Signs Found on Our Walk

Getting to Know You

As someone who is interested in experiencing a variety of bicycles and sharing my impressions with others, I find myself constantly re-examining the question of how long it takes to get a "proper" impression of a bike. When I test ride a bicycle, the experience is different on so many levels from when I own the bicycle and ride it in on a daily basis. There are discoveries I make about bikes months into owning them.



Also, when I own a bicycle - even if it's one of my "experimental bikes" and I know from the start that I will probably end up selling it eventually, there is something about the personal responsibility of ownership that makes me more comfortable forming impressions of its characteristics.



These are all reasons why I differentiate "bicycle reviews" - which I limit to the bikes I own, from "test ride reports" of the bikes I try. And I also mention how long I'd ridden the bike at the time of the review, so that the reader can factor that in. For instance, riding the Abici for an entire afternoon around the city and riding my friend's Retrovelo for a good portion of our long trip through the countryside, were quite different experiences than riding the Trek Belleville for 10 minutes on the side streets adjacent to the bike shop. And, riding my own Gazelle, Bella Ciao and Pashley were different experiences still, and my impression of these bikes takes hundreds of rides into account.



Ultimately, I feel more comfortable offering an opinion about bikes I have owned, however briefly, than on bikes I have merely test ridden or borrowed. And I am considering what that means in terms of Lovely Bicycle. Should I try to make it a point to own the bikes I feel would be especially interesting to review, and then later sell them, accepting the loss as part of the costs of running this blog? It's a neat idea, but probably not financially feasible. Extended borrowing would be the next thing, but there are all sorts of logistic and conflict-of-interest problems when it comes to that as well.



How long does it take you to get to know a bicycle? Is a test ride enough, or do you have to own it for a couple of months before you really feel familiar with it? When you read reviews and test ride reports, do you pay attention to how long the author has been riding the bike and factor that into your impressions? Finally, what do you think is the optimal time period to wait before writing a review?

Center for Great Apes Tour

When we were doing volunteer work for Reach the World, I wrote about a sanctuary that is nearby that houses a famous chimp. Michael Jackson's chimp, Bubbles, lives there now. The kids really got a kick out of that and asked me lots of questions about him. Unfortunately at the time, I couldn't really answer because I hadn't been to the place he lived so I couldn't tell them.



This past week that changed because we not only visited his home, we saw him in person and saw he is doing well. I can't even describe how excited I was to visit where he does live, The Center for Great Apes. It is very close by where we are this winter, but because it is not open to the public, you would never know it was there. It is very discrete and on land that allows a beautiful place for the animals to live in a peaceful environment.



The center was started when it's founder agreed to take in an orangutan and it grew from there. You can read the story here: History of the Center for Great Apes. In short, it is now a sanctuary for orangutans and chimpanzees.



We had a very small group with us from Thousand Trails that went for a private tour. We rode over with new pickleball friends, Garth and Rosemary. Since our group was so small, it made the visit feel very intimate.



We were allowed to take pictures, but they asked that we not share them on the internet so I won't post them here.



I can share that this was one of my top favorite things to do since we hit the road full time. It was so much better than I ever expected. So many times when we visit places where animals are housed, I have conflicting emotions. I am glad they are safe, but at times it doesn't seem to be a way of life that I'd think is truly enjoyable for an animal. That was not the case here at all. This was the most impressive sanctuary we have ever visited as far as the thoughtfulness they put into the environment for the animals.



On top of all that, we were able to get much closer to the animals than I had expected. So close that it was overwhelming to me at times, because of the emotions that welled up inside of me. I didn't even edit my pictures for a few days because of the swell of emotions that I was still feeling from the visit. If you are in the area, get a group together and GO visit this place! You won't regret it!



We have been enjoying gorgeous weather here this winter which makes things like this even more enjoyable. Living the life in Sunny Florida!

Shiloh Revisited

It was 3 1/2 years ago that I wrote a little something about the Civil War battle at Shiloh in western Tennessee and about two of my relatives (or rather, one confirmed and one potential relative) who gave their lives in that battle. I have now been to the battlefield at Shiloh (also known as Pittsburg Landing) three times, the most recent being a week ago (November 15th). I'm not sure what keeps drawing me back there. Perhaps it is the spirit of Jacob Berlin and of Ralph Goodrich and of all the other men that lost their lives there. Each visit leaves me with a greater appreciation and sense of awe for those men and what they went through.

The video shown at the visitor center is the same one they have been showing since 1956, according to the ranger on duty last week. And the exhibits on display are the same as the ones the last time I was there in ... But this time, I looked a little closer and noticed something that somehow I had missed the last time...

How I missed it, I don't know. But, see those two photographs on the left – the ones of the soldiers standing in their camps? They are of companies of the 9th Regiment and the 44th Regiment of Indiana Volunteer Infantry! It struck me as odd that there would be on display photos of two regiments from Indiana to represent the northern troops... and that those two regiments are the same ones that Jacob Berlin and Ralph Goodrich served with! Jacob was in the 9th and Ralph in the 44th. What are the odds of that happening? Of course, they aren't the same companies that Jacob and Ralph served in, but still. Makes you wonder... I took close-up photos of the pictures and will have those in a couple of future posts.

