Going back to cali

by We didn't write this

It was my last climb of my last day at Smith. I started up a slightly slabby wall, painfully crimping the familiarly small edges. By the third bolt, my feet are screaming. There are many, many bolts left.

The Dihedrals area with climber on the Spectacular 110 foot 12c "Karate Wall"

I maneuver the “crux” of the route, pulling over a lip. I find myself getting hoplessly pumped trying to rest on an akward half pad edge. I am 12 feet above my last bolt, which isn’t visible, down and around the corner.

I start to panic

Ben on Slit Your Wrist, 13b.

Above are 2 slopey holds facing the wrong way. I struggle to come up with a sequence on the fly. How the fuck do these holds come together??? There has to be a way!


I locate a big foot between my knees. That’s it, a higher foot! I hike my foot up, grab the first bad hold. It feels slimey. I lunge for the other bad hold. I stick it for a second, letting out a sharma-esqe scream, wanting so badly not to fall.

I fly off, whipping around the corner.

I am on “The Last Waltz.”

It’s a 12c.

Fucking Smith…. God damn this place is sandbagged.

Trees are blooming in Portland. Every once in a while, a scary, bright ball of flame pokes through the rainy mist cloud surrounding the city. I think they call it “the sun” in California. I don’t know what it is and I don’t trust it.

I think I will always have a special place in my heart for Smith. And if that goes away, at least the permanent scars on my fingertips never will…

I’v quit my job as a consultant. To those that have been billed 200 dollars an hour for my services, I am sorry.

On Friday, I am going on a week long mission to Zion. The psyche is high to get all up in the beautiful red walls of this magical place.

After that, I am moving permanently to San Fransisco.

Thanks for reading,