The Myth of Apoliticism & The Outdoors.

 

“We say it’s no longer a question of violence or non-violence. We say it’s a question resistance to facism or non-existence within facism.” - Fred Hampton

The idea of “apolitical”, current, past, and future is a myth and byproduct of a hyper capitalistic nation. Our existence is inherently political, so how does it make sense activities on lands with the history they do aren’t political? I consistently hear more often about avoiding politics at the dinner table, the work place, social functions. This feels more purposeful than just good manners. Ideas like our voices not having power re-enforce bystander effect in the oligarchical nation I live in. With current events it becomes all the more clear there are two sets of rules people live by in the world, the haves and have nots. Lack of political engagement or solidarity fortifies the choke hold a ruling class holds. This is not new here. Three letter government agencies have been pursuing a predatory systemically unequal force on the populous since the founding of this nation. During this all I am left with the question of when is enough? The same neo-liberal shills that push “peaceful protest” rhetoric are the ones bankrolled by palntir, boeing, blackrock, (etc) lobbyists who are quick to say when people take to the streets we must remain peaceful yet sign off on bills to fund the bombing of the middle east, coupes of South American nations, and militarization of police departments. Where is the peace in that? 

Migration Is Natural.

The outdoors are strife with issues and just because it’s a hobby or past time does not mean that the political issues do not bleed through here too. As the foundation of what we consider the golden  age of Yosemite took off, the indigenous people of the valley faced forced hysterectomies, occupation, and displacement through residential schools. Does climbing a big wall while our fellow humans face this reality not entail a stance in the nature of “not picking sides”? How can people feel a sense of freedom in the wild places traveled when those same lands will inevitably have protections lifted and be auctioned, pennies on the dollar? Vast swaths of land are closed off to natural cycles of hunting so that a white washed form of outdoor rec is allowed in its “purest” form. Yet it’s bad for “business” to take a hard line. There's no denying to some extent we are collectively forced to participate in this system to survive. This is where social currency comes into play. The idea of social currency is how much influence of positional power people/companies have through their actions. It is more than apparent that guiding companies and outdoor education orgs have currency to spend. It’s true tourism as a whole is down but it is also down because who wants to travel to a nation where we watch children ripped from familial arms, put in cages, or used as bait for raids since they’re considered “aliens”? Or you get denied entry because of a meme? Whole swaths of the outdoor industry are propped up by the labor of J-1 visas, yet many orgs stay silent or lightly take public stance against what's going on. What worth does a stance have if there is no measurable action behind it? A recent email from a non-profit I used to work for outlined how they understood the added stress of coming to the police state that the USA is on a J-1, yet no added support, an empty acknowledgment of “ hey, shits kinda fucked up here, business as usual tho :)”. Not taking a hard line stance and saying it with your chest while actively trying to raise all the boats around you is a stance. It’s status quo, it lacks empathy, it lacks respect for life, it lacks respect for the natural world. The hardcore stances of LNT trigger happy outdoor educator is nauseating when we lack such respect for human life based on the arbitrary morality of law or borders. ICE, this administration, the companies pillaging OUR lands will not stop until they have an ethnostate and there is nothing left. Our inaction now will only continue to make things worse. It requires relentlessly facing things head on and continuing to push back. If you’re attacked in your home or on the street self defense is the obvious answer, yet you give them a badge or mask and all of a sudden you're unruly or extreme in views. The issues of the guiding world and specifically alpinism reflect the exact same ones in our front country life. Patriarchal structure of companies and groups excludes many from career growth or a minimum makes their voice unheard among the clients and staff. Often these issues are chalked up to growing pains, or that the process is slow. “Changing from within” Radical change does not happen in a structure or slowly. Change of any sort requires discomfort. Sans discomfort there is no room for growth, only for pushing the status quo. The status quo is why we have had kids in cages since Obama and long before that administration. “Tough on crime” dems helped pave the way for institutions like ICE and the NSA with three strikes laws, and using the 24 hour news cycle to make the idea of the “super predator” seem scientific when it pushed the same old racist rhetoric into law in the 90’s. If anything is obvious from the America experiment it is that Systems do not change. They must be torn down to create space for the new ones. The status quo is why it’s seen as acceptable to go after a populus due to the fact they stepped over a line in the sand. The status quo is why you mainly run into white males in the alpine, or operating the companies behind them.

