Slacker Reports

I began sending emails home from our trip, which evolved into the "Slacker Report", a written documentation of our travels. Kasi got jealous and started writing her own, which you can read on her portfolio website.

Slacker Report #1: California

After what seemed like an eternity of tying up loose ends (packing stuff up and putting it into storage, selling my truck and readying up the Hammer Van for our roadtrip, random paperwork we should have taken care of months ago, etc.) Kasi and I finally got out of town. We spent a couple weeks in Yosemite, doing lots of great freeclimbing. Climbers4Kerry was wrapping up its month-long extravaganza there and we had fun checking out the slideshows and hanging out with the Seattle crew while they were around. We did one wall climb, The Prow on Washington Column, which was a hell of a lot of work and made us wonder if we wanted to do another one (sorry, Rog!)
 
Needing a break from the tourists, bears, offwidths and camping hassles of the Valley, we headed over to Bishop to relax, boulder and clip some bolts. While we were there, a big storm moved through and dumped a few feet of snow in the mountains, blocking our return to Yosemite. It was incredibly beautiful on the East Side, with fresh snow in the mountains, fall foliage, the sagebrush all in bloom, and perfect climbing temps, but Kasi was getting restless so we decided to move south to the Needles.
 
At the same time, I got a wicked fever and was unable to move for two days, so we ended up here in Bakersfield, where Kasi's sister Katrina lives. We hope to go up to the Needles when I'm feeling better but it looks like the weather might crap out again, so we'll see. Maybe we'll head south to Baja (anyone got beta on Canon Tajo/El Trono Blanco?) That's one nice thing about being on the road with no particular agenda, even we do feel like we're drifting aimlessly at times. We are in the process of purchasing our round-the-world tickets, which should nail us down to a rather expensive itinerary beginning in January.
 
We'd love to hear from you, send us an email. We do have a cell phone, which is turned off pretty much all the time but you can leave us a voicemail, too: 206-295-9267. Oh, and don't forget to vote next Tuesday, Nov. 2!
 
Adios,
Andreas and Kasi ^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #2: Into Baja

Hola Amigos,
 
Here is the latest update of Kasi and Andreas' adventures:
 
In a futile effort to find warm, sunny rock, we fled south from the Sierras, climbing at Joshua Tree for a week of often chilly weather. Then we visited Kasi's dad's family in L.A. for a few days before seeking out more frigid climbing amid snowshowers at Suicide Rock. This led to warmer climbing at Mount Woodson, camping in lovely, well-kept city parks in San Diego, and crossing the border into Mexico, which we didn't realize we had passed until all the signs were suddenly in Spanish and there were enormous potholes everywhere. Apparently the Mexicans are not as worried about terrorists, illegal immigrants, or home-grown fruit as the USA; perhaps we should follow their initiative.
 
The scenic, rugged, northern Baja coast is a place of contrasts, with gringo hotels and trash-strewn shacks side by side on the waterfront. We spent a couple nights camping in the cleanest campground we could find, which had the added bonus of a fancy hotel next door where you could buy a margarita and poach a soak in the jacuzzi with a great view of the sea. We rented surfboards one day and got our asses kicked as usual.
 
We then sought out the elusive Canon Tajo, for which we had no climbing beta and some dubious directions. We drove inland on sketchy mountain roads where trucks were passing one another on blind, winding turns, then turned off onto a dirt road, which shook the van to pieces for a good twenty miles. After the mandatory exploration of numerous false dirt roads replete with rocks, ruts, puddles and various sharp objects that our van was not designed to withstand, we finally found the right turnoff to great camping next to amazing crags. We spent a few great days climbing in this wild and remote area, seeing nary a soul. I have visited few places as quiet and magical. The quality of the climbing was way better than expected and it was fun sniffing out the gems of the area without any kind of route information.
 
On the fourth morning, it began raining, then sleeting, and we realized that if we didn't high-tail it out of there we would surely be stuck until it dried out again. The driving got pretty rowdy, the ground turned to slippery clay that was like driving on slush, but we got out of there and back to the paved road. The paved road seemed no less dangerous, particularly the Rumarosa Grade, a 10-mile downgrade. Tens of crosses lined the shoulder in memory of those who had died, while hundreds of crashed cars and trucks were strewn below the road. Luckily, the only accident we saw was a couple of semis that had crashed, luckily for their drivers, on the uphill side of the road and rolled over.
 
After navigating more potholes, poorly marked roads, and a more grumpy, irritable border crossing, we made it to Tucson in a driving rain, to visit Kasi's friend Karla, with whom we will spend Thanksgiving. Tomorrow we climb on Mt. Lemmon.
 
Spending time in the vacuum of the mountains and Mexico was a pleasant if surreal escape from the disappointment we felt watching the election results materialize in our Yucca Valley hotel room on November 2. Perhaps it is escapist to spend time in blissful ignorance of the world's problems and the foolishness of my countrymen, but it gives one hope to know that there are still places in this world where you can have a good time, free from all the BS that is going down on a planet seemingly hell-bent on destruction.
 
Keep on rocking in the free world,
 
Andreas & Kasi^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #3: Arizona

This is a special holiday edition of Andreas and Kasi's dirtbag adventures.
 
Our latest installment finds us back in the Seattle area, enjoying the corpulent pleasures of mom's Christmas cookies and interior plumbing. The mists that saturate the atmosphere remind us that we have driven a long way from the land of saguaros, coatimundis and dry rock.
 
We spent most of the previous month cragging around Tucson, with most of our time spent in the adventure-cragging paradise of Cochise Stronghold. The Stronghold's rocks resonate with the spirit of those who have dwelled and taken refuge there. Every turn finds a cave where you expect to find Cochise's grave. We pretty much had the whole place to ourselves despite the fact that it is one of the best winter crags in our beloved nation, combining the intimidating ambiance of the Needles with the climate of J-Tree.
 
The best and most memorable route was Abracadaver, a climb with lots of full-on offwidth, laybacking and face climbing. The route finishes below the summit of Rockfellow Dome, an amazing mansion-sized boulder balanced between two vertiginous spires. To attain the actual summit, we had to chimney up through a dark cave beneath the summit boulder, come out into the sun on the other side, make an exposed step-across, and then climb an exciting face past a historic bolt. Descent requires a rappel back down into the cave, which is barely wide enough to take a full breath in once you are squeezed inside.
 
