right, run left, run right to start swinging. As you swing, let out more rope to increase the size of the swing.  Eventually you'll reach the easier climbing and you are now free to continue upward.

The Robbin's Traverse is a section of unclimbable rock with 9 bolts in it which form a sort of ladder (called a bolt ladder). When you get to the top, you set up a pendulum to traverse right. It's an awesome playful feeling. My first pendulum. Good times.

Dima ready to start the pendulum.

The Chimneys  - Granite walls always have huge flakes of rock which hang awkwardly off the wall. Likely my favorite formations on granite are these detached flakes - like Boomstick flake in Squamish, where a flake of rock floats 1'' off a parallel face coming to a knife's edge which you walk. Sometimes these flakes get so big that you can get your whole body inside them and you can walk up the inside like you're in a chimney. Half Dome has two chimney pitches inside some big big flakes (depicted in the background above).  Dima reminds me regularly "I hate chimneys." So, I was leading the chimneys today - but I got scared and didn't do it. When Dima got up high into the squeeze section of the second narrow chimney, he called down "I don't think I can do it." Never have I heard such words from Dima's mouth. Needless to say, he did it.

Five o'clock comes too soon - With 550' left to climb we prepared to overnight on Big Sandy Ledge. It was neither big, nor sandy. We had a pad and a bivy sack for the two of us to share. I dozed on a 3' ledge using a raincoat around my legs. At 8500' elevation, I found the wind too cold for my liking. I was very happy when Dima said, "Want a jacket? I'm not using it" and gave me his coat. He was using it.

We had a good conversation and slept poorly. I dreamt.

Dima soaking in the sunset rays after a day in the shade
and before a cold night. Sponsored by Black Diamond.

Thank God Ledge - The whole route goes straight up underneath a massive overhanging rock called The Visor. The first party to climb Half Dome named the ledge "Thank God Ledge" because it allowed them to move left and out from under The Visor, passing around it instead of over it. It narrows to less than 1' with no hands. Dima walked it. My backpack kept my center of gravity behind me; so I crawled and hung off the side traversing by hand when it got too narrow. Crazy exposure.

Dima waves to the gods.

Topping Out  - The pace on the second day was more relaxed, but an encroaching storm has us both briefly scared. After thirty six hours on the rock, we were greeted by hiking tourists at the top. Most arrive after a few hours of hiking. They were happy to share some much-appreciated water. 

It felt great to be off the wall. I was ready to be done. Now it is just a matter of a long descent back to camp via chains, hiking, and then a bus. It took us a while, but the valley's scenery and waterfalls were engaging and spectacular. Time passed quickly as we dreamed of cold beer and All-Star Sausage Pizza.

*          *           *

Yellow - Approach (3 hours)

Red - Climb (36 hours)

Not Shown - Descent (5 hours)