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Do You See What Happens, Larry?

I received this in the mail the other day. I guess the good news is I've been added to Scott's health insurance policy. The bad news is the de facto rulers of our health care system are snarky merchants of greed who thrive on a mental diet of illogic and rigidity. Doesn't matter that I've barely climbed outside in the last year. Doesn't matter that, for the first time in big while, I can actually say that I spend a majority of my climbing time bouldering indoors. Doesn't matter that, statistically, indoor climbing is safer than indoor soccer. Doesn't matter that Scott's policy is unencumbered by any dour riders and they know he rock climbs and they don't care. Doesn't matter that I'd be fully covered if I was an avid four-wheeler with anger management issues, a Glock, and a torrid affair with Jack Daniels. Doesn't matter that we're paying hundreds and hundreds of dollars per month for a policy with an almost eleven grand (that's right) deductible. When confronted with a flawlessly diplomatic and polite "WTF?" from Scott, the underwriter noodled nervously before putting down her iron heel of sociopathic irrationality. We think she made up some rules on the spot. Ever the level-headed negotiator, Scott asked if I could at least be covered for any injuries incurred while climbing indoors. She told us that if we're such safe climbers we shouldn't be worried about climbing coverage in the first place.

Anyhoo, after hitting the single malt and witnessing Scott be angry for maybe the twelfth time in his whole life, we started talking about how we should show those vile bags of avarice over at Assurant that they could only invigorate our funhog quest. We would be clever and do something outrageous AND be fully covered. Like jump out of a plane.


Actually, it really didn't happen like that at all. We did in fact go skydiving. Scott took this shot that weekend of a couple of the lucky folks from the sunset load. Our plans, though, had nothing to do with retaliation against bureaucracy and everything to do with scratching a big mental itch. Doing something conceptually audacious but acceptably safe if combined with a little mental discipline. A common theme for us, it seems, tempered but certainly not diminished by the ripening sense of our own mortality that we've acquired over the last fourteen years we've been together. And pretty resilient to any bureaucratic garbage thrown our way by the scavenging orcs over in the health insurance industry.

Odd jobs

My friend Cathy took pity on my newly-unemployed self and asked me to answer phones for a week at Alpine Sales and Rental, which basically sells the penultimate sandbox toys for grownups. Attached to the office is a warehouse with some contents that have been undisturbed for so long they've acquired a dusty and muted glamour. I spent some time in there with my camera and my favorite lens.

The Winds (abbreviated)

I've been miserable at posting lately. I've been meaning to write a hilarious, concise, complete account of my trip to the Winds. It was a great trip. It deserves a great post. But I'm realizing that if I wait for the perfect storm of inspiration and motivation to generate something to match my ambition, I'll never post again. So I'm just providing the basics. Some photos and some words:

Moonrise over Seneca Lake. This was our first campsite. We intended to walk 14 miles to Titcomb Basin the first day, but our heavy packs defeated us, and we barely lurched 7 miles before hollering uncle, pitching the tents, and grimly slurping the Wild Turkey.


Approaching basecamp in Titcomb Basin on Day 2. The next day, I'd meet a couple fishermen that, with utter seriousness, would ask me if I was camped in "Titty Comb Basin". That, combined with the fact that Tom kept running into a female backpacker with the most enormous gazongas any of us had ever seen in the backcountry, pretty much guaranteed we'd never refer to this astonishingly beautiful area by it's rightful name again.



The most amazing fish ever. My first solo, Western fishing experience. An absolutely fabulous day for me that I'll think about for the rest of my life if I feel like I need to smile. I am a wholly novice flyfisherman (flyfisherwoman?), and I really had no business catching this fish. It was about an hour after I took this photo that I stopped hyperventilating. I didn't keep the fish for two reasons. First, it was just super and absolutely part of the experience to watch this guy swim away. Second, we were already struggling to consume the insane overabundance of food we brought with us, including multiple cans of tuna in oil, a can of escargot, three bottles of whiskey, two bags of jalapeno Cheeze-its, one package of Oreo Double Stufs, a rather large container of olive oil, what must have been three pounds of Grape-Nuts, and at least two billy-club sized sticks of pepperoni. I'm not sure what we were thinking.



Eric and Jon on the summit of Gannett Peak.


My Asolo-clad feet in front of a view of Gannett from Bonney Pass. The boots were a last-minute gift that made the trip infinitely more pleasant for me. Thanks to Tom for bravely throwing a request into Asolo and, most importantly, to Bill Lockwood, an Asolo sales rep and a very good, extremely generous friend of mine.



Basecamp squalor in Tittycomb Basin.


Sunset over Fremont Peak. We camped at Seneca Lake again on our way out of the backcountry. The next day we packed out to the car, stopped at Pinedale for naughty tasty burgers and beer, and drove the 31 hours back to State College.