Bad weather and the need for a rest day led us through the historic towns of Tombstone (scene of the Shootout at OK Corral and hokey latter-day reenactments,) Bisbee (really cool town with beautiful old buildings built on a steep hill above the gaping pit of a strip mine,) and Nogales (a Mexican border town with the attendant opportunities for gringos to shop and be entertained.)
 
Finally heading north, we were allowed to cross the Hoover Dam after being searched by Homeland Security Forces to make sure the Rocket Box and Poop Tube were not packed with explosives (though the Poop Tube could be construed as a biological WMD.) We were reminded that this search wasn't like the ones we'd experienced at the border and that citizens here actually still have rights.
 
We finally got to Red Rocks after navigating the prolific suburbs of Las Vegas, which continue to expand without restraint, greedily devouring the landscape and replacing it with rows of McMansions and shopping centers connected by endless stoplights. The cragging there offered the novelty of clipping bolts in warm weather, yet seemed somehow anticlimactic. Luckily we continued northward and got in two more days of perfect weather at Smith Rock, reminding us that maybe sport climbing was fun after all.
 
Now that we are back "home" we're trying to figure out how to pack for our international adventure, which begins January 17 in Patagonia.
 
Wishing y'all Peace in the New Year,
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #4: Patagonia, Argentina

Buenas,
 
We are in Chalten, a remote, windswept town  packed with trekkers and climbers. Fitzroy and Cerro Torre loom in the distance, covered by the near-constant lenticular clouds. We are recovering from partying down with our friends from Rio Blanco Basecamp, an international contingency of climbers celebrating their recent successes during the recent spell of fine weather: Josh and Jason on the Franco-American route, The Slovenians on the Cassoratto Integrale, The Canadians on their new route, Andy and the Bulgarian who summited Cerro Torre, the Ecuadorians and Spaniards who got their asses kicked and needed to come down to town and get fed and drunk. Conspicuously absent is the all-star English team of Kevin Thaw and Leo Houlding, who should be able to climb and party harder than all the rest of us, who underestimated Fitzroy and ended up getting back to camp late yesterday after three days of climbing without sleep, food, or water.
 
Kasi and I undertook smaller objectives, climbing a chossy route on Aguja de la S to the false summit, and the NW buttress of Guillamet, which was an awesome route starting with 45 degree neve, beautiful clean rock up to 5.10d and a spectacular summit ridge. Amazing views abounded, from Fitzroy to Cerre Torre to the immense icefields beyond.
 
Patagonia is amazing, I don´t have time to relate all our wonderful adventures now, but will write more when we get back to L.A.
 
ciao,
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #4.1: Patagonia, cont.

Hola again, Amigos,
 
We´re back in Chalten again, this time somewhat less hungover but nonetheless elated that the wily gods of Patagonian weather have again been overly gracious with us. As predicted by the ¨Huber Report¨(satellite phone call to expert meterologist in Austria which gets spread by word of mouth like wildfire through all basecamps), we got 5 days of excellent weather. Though still weary from our last bout of hiking with big packs, we advanced up the Torre Glacier, an amazing, massive river of ice flowing down beneath the towering massifs of Fitzroy and Cerro Torre. Though the peaks are covered in amazing ice gargoyles, the glacier itself is dry and free of snow, so in most places one can walk in tennis shoes on a thin layer of gravel over ice. It was truly awesome to bivy beneath the peaks I had only heard of in legend, the Norweigian Bivy is an intimidating place in an incredible situation, surrounded by constantly calving glaciers and huge rock towers. We climbed what is but a mere bump on the side of Cerro Torre, a spire called MediaLuna, but it was one of the finest alpine rock routes I have done. The route had lots of hand cracks on impeccable granite as well as a few wide cracks and laybacks made scary by our skimpy rack (though at least we were able to borrow Tomo Cesen´s no. 5 Camalot from one of the Slovenians!) On the summit, Cerro Torre still loomed large overhead and we could see many of the 12 people inching their way to the summit like ants. They climbed into the night, and we could see their headlamps slowly move up and then down during the darkness. It looked scary and I was glad to be down in safety. After a failed attempt at the Red Dihedral on El Mocho, another subpeak of Cerro Torre, we moved down and climbed most of its SE Pillar, turning around below the summit due to our lack of ice gear and running out of water. After another bivy in the shadow of giants, we slogged back out to Chalten, where we are planning the next leg of our journey. We hope to make it to Bariloche, which has shorter approaches, which will be much appreciated by our tired legs. The weather is also rumored to be better, so we hope to get more rock climbing in there.
 
Hope all is well back home, doesn´t sound like I am missing much of a ski season!
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #4.2: Bariloche, Northern Patagonia

'Tsup?
 
Here we are, back in lovely Los Angeles, enjoying all things truly American-- Huge SUV's everywhere, smog, sprawl, and free internet access at the library. God bless our great land.
 
After debating whether to head down to the Torres del Paine in Chile for more alpine punishment, we chose to head to Bariloche. The town of Bariloche is Argentina's answer to the charming Bavarian Villa of Leavenworth, WA, except that it has some actual European heritage and is situated on Laguna Nahuel Huapi (a huge alpine lake nearly the size of Puget Sound) making it seem more akin to Geneva. Nonetheless, it is overrun with tourists, discos, trinket-and-candy shops, and Faux architecture. Above Bariloche lie the granite spires of Torre Cathedral, where we spent a week and a half climbing near Refugio Frey, a quaint stone structure next to a lovely alpine lake. The area is sort of a cross between Washingon Pass and Joshua Tree. Granite towers up to 6 pitches in height sit in two cirques, accessible in 5 to 90 minutes from the Refugio (which is a 4-hour hike in.) The rock is super-textured, and there is some great face climbing (runout, of course) as well as some great cracks. It took a while to shift gears from no-falls allowed alpine mode to pushing the limits above distant bolts but we ended up doing some outstanding and challenging climbing. After stressing out over difficult approaches and stuck rappel ropes around Fitzroy, the climbing almost seemed downright relaxing. The highest towers have outstanding views of Laguna Nahuel Huapi as well as El Tronador, an 11,000 foot, glaciated volcano to the north, which give the area a distinctly Cascadian feel. Climbing these towers among Condors circling on the incessant Patagonian winds was a great experience.
 