Some of the relics on display at Shiloh National Battlefield visitor center.Belt buckles, buttons, knives, bullets, and mini-balls.
Both Jacob and Ralph were in the line of battle along “The Sunken Road” a portion of which was named “The Hornets' Nest” because bullets were flying by so close and fast that it sounded like a mass of hornets buzzing. This realistic diorama shows part of the action along the Sunken Road. A sign alongside it states “At one point in the battle, as the Confederates were trying to break the Union defense line at the Hornets' Nest, the Confederates concentrated the greatest collection of artillery yet to appear on the American continent. Artillery played a major role in the battle, supporting infantry advances, breaking enemy attacks, and causing many of the deaths and injuries.”

I walked along the sunken road, now a wide path through the woods, looking for the monument for the 44th Regiment. I missed the path that veered off to the left toward the monument the first time through but found it on the return walk.

The Monument to the 44th Regiment, Indiana Volunteer Infantry.
Its backside faces the path and the “front” side of the monument faces the direction in which the troops were facing during the battle - south.

The backside of the monument is inscribed with details of the battle:44th InfantryCommanded byCol. Hugh B. Reed.
“This regiment formed in this line Sunday, April 6th 1862, at 8.30 a.m. It repulsed several charges made by the enemy, including four terrific charges by right of Gibson's brigade, which, under orders of Gen. Bragg, was attempting to force this part of the line back. During these engagements the woods caught fire. At 2.30 p.m. regiment fell back to a line with 1st Brigade, then to rear and left of the Bloody Pond, where it charged on enemy's infantry and artillery. Here seven flag- bearers were shot down. At 4.30 p.m. slowly fell back and supported siege guns. Monday, April 7th, regiment fought the enemy till 3 p.m. Number men in action, 478. Casualties: killed, 1 officer and 33 men: wounded, 6 officers and 171 men; missing, 1 man: total, 212." Ralph Goodrich died on April 8th of wounds he received during the battle on the 6th.

The monument to the 9th Infantry was supposed to be in the field just north of the Sunken Road, as marked on the park map by the Ranger, but I never did find it... this website has a photo of it. The inscription reads “Commanded by Col. Gideon C. Moody. This regiment arrived on the battlefield at 9 p.m., April 6, 1862, moved upon the enemy at daylight of the 7th, was hotly engaged at this place 10 a.m. Repulsed a heavy attack from the front (south), and charged with brigade to the right (west), and drove back the enemy. At 12.30 p.m. was sent by Gen. Nelson across the road to the left to the aid of Col. Ammen. Casualties: killed, 1 officer and 16 men; wounded, 7 officers and 146 men; total, 170." Jacob Berlin was among the 16 men killed.

This was in the area of the Hornets' Nest. The monument to the 44th was to the east about a quarter of a mile down the path.

Gunks Routes: Minty (5.3) & Mr. P's Wurst (5.8)

(Photo: Coming up the 5.8 pitch one of Mr. P's Wurst.)



So nice to be back home in the Gunks.



After nearly two months away, I longed for the old familiar climbing surroundings.



The overhangs.



The pitons.



The long reaches.



The horizontals.



I was climbing with Margaret on an October Sunday. She wanted some easy leading and our first target was Three Pines. Unfortunately Three Pines at 9 a.m. already had a party of three on the first pitch and another pair at the base waiting to start. This was hardly a surprise on a Sunday during peak season.



My general policy is not to wait for climbs in the Trapps. In my experience, you always find something else open if you keep looking. Sure enough, we went a little further down the cliff and found Minty (5.3) available so we were in business.



Margaret led pitch one. I think this pitch is a great introductory Gunks lead because it has an early move that seems several grades harder than the rest of the climb. This might not seem like an ideal situation for a new leader to deal with, but it happens all the time on climbs of every grade in the Gunks. You have to confront it eventually, so you might as well start to get used to it when you're leading 5.3!



On Minty, the move can catch you by surprise. You start up this little corner. A big shelf is right there for you to grab, just one step up. But the feet are these tiny, polished little half-pebbles. You have to trust your feet just long enough to step up to grab that ledge.



The move should be no big deal.



But it seems totally possible you could fall here.



So you stand there thinking "This is supposed to be 5.3! How can I be such a failure that I am worried about this little move on a 5.3??"



And you psyche yourself out.



And you try this, and you try that, desperate to avoid this tenuous little step.



Finally you just do the stupid move and feel like an idiot.



Welcome to the Gunks.





(Photo: Past the crux on pitch one of Minty (5.3).)



The other hazard on Minty is that you might go up the wrong corner. The climb keeps moving left, and all the corner systems look alike. The first time I did the route, with Liz, she went up too soon, when she should have continued moving left. But if you make this mistake, you'll likely end up on Tipsy Trees, which is another nice 5.3. So no worries.