The misinformation and rage bait is serving its purpose.

While we take to social media to cry outrage over the chaotic nature of these events the nefarious actions of the ruling class are happening behind closed doors. Silent bills scuttled across floors without our say and pushed through. Purposeful headline making quotes and actions are thrown out each day in a fire hydrant effect so the focus is not turned to how they operate an inherently predatory system to erode rights. The citizen first act introduced in late November ‘25 is a prime example of this. It started quietly; most have not heard of it. And it’s getting pushed hard. It would grant homeland security the powers to strip citizenship, even if born here, of dual citizens forcing people to choose. Note how vague the language is. This is purposeful, similar to how the grey area weaponized by the patriot act eroded any concept of privacy in this nation, if there ever really was one that wasn’t rose tinted glasses.

“To terminate Federal benefits for noncitizens, to authorize the denaturalization of naturalized citizens who undermine domestic tranquility, to expand expedited removal authority, to require mandatory revetting of nationals of Afghanistan, and to provide for automatic termination of temporary protected status, and for other purposes.”

SEC. 3. DENATURALIZATION FOR ACTS UNDERMINING DOMESTIC TRANQUILITY.

Section 340 of the Immigration and Nationality Act (8 U.S.C. 1451) is amended by adding at the end the following:

“(i) Any naturalized citizen who, after naturalization, is convicted of, or credibly found by the Secretary of Homeland Security to have participated in, any riot, unlawful protest involving violence or property destruction, or any act intended to overthrow or disrupt the constitutional order of the United States may be denaturalized and removed pursuant to expedited proceedings under section 238, regardless of the period of time elapsed since the date on which the citizen was naturalized.”.

When discomfort is brought up or worries are voiced over things like this, it is often met with “oh it’ll get tied up in the courts” or that it doesn't stand a chance being “legally’ enforced. If it isn't clear yet it should be now that legality does not apply to a ruling class. Without collective action the only outcome is furthering the police state. Don’t confuse it, it’s never divisive for us to fight for human rights. It’s not dividing the nation standing up for the right to exist. 

While this all goes on, joy itself becomes a voice of resistance. We often hope the outdoors will bridge the gap to the front country and to fellow people. As an educator I hoped quiet moments in wild places, as golden alpine glow illuminated our faces would leave lasting effects on people to be better to one another. To cherish this planet, to cherish the connection to people who were strangers merely days before but now close as kin. Hope is not enough. It must be demanded from clients, from companies, from our neighbors. The idealized ideas of alpinism and climbing began to fall shorter and shorter as the world continues to burn more and more. I so desperately want these moments or feelings I continue to chase of past trips and climbs. The early cool hours of my desolation seven attempt were met with white out navigation. I shot my bearings and picked my way up to my first ridge. I felt small, exposed, questioned if my forecast had been solid. As I crested the ridge and felt the end of cornice on my probe the faintest golden rays began to evaporate the ping pong ball that had engulfed me all morning. At this moment I felt free. This sense of freedom in the outdoors is a privilege. The water must raise all boats to have these sense of freedom moments whether in the outdoors or whatever one's passion is. This is only achieved by solidarity and community in these times.

Community is the only backbone that stands a chance. If we are to enjoy natural places but not actively lift up those around us or fight in solidarity of very basic human rights you aren't “apolitical” or centrists. You’re actively supporting state violence in your inaction.

links

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Good Gear

 This winter I have shifted from technical rock and ice to more ski mountaineering objectives. This is for a plethora of reasons mainly being a bum shoulder that likes to dislocate in any type of shouldery movement and wanting to step away, reset, and lean into more training. As my focus has shifted to longer link ups and traverses there are some modifications I’ve done and pieces of equipment I’ve been using as of late that I believe are very functional, work for a specific goal, and are using tech that I think should be widely adopted.