Our trip back was uneventful and now we are scrambling to get stuff done in LA before we fly to New Zealand tonight--replacing worn-out gear, filing for tax extensions, getting film processed, etc. We say goodbye to Dulce de Leche and hello to Marmite. I trust the trade will be worthwhile.
 
Peaceout,
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #5: New Zealand

G'day Mates,

Kasi and Andreas' antipodal adventures continued...

We arrived in Auckand groggy and disoriented. Our first impression of New Zealand was that of a land whose sole purpose was milking tourists of cash via pre-packaged adventures and high liquor taxes. Compared to the low-budget, self-service adventure and cuisine to be found in Argentina, we bore a bit of a grudge against the place right from the start.

Sure, New Zealand had beautiful beaches, the bird life was incredible, the countryside was littered with the most pastoral scenes one could possibly imagine: innumerable sheep, cows and farmed deer roaming through boulder-studded fields rimmed by pine tree farms (while off in the distance, the repressed jungle lurked...) But somehow we couldn't shake the boredom of being road-side sight-seers. Once we got off the beaten path, things started looking up; we did some fun climbing on highly pocketed volcanic rock, the best on the North Island was in Whanganui Bay, crags on a gorgeous, remote beach on NZ's largest lake. Further south in Wellington, we started to appreciate NZ urban life, with its impressive museums and botanical gardens and cool, small-town cosmopolitan vibe.

A wind-rocked ferry crossing took us to the South Island, where we headed to the Golden Bay region, home of the Paynes Ford crags which had some fun though slopey climbing on solid, overhanging limestone. We also saw some great beaches loaded with seals and beautiful sea stacks and went fully eco-tourist one day and rented a kayak which was admittedly great fun. Further down the west coast, we climbed at Charleston, a granite seacliff. Here the swell crashed through boulders below while jammed our way up fun finger cracks. More lovely beaches led to the Franz Josef Glacier on the west side of Mt. Cook, which poked out of the clouds just long enough to really make me want to come back and climb the thing someday. More beaches and jungle and sandflies led to Wanaka, where we did some over-rated climbing, then hurried on to the Darran Mountains near Milford Sound.

The Darrans are the most impressive area in NZ; steep, heavily vegetated mountains carved by glaciers into dramatic fjords and valleys. They are kind of like the Cascade River area on steroids but even wetter, one of the rainier places on earth. This meant tons of vegetation, hanging ice pockets, waterfalls everywhere-- not the greatest premise for climbing, but great climbing is rumored to be hiding up in those clouds. Luckily there was one wall, Chasm Crag, which overhung enough to stay dry even in the rain. We did some fun sport climbing on overhanging, blocky granite while waterfalls poured down behind our heads. The next day seemed too wet to climb even there, so we hiked up to Gertrude Pass, where we got enough of a view to see the great potential for alpine rock climbing that exists in the area. We will have to return with enough time to wait for the good weather-- which seems even rarer that good weather in Patagonia.

The rain chased us up the east coast, so we settled for some wildlife-viewing hikes on the beach rather than more seacliff climbing, then continued up to Castle Hills, reputed to be one of the world's best bouldering areas. It was a bit soggy, but indeed there were millions of limestone blocks spread over miles of rolling hills. It's pretty slopey as well but was pretty fun and totally beautiful. Out of time, we raced on to Christchurch where we flew on to Melbourne, Australia. By the end of our time in NZ and having gotten over the intial sticker shock, we loved the place, as most people assured us we would. We look forward to returning and spending some more time in the places we liked.

Now we are getting used to a new country, with its own troubles: beer is ridiculously expensive here (try $12 for the cheapest six-pack.) We wanted to buy a car but ended up renting. We are excited to check out Arapiles, one of the world's great cragging areas. I'm still not so sure about the Marmite though.

cheers,

Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #6: Australia

G'day again, this time from Australia!
 
Soon after our arrival in Melbourne, where Kasi and I endured the usual bad nights in backpackers' hostels and urban sightseeing, the Easter holiday shut everything down, so we fled east via the Great Ocean Road. For a time it seemed we were still stuck in Automotive-Tourist mode, straying from the car just far enough to gape at various beaches and seaside rocks and marvel at the typically iconic Australian wildlife (Kangaroos, Koalas, Cockatoos...) but soon enough we found ourselves in the rock climbing mecca of Mt. Arapiles. Easter weekend is the biggest holiday of the year down here, so it was packed with loads of noisy yahoos, all engaged in a frenzy of toproping, abseiling, and queing up for the easy classics.
 
Arapiles, which at first glance looks like a pile of gray choss, is one of the world's greatest cragging areas. Beautiful orange quarzite, festooned with holds of all sizes, offers excellent climbing at all grades. The harder climbs go up improbably smooth, bulging walls which look impossible to protect; it takes a while to build up the trust that a bomber stopper placement will materialize every few moves, which usually occurs-- but sometimes not! (Bolts are rare, yet the climbing often feels like sport climbing.) The easier routes climb remarkably steep walls on humoungous holds, almost like climbing a ladder sometimes: fun!
 
We spent two weeks in this climbing paradise before heading to the nearby Grampian Mountains, home of numerous great crags made of very sound red sandstone, and a more peaceful climbing experience than the crowded Arapiles. The best wall here was the Taipan Wall, and incredible sweep of red stone with black waterstreaks, one of the most beautiful cliffs I have ever seen.
 
Moving on eastward, we visited Mt. Buffalo, an area of granite escarpments, some reminiscent of the Sequoia Needles, others more similar to the dank, gloomy walls of Squamish. We did one longer route there that was quite memorable: pitch after pitch of coarse, flaring cracks and offwidths, with a level of commitment we hadn't felt since climbing in Patagonia. Baroomba, another granite crag near the national capital of Canberra, offered winds the likes of which we had not seen since Patagonia, and we managed only one pitch of stellar crack climbing there before retreating to the city to check out its amazing museums!
 