To stay on track you should look up for the distinctive Minty tree. It is a pine tree over 100 feet up that sticks out sideways from the cliff. This tree is where pitch one ends. If you keep in mind that you are heading for this tree, you should find the correct route.





(Photo: The 5.2 pitch three of Minty.)



Minty has lots to offer. The steep, juggy climbing you'll find in the second half of pitch one and all of pitch two is especially nice. Pitch three goes at a very casual 5.2 and it isn't terribly long, but it too has good moves out from a corner system and then up jugs to the top.



My personal preference for descending from climbs in the Minty/Snooky's area is to walk a short distance to the bolted rap route at the top of the Madame G buttress. Using the bolted rap route guarantees a safe descent and avoids throwing ropes over nervous leaders on very popular climbs. The problem with this method is that the Madame G rap starts from the GT Ledge and you have to follow your nose and downclimb from the top to find the bolts. If you aren't already familiar with the location it will be hard for you to find it. In the past I have spotted the distinctive tree which grows out at an angle from the cliff right next to the rap bolts, but I must have done this at a time of year in which the trees have no leaves. Last weekend with Margaret I couldn't spot the correct tree from the top and I had some trouble finding the bolts, overshooting the right path and having to work my way back. Still, I prefer these few minutes of hunting to rapping off of the manky anchors which come and go atop the cliff.



Coming down, I could see it wasn't going to be easy to get on another three-star classic. The cliff was looking very crowded. There were parties on Madame G's, on Finger Locks or Cedar Box, on Hyjek's Horror, on almost every climb in sight. Was this a nature preserve? It bore a greater resemblance to Occupy Wall Street.



I suggested to Margaret that we do an empty climb right in front of us: Mr. P's Wurst. The climb, which ascends the right side of the Madame G buttress, is almost always open, even though it sits amidst some of the most popular routes in the Trapps.



I've been wanting to get on Mr. P's for some time, in part because I like the name, which Ivan Rezucha and Rich Perch bestowed on the route in the best Hans Kraus tradition.



Hans put up Madame G's (full name: Madame Grunnebaum's Wulst) in 1943. How many climbers understand the bawdy humor in this classic route's name? I'd wager that very few get the joke. As Susan E.B. Schwartz explains in her biography Into the Unknown: the Remarkable Life of Hans Kraus, the name was not inspired by a real person. Instead, Hans looked up at the buttress and saw two bulges up high that-- to his one-track mind-- resembled a woman's bosom. The route he created begins at a pine tree and weaves between the two breast-like features. Grunnebaum is German for green tree and wulst means bulge. Thus the route's name can be translated in full as "Mrs. Greentree's Boobs."



Once you understand the humor in Madame G's name, the meaning of Mr. P's Wurst becomes obvious. The latter route snakes up right next to Ms. Greentree's bulges, and what could be better nestled in those bulges than Mr. Perch's sausage?



Apart from the name, what interested me about Mr. P's was that no one ever seems to do it. It is always open, despite the fact that Dick Williams decided to anoint it with two stars in his 2004 guidebook. Dick also did his part to make the route more accessible, describing a new start from 50 feet up the gully to the right of the buttress instead of the 5.6 R climbing previously needed to get established on the route.



I think this new start is actually one of the reasons the crowds stay away. The gully looks unappealing and from the ground it is hard to see exactly where you're supposed to jump onto the wall.



It looked to me as though the right spot was about five or ten feet below the rap bolts that are on the other side of the gully. We decided to do pitch one of Northern Pillar (5.1) instead of climbing the gully, with Margaret leading up and cutting left near the top of the pitch to set up a belay either at or near the bolts, from which point I'd decide exactly how to get over the gully and onto the wall for Mr. P's.



Margaret ended up building a belay to the right of the bolts, in order to avoid having parties constantly rapping through as she stood there waiting for me. This worked out fine, although I think it would have been okay to use the bolts so long as she set up on the left side of them. It seems to me that when people rap and pull the ropes from above they usually fall just to the right of the bolts. So if Margaret had anchored into the bolts but stood to the left she would probably have been unaffected by the rapping parties. In the final analysis, it would have been simpler just to go up the gully.





(Photo: Approaching the crux of the 5.8 pitch one of Mr. P's Wurst. From the photo you can get some idea how overhanging the final bits of the pitch are. The other climber in the photo is on Madame G's.)



From our belay at bolt level, I traversed to the gully, downclimbed a few moves, and then made the step across to the other side. These moves are easy, but if you do it this way you need to place pro as you step down, and then again at the other side of the gully, if you want to protect your second. Again, probably it would have been better just to go up the gully.



Now I was finally on Mr. P's. The pitch wasn't difficult to follow. Good holds lead up and around the corner until you find yourself on the right side of the face of the Madame G buttress. The climbing is juggy throughout the first pitch, and the rock quality is generally good. The angle gradually steepens until it becomes overhanging for the last ten to fifteen feet of the pitch. The crux move comes at three ancient pitons. I equalized the lower two and then clipped the third one as well, hoping at least one of them would hold in the event of a fall.