Macpac Men's Nitro Fleece Pullover

To start I want to talk about Alpha direct fabric from polartec. Specifically the Macpac nitrofleece pullover. I picked this up when I was in New Zealand this fall and have pretty much living in it since then. The piece clocks in at 140grams and is the best midlayer I’ve ever used. It drys exceptionally fast, breathes super well, and when coupled with a windbreaker or puffy over it, is the right amount of warm. A lot of companies are starting to use this fabric more but the macpac’s cut, pricepoint, and quality stand out for me. I’ve tried a lot of fleeces over the years and often found many too warm or slow to dry. This one really nails the criteria I look for in big days in the mountains.

Recpak vanilla chai 

I love these. I like adding coffee to them and have been consistently using them as my go to fuel for big outings. For me they give me the long term energy and fuel I'm looking for in long hours of zone 2/3. I'd honestly start most my days with them because of how easy of a meal they are. S/O Joy the the support for rec pack! I do prefer putting semi warm water in these because on cold outings this much cold fluid leaves me cold for a while.

Raid LF 2L running belt

I’m a huge fan of running belts in general but all the pockets in this one are really the shit. The adjustability of it is also a huge plus. Aside from my long runs I’ve also incorporated this set up into overnights and touring as a warm spot to carry my phone and to keep a battery, wind layer and snackitos. 

Lanon Water proof gloves

These gloves are awesome. I religiously used the showas for years but have since switched to these. Some reasons being the durability and warmth is quite a bit higher. A set up I really like is having both a size large and a XL (my sizing) and ditching the belay mit. The only aspect I see changing is extending the gaiter or getting rid of it. Due to the short length I often don’t cinch it. The Xl also works great keeping a warm drink warm overnight and is a great way to dry it out.

Parbat EL 55

Parbat was the first company to support me and I have been beyond stoked on their packs since before I received support from them. I put my EL 55 through the ringer of a full PNW season guiding and climbing all over the cascades. It’s beyond light, carries loads easily, and tough as shit. On a tour with a pack much heavier than I thought it’d be I opted to huck this down the gully and it was completely fine. It holds up. Another key aspect I like is the slit for running hydration through, the ease and comfort of carrying/climbing with skis strapped on and that If I only fill it half way it maintains a functional and comfortable shape.  Parbat also hugely aligns with my renewability and sustainability ethics. Thanks for all the support!

Walmart multi tool

On the AZT me and Iz initially found one of these and it was love at first sight. It’s tiny, functional and cheap. Said found tool went to Japan with her and I found it by chance in walmart.  It retails for $5 and is labeled a fishing tool or something. The screw driver and pliers work exceptionally well, the knife cuts tat and rope easily and the file is pretty useful for a quick tune on tools or front points.

Arteryx Beta Pant

A simple no bells and whistles goretex pant. The side zip length makes ‘em easy to throw on with crampons, the singular pocket is almost perfect, currently sewing in a loop for the beacon, the ankle cinches make a tight enough seal on both touring and climbing boots minimizing the faff of built in snow skirts, the belt system is robust, and they dont restrict movement what so ever. Money. 

Tyvek tape/helmet

Tyvek tape has become my go to repair tape, It holds up in all temps and doesn’t peel. The sirocco helmet I insulated with pipe insulation and sealed with said tape. I don’t like the feeling of a warm hat suncap combo and the sealing allows me to just wear a gaiter with my suncap under the helmet. Very ideal. I got the tip from the colin haley video on gear recently. Just wish I could find a similar tape not made by the DuPont company.

Honorable mention

Mr ozy store ski crampons

From everything I’ve seen of these I was intrigued and a big fan. This company makes incredible niche, high quality and innovative gear and these crampons weigh and pack down to a “forget about ‘em in the bottom of the pack till you need em” size. Very cool piece I’m excited to use all over the Sierras and PNW this spring.