Continuing east, we hit the ocean and climbed the sandstone bluffs of Point Perpendicular. The ambiance of seacliff climbing can't be beat, watching the swell come in and crash through the boulders below really adds to the whole experience.
 
We then headed up the coast through Sydney, where we made the pilgrmage to Verbrugghen Hall, named after Kasi's great-grandfather, who was the conductor of the Sydney Symphony. We spent the next three days in the nearby Blue Mountains, climbing more great sandstone, with diverse crags offering splitter cracks, overhanging sport routes, friction slabs and crimpy faces. There is yet another lifetime of climbing to be had here.
 
We could have stayed in Australia forever, sampling all the great rock climbing here. But in the end we started to fester; our international trip was starting to feel like we were just roadtripping back home in the States, living out of our car. Australia, like the U.S., has a love of big, ugly cars; similarly wasteful consumer habits; forces forms of development onto incompatable ecologies; and neglects its original native population. But the land is amazing, the plants unique, the animals startling--especially the birds, whose raucous screeching woke us every morning we camped in the bush. The rural towns are quaint and tidy, lacking the sprawl and strip-mall mentality that pervades small-town America. Even many small towns have great museums and gardens. The big towns have amazing art museums, which I didn't expect.
 
Kasi and I are at the Sydney airport, getting ready to fly to Singapore. From there we will travel up the SE Asian peninsula to Bangkok.
 
wishing y'all well,
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #7: Singapore and Malaysia

Since our last Report, Kasi and Andreas crossed the equator and landed in Singapore. They rode an ultra-modern, air-con subway from the airport (why doesn't Seattle have one of these?) Stepping off the train, a blast of stiflingly hot, humid air fogged their glasses and reminded them that yes, indeed, they were in the tropics.
 
Singapore is a great intermingling of cultures and economies. A variety of bustling, crowded ethnic neighborhoods (Little India, Chinatown, neighborhoods of Malays and Indonesians) stand in marked contrast to the glitzy city center, with its modern skyscrapers and high-end shopping malls where we thought maybe we had crossed into Bellevue.
 
We continued on train into Malaysia, which isn't quite as diverse but still has an interesting blend of predominantly Muslim and Hindu cultures. We stopped in the capital of Johur Baru, which was a somewhat poorer, dirtier, more chaotic version of Singapore. Here the squlid chaos of humanity is contrasted against the stainless-steel-and-glass perfection of the world's tallest twin towers, whose geometry is based on that of a mosque: a seemingly profane blending of Islam and capitalism.
 
Moving on, we had a thrilling bus ride up to the Cameron Highlands, a mountainous area of tea plantations and faux-bavarian motifs applied to typical asian motel architecture. We had the usual luck of arriving on a national holiday, and half of Malaysia was up there to get out of the heat. An even more terrifying ride on the rickety local bus led back down to a 5-hour wait at a dark, nearly-abandoned train station.
 
Soon enough we had a friend who began asking us questions: Where are you from? What do you think about George Bush? I think we got the first two answers right, but from here our answers to his questions began portraying a lifestyle foreign to his comprehension: Are you married? Do you have babies? Why are you travelling? Are you Christian? Thereupon it was pointed out that George Bush and Tony Blair, very bad men, war on Iraq and Islam bad, Malaysian government, good. Our mutual language skills were insufficient to compare the relative virtues of various world religions and the flexibility of the Western lifestyle, so the conversation ended up being a bit one-sided and degraded into obtuse sexual humor, at which point we  politely moved to where we thought our sleeper car might arrive.
 
Our train did arrive at the predicted hour of midnight, and we rumbled onward in half-slumber until we awoke in the rice paddies of southern Thailand. The open smiles of the Thai people were a nice contrast to the Malasians on the street, who, while friendly enough, would generally just stare at us then turn away when glances met.
 
We have been in Thailand for 3 weeks or so and it's been great, more on that in the next installment (before this one gets any longer!)
 
A.^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #8: Thailand

Sawadee Khrap!
 
Our travels in Thailand began in the south, where we travelled up the west coast to Krabi and took a longtail boat to the Railey peninsula, a resort haven where climbers, chubby white girls, sickly-looking white guys and Thai rastafarians mingle in a somewhat artificial island atmosphere. Thailand is full of amazing beauty, awkwardly marketed by the Thais and overrun by "Farang" (Thai term analogous to "gringo".) 
 
It is obvious why tourists and climbers alike are drawn to Railey: beautiful beaches and coves everywhere, all overhung by amazing limestone cliffs festooned with stalactites, caves and vines. And the climbing is awesome. I had always envisioned Thai climbing being something of a novelty, but not only is the rock and environment really unique, it's also really good. Some of the climbing is more like spelunking, wriggling up between and grabbing stalactites of all sizes. One multipitch route we did wove through some huge, blobby stalactites 40 feet long, and overhung about eighty feet in 400 feet of climbing, which made descent problematic.
 
Unfortunately, we arrived a bit late in the season, so it was incredibly hot and humid, leaving us dripping with sweat after each pitch. On the third day, the rains came, and it rained practically every day for the rest of our stay in Railey. We managed to squeeze some climbing in between the typhoon-like downpours, but ultimately felt like we weren't making the best use of our time there, with so much more of the country to see.
 
So with some sadness we left the great climbing and easy living of Railey behind and headed over to the east coast, where we hoped it would be less rainy. Our first stop was Ko Samui, a large, heavily touristed island, with strips of 7-Elevens, nightclubs and internet cafes along endless beaches populated by indecently obese and naked german women and gross guys with comely Thai escorts. We had a fun day exploring the island by motorbike, checking out the local granite crag which turned out to be a roadcut, and some very sharp bouldering on the beach.
 
Only too soon we fled onwards to Ko Tao, whose quiet beaches lined with endless granite boulders and bungalows stood in placid contrast to the disgusting scene we had left behind. There is tons of climbing potential here, and though the rock is really sharp, there is even a guidebook to the bouldering here. We decided to skip the climbing in favor of snorkelling, which was amazing. Super clear water, colorful corals of incredible shapes, tons of tropical fish-- I had no idea how cool floating around and looking underwater could be.
 