A big move up to a bomber horizontal, a good cam, and another move up to a tenuous stance finished the pitch beneath a roof.





(Photo: Looking down from the hanging belay at the end of pitch one of Mr. P's Wurst (5.8). My belayer Margaret is in blue. The climber in red is descending by the bolted rappel route.)



I found the hanging belay suggested by Dick to be rather unpleasant. There are two ancient pins, plus enough horizontals to place a few cams. It isn't unsafe, but it is truly a hanging stance; I couldn't let go with both hands in order to set up my anchor. Equalizing the cordalette and tying it in a knot with one hand wasn't easy.





(Photo: Approaching the hanging belay at the end of pitch one of Mr. P's Wurst (5.8).)



Pitch two is rated 5.7+. I followed Dick's instructions exactly, moving through the roof at the break and then stepping left. The move was fun and well-protected (you can get a good cam in the break in the roof), but I thought it was a big, reachy move, definitely harder than 5.7. It reminded me of the crux moves on Maria Direct and No Glow, both 5.9.



The rest of the pitch was easier, but still good. Getting past another roof on its right side requires a couple more interesting moves, and then the route joins Madame G's to the finish.





(Photo: Just over the roof on the supposedly 5.7+ pitch two of Mr. P's Wurst.)



After I pulled up the rope and put Margaret on belay, she immediately took a fall. Then she seemed to have no trouble climbing the pitch. She told me when she arrived at the top that she'd tried the roof my way, found it ridiculously hard, and then had moved four feet or so to the left, where she found 5.7 climbing up past the roof.



So maybe Margaret's way is the right way to do it, since it is 5.7. But it isn't how Dick describes the route. Personally, I enjoyed pulling the roof, and I did exactly what Dick instructed me to do, but if you do it this way the roof move is the hardest move on the whole route, and the 5.7+ pitch becomes more like a 5.9-. So you make your own call.



I would gladly climb Mr. P's again, but I would do it differently. I would just go straight up the gully rather than deal with the bolted rappel freeway and the downclimb/traverse. And I think I would bring a few extra cams and runners and do it in one pitch all the way from the ground to the finish on the GT Ledge. This would avoid the unpleasant hanging belay. And then you'd get one super long pitch of juggy steep climbing, wholly in keeping with other great climbs on the same buttress, like Columbia (5.8) and Madame G's (5.6).



If you do it this way I'm sure you too will end up a friend to Mr. P.

Cycling and Suffering

In my view, the most unfortunate myth about cycling for transportation is that it is difficult. Understandably, this is how non-cyclists often perceive it - due to the overabundance of athletic cyclists and heavily armoured utility cyclists on the roads in comparison to cyclists who look like regular people. But even among the "everyday cyclists", I feel that there is a tendency to focus on the challenging aspects of riding a bike in a way that takes pride in these challenges and thereby dwells on them: the pain of cycling uphill, the heroics of cycling in cold weather, the battle of cycling in traffic... Come on, be fair! Cycling is fun and convenient, giving us the most independence and flexibility of all other transport options. Compared to the poor drivers stuck in traffic and the users of public transportpushing their ways through overcrowded buses, we coast through life with smiles on our faces.



[image via BostonBiker.org]

Reading Boston Bikerthis week, I was reminded of my all time favourite misrepresentation of cycling's "difficulties": Our love of exaggerating thefortitude of cycling in the rain.On cycling blogs, we often read stories that describe a non-cyclist asking a cyclist, "But what do you do when it rains?" and the cyclist replying "I get wet!" After this exchange is retold in the blog post, the author will then muse about how people nowadays are out of touch with the elements, and how ridiculous it is that "the car culture" has taught us to fear getting rained on. This, however, is simply untrue. Car culture did not teach us to dislike getting rained on. Seeking protection from the elements is a natural impulse that has been with us pretty much forever. In non-car-oriented societies people still use umbrellas and hide under awnings. Cave people sought shelter in caves. It is completely normal not to want to get rained on on the way to work or a date, so that we can both arrive in dignity and not come down with the flu the next day.



[image viaBostonBiker.org]

Cyclists however, sometimes seem to experience pride from getting soaking wet in the rain, and this pride translates into projecting an intimidating image to those who do not ride a bike. The non-cyclist is given to understand, that in order to embrace cycling they must accept the idea that getting wet is "normal" rather than something to be avoided... In other words, to accept an idea that goes against people's natural instincts since the dawn of civilization.



I don't know about you. But when a non-cyclist asks me what I do when it rains, I reply that I wear a raincoat. When a non-cyclist asks me about hills, I explain that I switch to a lower gear and pedaling gets easy again. And when a non-cyclist asks me whether I am scared of traffic, I point out that it was less scary than driving once I got used to it. And all of these things are true. Why tell them I am suffering, when I am not?