   

        Opa had no teeth, he hadn’t had them since after the war. He would lock eyes as a western filled the room in the Netherlands with the sounds of the American West and flicker his dentures erupting in laughter as I would shy away covering my face as the dentures clanked against his gums. He survived the war living off of scraps from garbage cans and tulip bulbs with sugar. All of his teeth had rotted out, come end of the war, dentures were in his near future. I remember him describing those first bites of chocolate from the air drops by the Canadian and US forces. I often found myself thinking of opa when working remote trips or on long pushes in the mountains. Drawing on his strength, his resilience. The last time I saw him was when I was 16, in the doldrums of addiction, and yet through the haze of the world he still stood 100’ tall. A man who had through odds continued on. Twelve years ago now, two years after his passing.

     Resilience seems to be a genetic marker when I think of my family, the same way alcoholism is. My fathers dad left my oma with nine children and chose a bottle. Through this my dad became a rock of stability, a dreamer. With a suitcase of belongings he and my mother left family, community, home, for more. A commitment. The commitment I’ve desperately grasped at, in the mountains, instead of questioning instinct, follow the line. My parents' sacrifices and fierce kicking in of the door left me the room to dream and chase curiosity, chase the feeling of dancing in the mountains or on vertical faces. As I immersed myself more into the world of mountains and pursued the guiding career the loss began to enter. A familiar feeling from childhood and addiction. Sense of belonging became skewed by grief reminiscent of the pull of two cultures yet always being on the fringes of both. What is resilience?

The first time I saw a man cry was opa. South East Michigan still had winters at this point and I was walking in the basement. He was staying for the holidays in the downstairs room, I must have been around four or five. I remember faint sobs coming from the other side of the door. Inside was a man whose wife's alcoholism was hitting a pinnacle, a woman he loved until his passing. He must have caught the flu or something. It's a foggy memory, in his febrile delirium between sobs he was asking me for his mom. Yet even in this state he was larger then life. I have often grappled with the question of what is resilience? What does it look like on an expedition or climb? How does it present itself without machismo? When we dig deep what do we draw on? 

The lake shore is filled with the heavy warm air of humid Michigan summer heat. I can’t be older than six in my memory but it's all subjective. My brothers four and the excitement of the beach is almost overwhelming. We run through the sandy trail to the water, both of us in our underwear, I rember green underpants in a tighty-whitey style with an allover dinosaur print. My fixation at that time was all things dinosaurs. The water is the perfect temperature lake Michigan becomes in the late summer days, yet our excitement is quickly cut when the other kids realize we are in underwear and not swim suits. Perfectly normal in the Netherlands but far from it here, I think this is when I became cognizant of needing to fit into the American landscape to avoid this once again. To camouflage myself as what occupies the space around me. Fixations had crept in whether the worries of losing my native tongue, falling asleep by ten or that everyone may pass away in their sleep unless I am in the room with them. My obsessive nature felt like a super power when I began to climb. The fixation on systems, maps, techniques and real world application slowed the world down. I’m transported to being in Cody Wyoming. Beyond gripped on my first ice leads, unable to rationalize what I’m doing or slow down the world anymore. Eli and Naifun have passed at this point and the world doesn’t seem to slow down anymore when I’m in the alpine.

I’m crossing the paradise parking lot and I hear the familiar hard g sound of dutch. I often get excited when I run into Dutch people and love the chance to speak Dutch again. They're on vacation visiting the states, A dad and his two boys. My english used to have a slight dutch accent but now I’ve traded this for having an American accent in my dutch. As I turn to rejoin the clients I hear the boy ask his dad what kind of dutch I am.

“He’s not really dutch at this point he’s just an outsider”

Me and Naifun are at a bar in Lander, toiling over maps and beta for the Mooses tooth. We are looking over the west ridge and thinking of how incredible the experience can be. Yet I had the opportunity to join a seminar for work in the Chugach that would conflict with the trip so as the evening progressed we pondered over who would be the right fit. All roads pointed to Eli. Alaska was always the goal from the first time I tied in. I believe there are ranges and areas that just speak to us and for me it has always been Alaska. 2023 was the first time I set foot in the state and I haven’t been back since. We got the news of their passing over the satellite phone. I felt the same as the small boy in his dinosaur underwear, lost in an unfamiliar place. 