Further north in Bangkok, we allowed ourselves to suffer under the hands of the "tuk-tuks" (obnoxious three-wheel taxis commandeered by pushy drivers who never take you where you really want to go) and other hawkers trying to force their offerings on us, fleeing only too soon to the relatively peaceful city of Chiang Mai, in the far north of Thailand. Chiang Mai is a center for Thai Buddhism, and every turn reveals an amazing Wat (temple), either covered with bright enamel and mirrored glass, ancient teak, or gold. We arrived on a holiday and it was interesting to see everyone out circling the temples with candles and incense.
 
Near Chiang Mai is some more great limestone climbing, and we spent a few days climbing wild stalactites up through huge caves. The wasps here had a special affinity for Kasi and attacked her on two different occasions, ouch!  We also spent a couple fun days exploring the mountains on a rented 125cc motorbike, checking out more temples with impressive views of the valleys below.
 
Now we are in Kathmandu, which so far has been something of a tourist hell as we try to figure out where to trek and if we want to support the corrupt Nepal government by paying for a peak permit. Every time we get used to a place, we find ourselves disoriented, trying to get our feet back under us again...
 
cheers,
 
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #9: Nepal

Each time Kasi and I find ourselves at a new airport, it's as if we have been  rudely awakened from a pleasant dream to face a menacing new reality. What happened to the easy living, the cheap food, the familiar yet foreign environment that we had somehow adapted ourselves to?
 
Kathmandu was no different. Outside the airport, a clamorous throng of taxi drivers and hotel touts eyed us hungrily through the chain-link fence, eager for the fresh white meat coming out the doors. Rather than face this unruly mob, we opted to pay the inflated inside-the-airport taxi rate, asking to be dropped off at a hotel randomly chosen from the book. En route, the driver's co-pilot suggested another, much nicer hotel; wouldn't we like to take a look? We got there, and it was nicer, so we checked in. It turns out this fellow worked for the hotel, so we got taken for a ride by both hotel tout and taxi driver after all. Welcome to Kathmandu.
 
The hotel would turn out to be our refuge of sanity. Outisde, the winding medieval alleys were packed with taxis, motorcycles, bicycle-rickshaws, and pedestrians, missing one another within centimeters, all the while honking and coughing up dust and pollution. Everpresent solicitors offering taxi/rickshaw rides, trekking, screechy violins and hashish made it impossible to hold any conversation or thought while walking down the street. Amid this fracas we tried to decide where to go trekking, and if we could do any climbing given our means and the late season: the monsoon would soon be upon us.
 
In the end, we decided to do the ever-popular Everest basecamp trek, with an ascent of the equally-pedestrian Island Peak. Logistically, this would be the easiest way to climb a peak as the needed gear was easily hired from below the mountain. Plus we were assured there would be no Maoists in this region of Nepal; it was bad enough paying the government $350 for a climbing permit and 13 percent tax on everything, without being extorted by another corrupt organization.
 
We flew into the steeply perched airstrip at Lukla, grateful to be out of the smog and clamor of Kathmandu and hiking in clean mountain air. Goregous deep valleys dotted with villages and pine forests led up to Namche Bazaar, where we acclimatized and got our first views of the big peaks, Everest and Ama Dablam. The gracious hospitality of the Sherpas was a relief after the in-your-face sales tactics of Kathmandu. Our Hindu trekking guide, Yem was something of an outsider among the Sherpas but proved helpful and gentle, even if his English was not the best.
 
So far, early June seemed the perfect time to be here. There were hardly any other trekkers on the trail, and each night we pretty much had each lodge to ourselves, so we could hang out with the locals around the stove, which they filled with ever more yak dung as they filled our bowls with ever more Dal Bhat. The weather and visibility were great in the morning, though afternoon clouds generally obscured views.
 
Soon, however, the clouds grew more persistent and we had several days of snow and fog. This, combined with the difficulties of acclimatizing, made us wonder if maybe we had squandered our money on this foolish climbing idea. We reached Everest base camp (5300m) but clouds obscured the grandiose views. Most expeditions were packing up or already gone, though we did see a few familiar faces from Seattle. We heard the usual apocryphal Everest stories about fatalities, a 40-person summit day and 3-hour backups at the Hilllary Step. Back in Gorak Shep, Kasi's head was exploding (and her stomach threatening to) so we had to pull a late-night descent to Lobuche, the next lowest village; here Yem was our savior, finding the route down with no headlamp while carrying Kasi's pack.
 
Of course, the next morning was brilliant, and we hurried up a nearby ridge to take in views of Everest and Nuptse. From here we made our way over to Chukkung, staging-point for Island Peak. Here we met our climbing guide, Dendi Sherpa, and picked up boots, crampons and ice axes. Hanging out with Dendi was fun, as he could reveal to us subtleties of Sherpa existence and teach us the Sherpa slang for "whitey": Mikaru. Logistically, however, our relationship was something of a battle. As Dendi was schooled in the "expedition" style of climbing, we spent much effort convincing him that we needed no extra porters, no extra ropes, and no high camp. He had the initially disarming habit of joyfully blurting "sure, sure!" in response to anything we said, but it soon became clear that he said this mostly when he had no idea what we were saying.
 
So when the alarm went off at 1am, we hoped for the best, and indeed the stars were twinkling away. Slogging up endless talus, we made the glacier at daybreak, then wove through crevasses to a 'shrund below a 45-degree headwall of ice. Normally, the mountain would be fixed with ropes, but since it was now "low season", with the monsoon imminent, the ropes had been removed. Here the conflict between expedition vs. alpine style arose; Dendi would go ahead, climbing with two tools, and fix our 60-meter rope, while Kasi and I would follow, each using 1 axe and a jumar. This was slow going, and though I would normally climb a slope like this with no rope at all, Kasi reminded me that it would be most rude to unclip and climb past our guide. So we continued up 5 more pitches in this fashion, becoming very dehydrated once we each finished the 1-liter water our guide assured us would be sufficient.
 
The views from the top were amazing: Ama Dablam, Baruntse, Makalu, and beyond all, the massive west face of Lhotse dominating most of the horizon. Much like our experience below Cerro Torre, while we were happy with our little summit, we had only to look up to see that bigger, badder challenges remained. Nonetheless, Kasi and I were excited to have attained a new altitude record of 6180m.
 