Fenton Lake

Update from GRIP

I'm behind with posting but with good reason. Yesterday's classes were Intense. Yes, with a capital "I" and they were also Interesting, Informative and Mentally Exhausting.



I was up late last night (as were most other classmates in the Advanced Research Methods with Tom Jones). In addition to a full day of classes yesterday (please go read Chris Staats' post about yesterday's classes and wish him a belated happy Anniversary while you're there) we had a homework assignment. We had no idea how hard it was going to be, but that look of glee on Dr. Jones' face when he gave us the 8-page handout should have been a clue!



I do enjoy a challenge but this was something else. There were abstracts of 16 tax lists, 3 census records, 12 deeds, 4 wills, 2 guardian records, 2 marriage records, and a Revolutionary War Pension affidavit that we had to review, analyze, and try to determine the father of a man from 5 other men with the same surname!



But before tackling the homework I decided to attend the presentation by Rick Sayre on Pennsylvania Research, which was good but he quite a bit of time on Pittsburgh records. I would have liked to have heard more about statewide records.



After returning from the presentation, I spent 4 hours working on the homework assignment. At that point, I still hadn't reached a conclusion but my head was hurting and my eyes were burning so I turned in for the night. Less than half an hour later an idea popped into my dull brain and I "had" to get up and work on the problem before I lost my train of thought. Yes, the answer had come to me. A short time later I was back in bed sound asleep. I didn't even hear the storm that came through that many were talking about today.



I worked on the problem for another hour (consolidating my thoughts and trying to come up with some idea of how to "defend" my conclusion) before heading off to class. Dr. Jones went through the list of possible fathers, one at a time, asking those who thought it was a particular man to raise their hand. When he got to "William" the hands of about 2/3 of the class shot up. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach since he wasn't my choice! When the name of the one I had chosen came up only 3 of us raised our hands.



A minute or so later, Dr. Jones announced that there were 3 "A" students in the class! I had gotten it right! To say that I was ecstatic is an understatement... So, I'm giving myself a little pat on the back and tooting my own horn a bit too. I must say, it felt awesome.



It's been another full exhausting and enlightening day, and we're almost caught up with the syllabus. Tomorrow is the last day with only half a day of classes. It's been an amazing experience and I am so glad that I was able to come.



I'm sure that Chris will be blogging about today's classes as will classmates Shelley Bishop at A Sense of Family and Christy Webb at the Geeky Texan. Also Denise Levenick, the Family Curator, has also been blogging about the Intermediate class she is taking.



This will likely be the last post from GRIP... I've got to get busy on the homework for tomorrow...

Caldera Wildlife

It is the wild animals that everyone always wants to see and photograph or at least I do. On this trip I got some good photos of a chipmunk that was eating grass at one of the places we pulled over to take some scenic photos.



At another place a pair of these birds were catching bugs on the ground. So far I haven't been able to identify them yet. They had a lot of yellow/green on them and were just larger than a sparrow.







These prairie dogs were in a large village of them on the drive from the paved road to the Visitors Center at the Caldera. We did see a badger run across the road in front of us but I couldn't get the camera up in time. The Center people said there were lots of badgers in the prairie dog villagetrying to catch them. The badgers help keep therodents down. The 'dogs' are cute but leave lots of deep holes in the ground for deer, elk, horses, cows, and even people to step in and get hurt.




From the paved road we saw a herd of about 30 elk but they didn't want to come close to us. We could barely see some smaller ones, probably this years calves running and playing.







There were elk in the trees here.



We also saw some deer but again couldn't get a photo before they were gone.

Tombstone Tuesday :: The Charles Shuder Family

The Charles Shuder Family plot in North Webster Cemetery, Tippecanoe Township, Kosciusko County, Indiana. It is in the same row as that of his parents, Isaac and Nancy Shuder, and two of his brothers.

The large, center marker is that of his first wife Dessie Alene Wissler. Dessie passed away a month after giving birth to her daughter, Audrey Gwendoline. Charles' brother, George, was married to Dessie's twin sister, Bessie. According to my Aunt Pat (who, since her marriage in June 1945, has lived in the neighborhood where the Wiseman and Shuder families lived), after his wife's death Charles carried his little one-month-old daughter over to his brother and handed her over to George and Dessie. I don't know whether George and Bessie officially adopted Audrey or not but they raised her as their own. In 1912, Charles married Ina Myrtle Kitson and they had three children: Milton Shuder, Neva Marie Golden and Wilma Beard.

DESSIE WIFE OF / CHARLES J. SHUDER / MAY 27, 1883 / FEB. 26, 1907
CHARLES J. SHUDER / 1883 - 1963
INA M. SHUDER / 1880 - 1952

Photos taken July 12, .. - Copyright © .. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman

A Day in the Picos de Europa: Espolon del Agero ("Agero Spur"), 6a (5.10a)

(Photo: Mount Agero, seen here in the afternoon after the morning fog cleared away.)



It has been several years since I've used a guide for clmbing.



My experiences with guides have always been very professional, educational and satisfying. But these experiences were all in the United States. And the guides spoke the same language I did.