That January Dan had passed away from alcohol withdrawals. I’m 17 again in a park covered in my own vomit. The opioid/benzo-induced withdrawals are sending electrical charges through my body and I’m shivering beyond control even though it’s August. Dan found me in my meager state and carried me to his house down block. Dan was a force of nature that skated pools with ferocity but a smoothness that didn't fit but somehow did his Chris Farley like persona. Dan lived in a “punk” house at the time and offered me a couch to stay on as I cleaned up my act. Graduating high school was far out of the picture at this point and the opiate epidemic was in full swing across Michigan like a grim reaper swinging its scythe through every city, town, and household. But there was Dan. A complex man fighting his own demons, punching me if I didn't stand up straight on front side 5-o grinds, carrying me to safety. I had asked him to please help me and he did. What Dan did for me in those couple of days before I could get into an outpatient was more than the system had done since my spirals. 

I’m now 15 or 16 and going to a psychiatric facility. I’m strung out as shit and I don't remember much because of the cocktail of ativan I was somehow able to convince the nurse at the e.r to give me. Whatever dose they gave me has put me in a full brown out because the intake goes as poorly as it could have. I ask for help, I remember asking if a medical taper is possible and being laughed at and called a junkie. I see red and next thing I know my face is on the ground with a knee on my head. I spent what felt like days in restraints and that's when frequent strip searches and touching began. I was a child. The facility employed a man who knew that the make-up of at-risk youth and mental health issues were the perfect guise for him to take full advantage. I wonder how many more of us there were. 

Tears well up again as it becomes evident that the lightning storm is on top of our heads. Over the summer seasons this has become a knee jerk reaction for me. I am in the tent but the rest of the instructor team is in the kitchen. Every couple of minutes there is a flash with an immediate bang. I watch as static electricity dances around the tent and feel my hair standing. Pinned and unable to move not knowing if the kitchen has been struck or not. This particular season's storms of this nature would easily persist for an hour or two. Even indoors now I’ve grown to hate lightning. If you’re counting, you are alive.

It’s a cool summer morning at paradise as our gear clinks, being stuffed into the bag. The rack is light and the goal is the dance. We shoot up the Kautz and enjoy the perfect conditions as the sun dances off the snow and ice just like we are on top of it. A team of two, a connection. Frequent laps are the theme of summer at the base of Rainer. Weeks prior I had spent the month alone not knowing anyone, in the consistent rains of the vernal Washington in my ‘99 grand caravan. I was once again taking a leap. Little to nothing to my name, new place, but a world of opportunity. Just like my parents risking so much to be so far away. I so desperately wanted to be like my dad yet connection feels hard in the world of the mountains, Often it feels like my origin story and experience is too different then those of my peers. I have lied, cheated, robbed, and broken trust. Imagine sisyphus happy, there is a line, a purpose to each trip, each day striving for growth. I ride the waves and hope that my resilience nowadays is not the misguided machismo but a vulnerability, to show up.

Yet in all of this I am beyond lucky, I have slipped through cracks of survival up to this point. I decided not to hang out with people on a certain day and they’re serving a 10 year bid or passed. I don’t think climbing saved me, I think people saved me. The connections I have been lucky enough to make over this first decade of sobriety have led me to meeting people who have changed my existence. A trope of “it’s the journey not the summit” rings truer each year and I count my blessings that I get to stand where I am currently. 