Continuing down, our expedition-style guide began revealing his weaknesses. Conditioned to zipping up and down fixed lines, he flailed at setting up our rappel line. Each time, he would fix a single line for Kasi and I to rappel down, then have to re-thread the rappel so he could rap and pull the ropes. Our explanation of what purpose the mid-mark on the rope served went nowhere, and he would constantly find himself stuck mid-rap, ropes clustered around him, trying to find an anchor or awkwardly downclimbing. Finally, dehydrated and baking in the sun on a steep ice face, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the rope and started feeding it through the next anchor, telling Dendi to go ahead and fix an anchor for the final 30m rap. This defiance was perhaps a mistake, and he sullenly ran down the slope using the rope as a hand-line to hammer in a snow stake. At last we reached the sun-blasted glacier, where we roped together and stumbled downward. Dendi would pause every few minutes, while I bellowed out "water!" as if to spur him onward--was this my punishment for offending my guide? Finally, at glacier's edge, we were able to chug a few liters of water and continue down uneventfully into the rising clouds.
 
From here, somewhat fed up with doing things the Nepali way, we bid adieu to Dendi and Yem, so that we could go over the 5300m pass of Cho La in fine alpine style. We bivvied in a yak-herder's cave below the pass, hoping for good weather for the crossing. An hour into the climb, the clouds swirled about us and we groped our way up the talus in whiteout. Once on the glacier, we had no idea where the pass was. Luckily, we were able to follow the trail of water bottles, old socks and candy- and ramen-wrappers to the pass. On the other side, the visibility was good enough to make it down to Gokyo, a tourist villa on a lovely turquoise lake. The next morning, clouds again blotted the potential panorama from 5300m Gokyo Ri, allegedly the finest place to view Everest and a host of other 8000m peaks. While we did get a few glimpses of the great peaks through the clouds, it seemed that the trekking season was indeed over, and we headed back down to Lukla and the inevitable flight back to Kathmandu.
 
Back in town, our Trekking guide, Yem, kindly invited us over to dine with his family. The next day he escorted us to some Hindu temples in the hills above Kathmandu in the company of his wife and son, who were visiting Kathmandu for the first time. His youngest son was moving to the city to attend school, and cried hysterically when we got on the bus as he had gotten quite ill on the ride from the remote village of his upbringing. It was an honor to spend time with his family and get more familiar with Nepali culture.
 
Next stop, India: time to again wake from the dream and see what this world is all about.
 
Namaste,
Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #10: India

Somehow, India wasn't the shock we expected it to be. The narrow lanes congested with vehicles, hucksters, beggars, cows and excrement were nothing new to us after Kathmandu. Nothing could prepare us for the heat, though-- a week of temperatures over 45c.
 
We made the mandatory pilgrimage to the Taj Mahal on a brutally hot bus packed with Indian tourists. Kasi was very popular at the Taj, and everyone wanted to have their picture taken with the glamorous blond girl from America. I tried not to let it hurt my feelings that nobody wanted to be photographed with me. During the return drive, the evening wore on and our tour morphed into a more spiritual pilgrimage. A sermon and prayer were delivered in Hindu and soon we stopped at the birthplace of Krishna with its many temples, and followed our group around in the dark as they entered and prayed. We wondered if we would ever make it back to Delhi, and at 1 a.m. we finally did.

We forwarded our unneeded climbing gear to Mumbai via rail, uncertain if we would ever see it again. Doing anything here involves pushing your way up to a counter, getting in the face of indifferent beurocrats and black magic. India is the most inefficient place I've ever seen and utterly defies western logic. They are clearly not interested in doing anything the easy way here.

We took the train to broiling Amritsar, home of the Sikh religion and its serene Golden Temple. In nearby Attari, we gushed sweat while watching the nightly closing of the Indian/Pakistani border. In this surreal display of peacock strutting, ceremoniously-costumed military guards goose-step up to the line between the two nations, puff out their chests and flutter their limbs at their adversaries, then simultaneously lower their flags before closing the border gate for the evening. Meanwhile, the crowds gathered in bleachers on either side of the border worked themselves into a nationalistic frenzy of chanting, flag-waving and dancing, as if they were at a high-school basketball game, yelling to see who had the most "spirit". It seemed a mere theatrical entertainment until you considered that these two nuclear-armed nations were spending over a million dollars a day on a border conflict a few hundred miles to the north.

From this militaristic display we headed to Dharamsala, where a distinctly different vibe exists. The home of the Tibetan Govenment in Exile and the Dalai Lama, this mountainous village attracts spiritual pilgrims from around the world, along with crowds of Israeli and Indian tourists trying to get out of the brutal lowland heat. The Dalai Lama was giving a ten-day teaching, so we sat in for a few days. His countanance was every bit as beatific as photographs would suggest and it was incredible to watch him go by only a few feet away. His deep and trilling voice was also amazing and as it went over the ancient texts it sounded more like music (which can't be said for the unintelligible english translation that we listened to by headphone.)

Though we were in some beautiful mountains, the monsoon made it hard to enjoy our location. In search of drier weather, we headed by bus to rain-soaked Manali, then boarded a 4x4 Jeep headed for Leh. I can't say I've ever been on a "Jeep Adventure" but this would surely qualify. The Manali-Leh road is one of the most impressive pieces of mountain roadwork anywhere, although in places it is nothing but mud and boulders. With precipitous drop-offs everywhere, it is rarely wide enough for two vehicles to pass and it is a hair-raising rodeo getting past the numerous cargo trucks. After four increasingly high and dry passes, it crosses the Himalayas at the 5300m Lachlung La, providing one with the opportunity to experience the simultaneous onset of altitude- and car-sickness. As I hurled my dal bhat from the window of the bouncing vehicle, it became clear to me that the acclimatization I had achieved in Nepal was lost in the intervening three weeks, and it took us several days in 3500m Leh to catch our breath.

Leh, former capital of Zanskar, shares the culture, architecture and geology of Tibet, and we felt as if we had left India. This, we decided, was not necessarily a bad thing, and the people here were the friendliest and most generous we met on our trip. The landscape is amazing, a barren alpine badlands with stratified hillsides crowned with forts and monestaries. Kasi inisited we rented a classic Indian motorcycle, the 1950's-era Enfield, for touring the countryside. The bike was a piece of crap and Kasi cursed a lot but it was just one of those masochistic things one has to endure in India for the sake of fun. Not content with having driven over the world's second-highest pass, we turned our attentions to motorcycle alpinism. The Enfield rose to the challenge, sputtering its way up 5600m Khardung La, the world's highest road.