Last week in Spain, in the Picos de Europa, I didn't know whether I could expect the same sort of experience.



I had never planned on climbing there. The Picos were not a part of my climbing dreams. Until recently I'd never heard of these mountains. They are largely unknown to American climbers.



Oddly enough, my wife Robin made it happen. She'd planned a family vacation in Northwest Spain for the whole family: the two of us plus the kids. I was passively, notionally involved but really I left the details to her. She picked the locations in Galicia where we'd spend the first week of our trip. As she looked into Asturias and learned about the Picos de Europa, she knew we'd love the place and decided we should spend several days in the region. She wanted us to go hiking in the area as a foursome, which we did. (It is a hiker's paradise.) But she also planned things so I could take one day apart from the family and go rock climbing on my own. I don't know many non-climbing spouses who would do something like that. That's just the kind of generous person she is!



In the months leading up to the trip, I looked into finding a climbing partner in the Picos. There weren't many resources (in English) for finding a climbing partner. I did some web searches but did not stumble on any guide services with English-language web sites. I posted queries on both rockclimbing.com and mountainproject forums but got no responses, either about potential partners or a guide.



Eventually I decided I would just find a way to hire someone. This would be simpler-- I wouldn't have to bring much, just my harness, shoes and helmet. It was unlikely I'd find a partner for just the one day any other way. I asked my old partner Greg about the guides I knew he'd used when he was in Chamonix. He put me in touch with a reputable guide, an American that he'd used over in Europe. Greg's guide wasn't planning on being anywhere near the Picos in August but he put me in touch with Kjeld Andreasen, who co-founded a service called ATG out there that offers guiding not just for climbing, but also caving, rafting, mountain biking, and other adventure sports.



Kjeld immediately contacted me by email and when I told him I was looking for long mountain trad routes in the 5.9 to 5.10 range he said, in perfect English, that he knew exactly what I was looking for and that I would love the Picos.



As the appointed day approached my biggest worry was the weather. We'd had a mix of rainy and sunny days in Galicia and temperatures that were a little cool for August. On the day before my planned climbing day, we'd arrived at our hotel in Arenas de Cabrales to find overcast skies and mountains shrouded in a damp fog. We'd gone ahead and done an afternoon hike with the kids despite the weather, and been immediately amazed at the beauty of these mountains. We were instantly in love with the Picos, even in the fog.



That night I spoke to Kjeld. He had hoped to take me out personally, but he had bad news: he had just broken his ankle in a motorcycle race.



But I was not to worry, he told me. He had set me up with one of ATG's guides, Fernando Zamora. He said Fernando spoke English well, and that they had talked about good routes for me. Fernando knew what I was looking for and had a few options in mind, one of which was easier, and the other more difficult, depending on how “eager” and “enthusiastic” I was. Then Kjeld chuckled. I wasn’t sure what to make of the chuckle.



I told him I was well known for my enthusiasm.



The next day dawned sunny and bright, although with fog still surrounding many peaks. It was much clearer than the day before, giving Robin and me our first real look at the full beauty of the Picos. We drove to the appointed meeting place in Potes and marveled at the giant formations so close to us on either side of the road. The forecast still called for potential rain in the afternoon, but I was hopeful I could get a good day in. (We learned over the course of our stay that the weather forecast is pretty meaningless in the Picos.)



We met up with Fernando at 9 a.m. in a parking lot in the middle of Potes, where we learned his English wasn’t really so hot. But as Robin told him (in her broken Spanish), his English was surely much better than my Spanish! I’m terrible with languages. After a week in Spain I could still barely order coffee or beer.



Fernando told us in a mixture of Spanish and English that he thought we’d have a good day, but that we should do routes not too far up in elevation, because of the potential for bad weather later in the afternoon. It seemed very reasonable to me. He told Robin to expect us back in the lot about 4 p.m., and then we were off.



On the way to the climb, Fernando and I communicated to the extent we could about my climbing history. I realized after a few questions that he was trying to figure out what I was capable of. He asked me how long I’d been climbing (5 years), and if I had any experience with long mountain routes (a little but not much). Eventually, and I don’t know how this happened, he got the idea that I knew what I was doing and that he could take a chance on me. He told me he’d been planning to take me up a very nice, long route that is pretty easy, but that he’d changed his mind and decided to take me up a similarly long route that is even nicer, but also harder. He said it was rated 6a, which I later learned is considered equivalent to the American/YDS grade of 5.10a. At the time, I didn’t know what 6a meant, but I told him I was game to try whatever route he wanted.



We drove about 8 kilometers north out of Potes, to where Route 621 crosses the Deva river and the first sign for the town of Lebena appears. Suddenly Fernando turned to me and said “This car, it is good.”