Her hazel eyes watched the jetboil as steam filled the tent. I felt her hands on my back as she passed me oatmeal. The brisk pnw air flowed through our assault tent. I hadn’t slept much. We both had leaky air pads and the van had collapsed 2% up the road before we hitched in. Some Canadians had given us the lift and we road up in the truck bed, the smiles quickly turned to laughs and eventually some silent suffering as it dumped rain on us over the 5 mile drive. Yet here in our warm dry perch below mount baker may have been the first true experience of “home”. There was no code shift needed. She saw me as I am. If nothing else I was lucky to experience a cosmic love like this. The same way the air flowed through our tent effortlessly, we too danced up North Ridge that day. A tradition began there where we hold hands as we make the final steps to the summit. We joked about only assholes fall in open crevasses to only watch her hockey stop one minute later right above the lip of one. 

The ideal phase of slow ritualistic days has brought me back to once again dreaming of alpine runouts and measuring not my self worth but measuring the way I dance through these places. Is my passage allowed today or is a lesson on the horizon? Often at the end of an expedition a wrap up is done with clients and a good friend would always give a speech alluding to how life will teach us the same lesson over and over and over until we are ready for it to stick. It may have stuck this time in the slow down. Stepping away from the relentless push to achieve has given me the space to once again appreciate training. To appreciate grieving and facing my losses and shortcomings head on. I look forward to the magic that lies in the cascades and wonder what of the greater ranges will peak the flame inside of me.

My parents stood in the airport with suitcase in hand and made a dream a reality. This was done through resilience. Not a silent stoic trope of carrying on. A messy, explosive, passionate and loving resilience. The type of resilience I hope to bring to my partnerships in the mountains, and especially to my connections. When I stand below these beautiful mountains analyzing the line I think of them. I am a statistical anomaly in recovery but I am not defined by recovery. I am defined by a resilience passed from my grandparents to my parents to me. I am lucky to strive for this dream of improbable stances in wild tall places and to feel the love of a rag tag community that has welcomed me as I am. 

Doorzetten.Doorzetten.Doorzetten

To Opa, Naifun, Eli, Kenny, and Dan. I miss you all.

.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” -MLK

The measure of an alpinist is not in what they can climb but in what style a climb is done. This is not an original idea and is the driving force of what climbing in alpine environments means to me. Style is everything, it is the art that makes alpinism so beautiful and inspires me to consistently approach mountains in the way I do. 

On the seventh of August me and my climbing partner James Nash set out on an ambitious goal of biking from Ashford Washington to the paradise parking lot below Tahoma, climb the Kautz in a fast and light style up and over taking the D.C down to then bike back to Ashford in one continuous push. The biking alone called for 25 miles and 4,500’ of elevation gain. We got crushed in a beautiful and insightful way.

At 2230 we departed the IMG parking lot, quickly entering the bubble world of our headlamps and the cool air whizzing by our heads as we set pace on our bikes. As the grade picked up entering the park we entered a low hanging cloud layer, the experience of the empty park at this time was perfect for the ride but the near white out conditions lead to a nauseating 2.5 hours of biking to get to paradise. Although I did not feel much physical fatigue on the ride, the soul crushing nature of the lack of visibility already chipped away at a weak mental game for me at the tail end of a long guiding season. Our minds work like a bank when it comes to digging deep, the committing lines must be balanced with low risk and recovery activities to keep funds available for withdrawal, early in this quest I was already hitting overdraft fees with my withdrawals. At paradise we transitioned slowly and talked about what we would already do differently, not using frame bags had bruised the living hell out of my ass bones and left me depleted. Overall the nutrition component had been good but the energy/caloric deficient I am fighting against was too great. We departed the parking lot and began to make our way up towards the nisqually glacier.