Having achieved our acclimatization by motor vehicle, we wanted to do some trekking and climb Stok Kangri, a 6100m peak that doesn't require a permit. We rented some cutting-edge Indian Army surplus mountaineering equipment, but the ascent was not to be. We had several days of rain, most unusual in this area with annual precipitation of 11cm. Then, as we approached the trailhead, Kasi's intestinal parasites staged a brutal uprising and we had to head back to Leh for drugs and recuperation. The mountains of Ladakh will have to wait for our next trip.

A scenic flight over the Himalaya led back to Delhi and on to Mumbai, where we were immediately scammed by a dishonest taxi tout. This "southern hospitality" was a rude contrast to the people we met up in Leh. The next day, we barely rescued our climbing gear from the train depot, which involved a major battle with a corrupt city official who wanted to "tax" our shipment. You get conditioned not to trust, help or believe anyone here, which is unfortunate, as not everyone is a liar or a salesman. Overall, Mumbai is a pleasant city, much less polluted and crowded than Delhi. Our time here went quickly as we wandered around preparing for our next adventure in Kenya and our arrival in "Nairobbery" (which we hope doesn't live up to its moniker.)

jule!

Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #11: Kenya

Jambo,
 
We arrived in Nairobi in a state of paranoia, as it was alleged to be the most dangerous, crime-ridden city in all of Africa. As we walked through the streets with our backpacks we were convinced everyone was staring at us to determine what we had to steal. However, we didn't see any sign of crime or violence, the people were all polite and spoke excellent English, and it all seemed to be an illusion whipped up by the Lonely Planet to inflate taxi prices.
 
Once we fought off the everpresent touts, we started our journey with the obligatory safari. We visited three parks: Masai Mara, with its vast savanna grasslands; Lake Nakaru, with its millions of flamingoes and rhinos; and Samburu, an area of scrubland bisected by a river lined with palm trees. As we drove randomly through the endless grassland and bush looking for animals, it seemed a slightly ridiculous endeavor: automotive tourism on a grand scale. Our van had a worn-out diesel engine which produced huge clouds of blue smoke. To make things worse, the starter didn't work, so the engine was constantly idling. As we closed in on our prey and sat watching, the poor creatures had to suffer our exhaust.
 
Any time an "exciting" animal was seen in the park--lions, cheetah, leopards--a swarm of vans would appear out of nowhere, crowding around the beleagured animals. On one occasion, we pulled up to a pack of vans watching a pair of cheetahs, which turned out to be stalking a gazelle on the other side of the caravan. As the animals exploded into action after their prey--which eluded them--I couldn't help but feel that the cheetah's breakfast plans were interfered with by our presence. While it was spectacular seeing all these animals at close range, I don't think I could bring myself to do it again for ethical reasons.
 
Our safari van dropped us off in Nanyuki, at the foot of Mt. Kenya. We had arranged a trekking guide in Nairobi, but should have remembered our guide troubles in Nepal. It was only supposed to be the three of us, but our enterprising guide had taken on two more clients, and soon we also had a cook, two porters, and an assistant guide-- just the expedition-style trip we had hoped to avoid, as we really only needed someone to help carry gear and arrange transportation and lodging.
 
After a day's delay (due to one of the clients having his video camera stolen in Nanyuki) we set off up the mountain and enjoyed an incredible dinner at the first camp; maybe this expedition-style thing wasn't so bad after all. The next day, we ascended through incredible moorland populated by exotic yucca-like plants, including the giant lobelia, which looks like a joshua tree. Mount Kenya is a crazy mix of the alpine, the desert, and the equatorial rain forest. En route, while scheming how to fire our guide, Kasi slipped on the muddy trail and her heavy pack threw her down. An ominous pop came from her ankle and it looked like maybe our dreams of Mt. Kenya would be crushed, Kasi crying that she had ruined our trip. She is a trooper, though, and hobbled up to camp so that at least I could have a shot at it, while a porter carried her pack (oh, the irony!)
 
While Kasi recovered, I had the good luck to pick up a partner, Marnix. He had his eye on a new line on Point Peter, one of the many towers that make up the Mt. Kenya massif, which is the eroded core of an ancient volcano. The climbing was challenging, on interesting rock that varied from granitic to kitty-litter, and it was hard to get into the groove again after a 2-month hiatus from rock climbing. As I followed the last pitch in a snow shower (which turned out to be a daily afternoon occurrence,) some fixed gear suggested that this line had been climbed previously. The flurries built into a full-fledged storm that dropped a couple inches of snow and trapped a party of Spaniards high on the mountain-- who would have guessed, here at the equator?
 
The next day, Kasi decided she could make it up Point Lenana (most punters who claim to have done Mt. Kenya have only hiked up this easy 4980m satellite peak.) We watched in wonder as the sun came up over a sea of clouds, then Kasi headed back down with our guide (who had become altitude-sick) and I ran around the mountain.
 
Now we were ready for the main challenge, Batian, the actual 5200m summit with no easy way up. We started in the dark, climbing verglassed rock--some choss, some good--with loose stones and perched death blocks everywhere (what else would you expect of an ancient volcano?) The crux was a crumbly 5.9 chimney festooned with old fixed ropes and packed with ice, just to make it alpine. We reached Shipton's notch (just below the summit but a long, treacherous traverse away) as the clouds were swirling in preparation for the afternoon deluge. I sprinted up to tag the summit and we started the long descent, grateful that the Spaniards had abandoned a couple ropes on their desperate flight so we didn't have to use the flimsy rap-retrieval cord we had purchased from the hardware store for the innumerable rappels back down through the falling snow.
 
A scenic hike down the Chogoria valley led to our second jeep adventure of the trip. We had hired a Land Rover to pick us up, which had required seven hours and chains on all four wheels to climb 25 kilometers due to the heavy rains and slick volcanic mud. The way down through bamboo and rainforest was easier but still exciting as the vehicle lurched and stalled through vast mud puddles and deep ruts.
 