Before I had time to wonder why he was telling me this, he turned off onto an extremely steep, narrow road that headed upward towards a large mountain (which I later learned is called Agero) sitting directly above Lebena. The pavement soon ended, and the road turned to dirt. It seemed our first thrills were going to come on the drive up. After a week in Spain I’d become accustomed to driving on narrow, curvy roads, but this one was crazy, barely wider than his small pickup, twisting and turning past tiny farms and houses. I couldn’t imagine driving on this road myself, and it’s unlikely I could ever find my way again on it even if I were willing to. Fernando made several sudden turns at various unmarked tiny intersections, going ever upward towards the mountain. Suddenly a gravel parking area, big enough for two cars, appeared. He gingerly found a way to squeeze his truck into the second space.



We had arrived. Fernando told me that by braving this road we’d saved ourselves an hour of hiking.





(Photo: Agero upon our arrival at the base, shrouded in fog.)



He instructed me to put my harness on at the truck. I had brought a small Camelback pack with water and a little food but Fernando told me he preferred it if I left all that behind. He handed me an even smaller water pack (cyclist size) that he wished me to carry.



For his part, he carried a rack of only 6 cams (Camalots .4 through # 2, plus a yellow Alien) and a similar number of quick draws/shoulder-length slings. That’s it. Nothing else. No nuts, nada. A couple locking carabiners. I have long known guides to carry less gear than the rest of us, but still I was surprised at just how little Fernando was bringing.



The mountain was right across the road from the tiny parking area. I thought we had arrived at the base of our climb, and I tried to engage Fernando in a discussion about belay commands. But he told me this wasn’t necessary, since we weren’t using the ropes just yet. Then he started up the rock, and I realized there was a cable attached to the rock heading upwards and to the right. This approach pitch was apparently going to be my first via ferrata. Fernando attached himself to the cable with a sling; I went ahead and used my Metolius PAS, with Fernando’s approval. It was hardly necessary, but there were a few exposed spots. Periodically, as he would throughout the day, he would ask me if I was "good," to make sure I was comfortable with whatever we were doing.





(Photo: Ascending the via ferrata approach pitch.)



After the via ferrata pitch we headed left for another approach pitch, this one probably third class, without any cable or need for one. It follows a faint trail up a dirt path with occasional rocks to the main wall of the formation.



We were already high above the towns in the valley, and finally ready for the first real pitch of climbing, on what I later learned is a classic 9-pitch (if you don’t count the two approach pitches) route called Espolon del Agero ("Agero Spur").



Fernando flaked the ropes (9 mm doubles) and talked to me about belay commands. He didn’t use the terminology I would use, but I understood what he wanted. He told me when he reached the end of the climbing he would say "open the system," and that I should not climb until he said "you go up!" In an effort to help his future business with English speakers, I tried to explain the terms "on belay" and "off belay," but I don’t think much of what I said got through. It didn’t matter. I knew what he meant and the system was the one I was comfortable with.





(Photo: At the crux of pitch one.)



He climbed the first pitch, telling me as he left that it is the hardest one on the route. He didn’t seem concerned with whether I could belay him properly. I soon learned this was because he didn’t really need much of a belay. He placed hardly any gear. In fact he probably soloed at least the first 60 feet, passing what I later found to be the first crux of the pitch without a single piece. Eventually he put in a piece and clipped a fixed piton (this route has lots of old pitons) before telling me he had reached the hardest section. Then he was quickly through it and it was my turn.





(Photo: Climbing pitch one.)



I was nervous. This was my first time climbing on limestone, and I didn’t know how it would feel. I also didn’t know what kind of hard climbing to expect. If we were talking about overhangs or a few thin face moves, I’d be right at home. If, on the other hand, I was going to be expected to climb a jam-crack for 100 feet or do a hard slab-climbing pitch, I could end up humiliated.



I needn’t have worried. The climbing felt very familiar to me.



The rock was featured with cracks, mostly vertical in orientation, but horizontal often enough for my taste. Lots of pockets as well. And the way the rock was formed was very Gunks-like in one respect: incredibly positive edges tended to form along the cracks. A steep face might appear impossible, but then a crack would turn out to provide the most awesome jug, sidepull or undercling. And I loved the texture of the limestone. It was so grippy, I felt I could put my toe on the smallest dimple; even rounded corners could form positive handholds.



I got through a couple 5.8-ish cruxy moments in the first pitch, shaking my head that Fernando had climbed through this same territory without placing any gear. Then I confronted the real crux of the pitch, a steep corner/slot with a finger crack at the back. I stood there, thinking of it as a test. If I could do these moves, Fernando would know I could do the whole climb. If I couldn‘t do them, what would happen? Would he try to pull me through it? Would we bail off the route and do something easier? Either of those possibilities was very unappealing.



The crack gave good finger locks. I placed the fingers of my right hand in one direction, my left in the other. Pulling outward in opposite directions (a move known as a Gaston but which I always think of as "forcing open an elevator"), I committed to moving my feet up, then got a better hold with my left hand. It was still steep, but then the holds improved. The crux moves were strenuous but the sequence was blissfully short. I got through it just fine.



When I arrived at the belay Fernando seemed overjoyed.



“You!” he said. “You are a professional! You are a very good climber!”