As the trail spit us off of the muir path and heading down to the remnants of what was once a proud glacier, now no more than complex moraine with loose scree and wobbly boulders we made our first navigational error that ate precious time. We dropped too low, becoming very apparent after our eventual bail when we took a much higher line across the nisqually. The condition of this entry point is not in ideal condition this time of year and overall our next attempt for this project will be in early to mid July 2026. We continued up varying terrain eventually starting up the steep snow and scrambling through a steep insecure rock step to gain the ridge. Although fun staying on the snow would have saved time and mental capacity compared to the demanding low fifth class high consequence rock we ended up on. At this point our pace, mine especially, had slowed to a crawl, but the wild sights around us made up for the beat down we were taking. A blood moon began to set to our west almost looking like a sunrise. Its light lit up our surroundings dancing off of the chossy rock and thin layer of freeze from the previous day's storms. Across the valley a cloud layer laid framing the tatosh range in its jagged beauty, Mount Adams jutting out definitely from the cloud layer off in the distance. Defeat was clear in our unspoken communications and also in our conversations, although we were deep in our respective caves we had each other in this mutual feat of repentance in the mountains early that morning, I saw James for where he was and he saw me in my entirety. We continued up a ways climbing over some steeper snow that had formed a slight ice layer on it before I called it. Leading into our push a lot of questions of descent route had risen due to part of the upper mountain having large crevasses open. The thought of later in the day descending all of this and crossing the choss pile of the nisqually was about as appealing as this attempt had been in general. 

We sat, perched high above the valley below, cars begging to break through the cloud layer on the road as the sun rose and the always present procession of tourists made their pilgrimage up to paradise. We ate snacks, laughed about the fact e-bikes would have made this a lot nicer or driving up to paradise for that fact. Yet we had made a conscious effort to hold ourselves to an ethic we believed in, a style in which it felt pure, and adventurous, a bar to measure ourselves against. On our descent we admired a mountain goat as it agilely hopped across the moraine, dancing like a spirit in the mountains. We got back on our bikes and zoomed back to IMG enjoying the views and the feelings of having tried something big and failed big. 

The Slog will have to wait till next year, many reflections on our tactics will lead to a successful attempt of this. Stats;

-59.3 miles human powered

-8,700' of elevation gain

-11 hours 33 minutes

We don’t go to the mountains for it to be easy.

.

 

  As clients gathered and we moved to start our classes on putting on a back pack in the forever busy paradise parking lot I heard a distinct language spoken over the murmur of all the tourists. A Dutch family was taking in the views of Tahoma and I was beyond excited to speak my native touge. We made small talk, spoke about the beauty of Tahoma and as the family walked away the son asked his dad a question I couldn't make out, the response was " he's dutch but not really he may as well be a foreigner with the way he sounds." The same day a client let me know how I am American but not really. A inbetween state of existence never culturally one always closer to a fringe. My identity has become less tied to nation and more to experience based on existence as a first generation in the United States. I am often asked which I identify closer with but it is neither. The largest identifying part I see is my experience of sobriety and being first generation in the United States.

    I have reached a decade of sobriety in what feels like a blink of an eye. I don't feel that different from the 17 year old who was in withdrawals and a buck 30 soaking wet. The world continued to change and move around me and feelings of shame and guilt around my personal plight came and went in these last 10 years like waves of consciousness. In the last decade as I moved forward in my recovery the annual drug overdose deaths doubled annually. That's roughly 100,000 sons,daughters,husbands,wives,friends, people who no longer walk this plain of existence a year. The pharma bro's who opened Pandora's box through fda labels and execs who lined their pockets continue to walk around scot free. In a lot of ways, even though what we now understand around opioid addiction is ten-fold compared to then, nothing has changed. Insurance companies own beds in treatment facilities and promise cures. 1.2%-2.2% of opioid users see successful recovery. The addict is a second class citizen in today's world just like the drunk has been in different times of substance abuse epidemics, the symptoms become talking points of lawlessness and homelessness for capitalists to run fear mongering programs on tv and social media. Places such as Kensington in philly become click bait footage to be monetized on youtube as poverty and suffering porn. Where lies our humanity towards a person in need, in a nation of "gotta get mine" individualism. Is collective effort or harm reduction even possible under our current economic systems when NGO's make ten fold in their boards when all they do is hand out water? 