Back in Nairobi, we ate lots of grilled meat and our new friend, Marnix, took us to a fun local crag called Frog, where we climbed on edgy basalt while giraffe and Masai herdsmen meandered below. He was kind enough to let us stay at his family's palatial estate and we got to witness the segregation that exists here between the ex-pats and the natives.
 
Next we rode the Matatu (vans regulated by law to carry only 14 passengers but usually holding about 24) on decrepit, potholed roads to a park with the lovely name of Hell's Gate. There is supposed to be good climbing on columnar basalt here, but most looked pretty chossy to us and we did only a few short routes. The real excitement came while cooking breakfast, when a huge baboon materialized only a few feet from our picnic table. He advanced and I hurled the pot grabbers at him (my only weapon, which ineffectually bounced off) but in a flash he leapt onto the table. I charged and screamed, but he opened his mouth to expose great teeth (inches away from Kasi's head), snarled, and took a swipe at me, simultaneously snatching up all our bread and cake from the table. He fled with his loot and sat eating it, gloating, not far away. He deftly avoided my volleys of stones and when finished, he leapt onto a nearby trash can to beat on his chest and pronounce his victory. We complained to the rangers, who hacked out a nice Masai-style club for us with a machete, so when the beast made its inevitable return the next morning we were better prepared, though it was still scary as hell-- as the name would suggest.
 
We now face our next adventure in Istanbul, having skipped Cairo due to our travel agent's screwup (though I did see the pyramids out the plane window as we touched down there; they looked like tiny mounds.)
 
--Andreas^ Return to Top ^

Slacker Report #12: Europe, the Final Chapter

Hallo,

Our final weeks of travel have been a blur of lands, cultures and experiences. We began in Istanbul, the cultural and geographic crossroads of things Eastern and Western. The city is packed with relics of the diverse empires that took power here: mosques, basilicas, monuments, palaces. In many ways it is quite modern and Western, yet still part of another more ancient world, where it seems likely to remain as it strives for a place in the EU.

From here we headed south to Ephesus, an ancient Greek ruin near the Agaean Sea. We then crossed over to the lovely Greek islands of Chios and Lesvos. We had a pleasant time exploring a landscape of limestone outcrops, cypress trees, Orthodox monasteries, and amazing blue waters. In the towns, young men with greasy mullets raced around on loud motor scooters and people spent most of their time drinking in bars. We found the Greeks, despite their classical and athletic heritage, to be a race of unheathy xenophobes.

From here we took a ferry north to the Greek mainland, where we could not resist the Sirens’ call that lead us up to the slopes of Mt. Olympus (or was it Hera we heard singing?) The mountain turned out to be a spectacular scramble on exposed, often loose limestone and actually has some technical climbing opportunities. As we approached the top, the sun rose over a blanket of cumulous clouds swirling above the Agaean Sea, only 15k distant.

Our next objective was the Dalmatian coast of the Adratic Sea, in the former Yugoslav Republic. A lack of tourist infrastructure in Albania and Kosovo led to a train detour through Belgrade, Serbia then back down to the Montenegran coast. The coastline is a landscape of steep limestone hillsides overlooking amazing turquoise bays. Every few miles you find an incredible old town surrounded by fortifications, with claustrophobic alleys winding through blocks of ancient stone buildings and churches. The most famous, tourist-packed and expensive of these is Dubrovnik in Croatia, which has been completely restored since the Balkan conflict. You would never guess that a war was fought here ten years ago, but further inland there are still bombed-out, abandoned villages.

Another boat ride led to the idyllic island of Hvar, where we stayed in an remote village perched on a hillside above the Adriatic sea and surrounded by vineyards. Here, we did some of our first rock climbing in a while. The best climbing is right above the deep blue water, so you can just solo up as far as you dare, then downclimb or jump off; or you can traverse just above the water for hundreds of meters. The amazingly clear water, rocks and excellent wine made this the sort of place you could while away many days.

But we had to move on, and after seeing the amazing city of Split (an old Roman palace swallowed by a medieval city) we found ourselves at the Croatian climbing capital of Paklenica. The canyon walls are reminiscent of the cliffs in Squamish in architecture and scale but are made of excellent, solid limestone weathered into rivulets, pockets and cracks.

Next, we moved inland to the Julian Alps in Slovenia, a classically European area of mountains, lakes, castles, forests and pastures. We came to visit the friends we made down in Patagonia, but ended up staying with a wacky guy named Peter, who runs the local climbing shop. He and his family were unbelievably generous, cooking for us and letting us couch-surf. We did some great sport and alpine climbing, and once again the Slovenians demonstrated that they can party and climb harder than any other nationality. The highlight was our ascent of Triglav, Slovenia’s highest peak (2800m), which involved climbing a 1000m wall of treacherous rock. Although not technically demanding, the loose rock and poor protection made it very committing.

We moved on to the Italian Dolomites in search of better rock, but were thwarted by stormy weather that dumped several inches of snow. The bad weather chased us up through Innsbruck, Austria and finally let up in Garmisch, Germany, where we hiked up a deep slot canyon and did a fun route up a firm limestone wall on the Alpspitz. The rest of Germany is a blur of lederhosen, beer and incredible museums. We got rained out of climbing again, this time in the Frankenjura, then visited some relatives of mine.

Depressed and anxious that our Endless Summer was coming to an end, we headed to our final destination of Amsterdam. Here we enjoyed our last taste of civilization and culture—great museums, efficient public transportation, sanctioned debauchery, and enlightened attitudes about civil liberties—before heading back to the medieval backwaters of Bushland. At the airport, we had to buy a new plane ticket at the check-in counter because it turned out our lame travel agent never paid for our reservation—argh!

Now we are back at my folks’, trying to figure out what happened to the year and all our money. Could it be that the trip is really over? Was it all worthwhile, after all? Do we really have to go back to work and a sedentary lifestyle? What are we supposed to do with our empty house and storage unit full of crap? Life was a lot easier when organization was limited to the contents of my backpack and the only thing we had to decide was where to go today.

Hope to see y’all soon!

Andreas^ Return to Top ^

All images and content copyright 2006 Andreas Schmidt