I was very happy, too. I had passed the test. I was also impressed at Fernando’s trust in me, a total stranger. He knew this was the type of climb I wanted, but he didn’t know ahead of time if it would work out well, or instead turn into an epic with a whiny, incapable client. He took a chance on me. He could easily have taken me up something easier and I wouldn’t have complained. Instead he gave me precisely what I’d asked for, a long route in the mountains at the upper limit of what I could do.



After this first pitch I relaxed completely. We were going to have a very good day.





(Photo: Fernando atop pitch one, with the fog already clearing.)



The rest of the climb unfolded smoothly.



Pitch two was an easier pitch up unremarkable territory.



Pitch three started out easy, but ended in another steep corner similar in size and difficulty to the one on the first pitch.





(Photo: Fernando shooting a photo of me from the end of the crux corner on pitch three.)



As we got higher, the day got clearer and hotter, and the peak, which was shrouded in fog at the start of our day, emerged into the bright sunshine.





(Photo: Emerging from the steep crux corner on pitch three.)



Despite what Fernando told me about the difficulties of pitch one, I later learned that pitches four and five are generally considered the crux 6a pitches of the route.





(Photo: Heading up the wide stemming section on pitch four.)



Pitch four is short, ascending a technical stem corner using wide-split legs. I thought it was really fun, but I didn’t think it was actually terribly demanding. I hate to be that guy who says "in the Gunks this wouldn’t be considered so hard," but in this one instance I am tempted. And let’s face it, I am that guy. I wanted to bring Fernando to the Trapps and have him climb Ants’ Line (5.9) or maybe Simple Stuff (5.10a, which I’ve never done), and ask him how he thinks they compare.





(Photo: Standing at the belay for pitch four.)



Pitch five was the actual crux for me, and on this particular day it seems it was for Fernando too. He did the early hard bit, ascending an arching crack which provides great hands but no footholds at all. Then he moved to the right onto the steep face and got to what looked like a committing layback move off a side-pull. He started to move up, grimaced and stepped down a couple times. This was the first time I’d seen him hesitate all day.



Then he called down and apologized, saying he was having trouble because he’d broken his hand a couple weeks before.



I quickly decided he couldn’t possibly mean what he’d just said. There was no way he was climbing on a broken hand. Right? (I figured out later that he believes he strained a tendon.)





(Photo: In the steep, exposed face-climbing on pitch five.)



Eventually he did the move and finished the pitch. It was my turn.



The early moves up the arching crack were tense. There really are no footholds at all for this rising traverse, but the texture of the limestone is so good, I felt my feet were stuck to the wall with glue. And Fernando had really done right by me, placing pro at reasonable intervals for my benefit along the traverse, the one place in the route it actually mattered. After this I got to the steep face, which Fernando had described to me as "impresionante." I didn’t know what he meant when he said it but as I made the moves I realized he'd meant "exposed." I was above a drop of several hundred feet.





(Photo: Belaying pitch five. Above me you can see the curving edge that is followed up and right, with smearing feet.)



I didn’t have any trouble with the sidepull Fernando had struggled with, but the holds above weren’t as good as I hoped they’d be. I still needed to move right and up to finish the pitch, and I suddenly felt for the first time all day that I was about to peel off. I was barely hanging on.



But I had to freeze when Fernando said "stop!"



I looked up, startled, to find he was pointing his camera at me. "Facebook!" he said.



Urg, not right now, I thought. I finished the pitch and the hard stuff was over.





(Photo: Belaying pitch six or seven.)



After two more easy pitches, the 5th class climbing was over as far as Fernando was concerned. For two full rope lengths to the top, Fernando instructed me to feed him the rope but told me not to put it through my belay device while he was climbing. He put me on some kind of body belay when I climbed each of these pitches behind him. Although he had climbed them without the benefit of a belay, I thought there were a handful of fifth class moves in these two pitches. Some people might not feel comfortable without a better belay, not to mention an anchor. I don’t know if the AMGA would have approved of Fernando’s approach to these final pitches, but I felt secure enough.



At the top we enjoyed the splendid view on what had turned into a gorgeous, sunny day. Fernando told me we’d finished more quickly than he’d expected by an hour, and he confirmed my suspicion that he’d really rolled the dice on me at the beginning. He said he’d normally never take someone on this route on his first day with that person. I guess something in our conversation had made him understand that I wouldn’t be a disaster for him, and that I’d really enjoy this route. I’m really grateful to both Fernando and Kjeld for giving me such a fine day in the mountains.













(Photos: On top of Agero.)



As I enjoyed the walk-off down the beautiful gully next to Agero I wondered if I’ll ever get back to the Picos. Before we left the area I bought the Adrados guidebook (which is in Spanish), a huge tome which contains select highlights of the region. I purchased it as both a souvenir and a motivator. If I look over it enough maybe I’ll stay motivated and find a way to come back some day.



And by then maybe I’ll learn how to order a beer in Spanish with confidence.







(Photos: Heading down.)