The Greeks placed coins in the mouth or on the eyes of the deceased for Charon to collect for safe passage onto the next realm. There is a transactional nature to the human existence.This nature paved the way for the opioid epidemic. It is a truth through many societies,history, and lore. I believe alpinism and recovery is similar in this sense with a caveat. The traditional sense of this equation is effort + time = outcome.  Sometimes it is practice + time= success. The definition of success becomes turned on its head in the mountains and in recovery. Being stuck in a cold damp tent for days at end will often teach you way more than the ease of romping up a mountain in perfect conditions. Stepping into the coliseum the rocky quote "It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done.”  Rings true on a spiritual level. One must take copious amounts to gain the morsales of mountain sense to go for truly committing and beautiful lines in this world.  This is where the interconnection lies for me. The isolation was a hit, the experience of addiction and turmoil was a hit, the tear of not belonging in my settings or cultures and lack of place was a hit. Yet in the presence of adversity just like my parents did and the generations before them did during war we continue to put our foot in doors. 

In my reflection of this decade and the years that led to it I am drawn to Nietzsche's ideas of time being a circle of repetion. "Do You want this again, and then innumerable times again" the answer is yes. My snake eating its own tail is not only filled with suffering, I have loved, felt humanity, danced in the mountains, and seen a lot of the world. Although often at odds Schopenhauer's ideas of will I believe to connect well to this idea of innumerable recycling. If will is blind drive and a constant state of wanting leads to suffering there lies a redefinition of suffering. Suffering reminds us we are here and not passive in our existence, it reminds us what it means to have triumphed and to have failed, to look into the abyss and wonder if something will look back. The will to continue on my path is irrational and insatiable, it would be easier to go back to old habits and hide from my thoughts and the world. I have grinded my teeth and put my head down for ten years. I have continued to cycle through the same behaviors at a lower frequency as I did when I was using. I am unsure at times if the monster asked me if I would look away at horror in the eyes of the flat circle or if I would be joyous. Today I am joyous. Sobriety has taught me many life lessons and allowed me to have the ability to endure immense discomfort.” He who fights with monsters, should see to it that he does not become a monster himself. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you also" I have been the monster in my own path and became a monster at times to overcome aspects of this disease, the compartmentalization of cravings and a constant state of hyper vigilance is second nature to getting through the day to day of recovery. What does it mean after a decade to still be taking it day to day? To still have dreams of drinking and using my nights away and to hope for the quieting of the static in my mind? What does the next decade look like and will the shame or guilt ever change? Do I want this part again and again innumerable times?

At this point of my recovery I look down onto the cycle and see time moving the way it's described by dr manhattan in watchmen. Me finding career success and experiencing love are happening as I wither in the physical symptoms of withdrawal. Moments of bliss and exploration, in the woods by my childhood home running around with my brother happen as I get into drunken fights with strangers. All of these moments leave me perplexed and searching for meaning but meaning is not necessary. The desire to seek meaning does not match the lack thereof in this plane. My addiction happened just as my recovery did. It shaped me and broke me at times. I am left without a clear direction or feelings on the entire matter. I am constantly filled with hate towards the perpetrators of the large scale spread of the opioid crisis but no clear answers to how we as people heal from this. The cycle continues to rotate just as new pieces fall into place. I feel both triumphed and crushed by the weight of my journey. On this day looking down the same plights remain constant but hope lies in this cycle. I have lived fully to this point and will continue to live fully. My reflections on this decade are the importance of love and support and space to heal. It took me three years to feel like my brain worked again. It took me ten to realize I was stagnant in my growth and needed to demand more from myself and the world. The doors that have opened are beautiful and the ones that closed had their places. I am lucky to be here and will continue to tear down my walls to hope for a brighter tomorrow but looking towards the light I anticipate and accept with open arms the shadows that will accompany them. My insatiable will to exist is where my strength in recovery lies. I am hungry for more from this life and ready for the cycle to continue. To endure is to exist and to exist is to truly live. 

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness, and say to you, "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence" ... Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: "You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine."

Parbat EL 55L and El27L

 

Functionality and simplicity have always been the leading in factor when it comes to
packs or equipment I use when guiding or alpine climbing. A simple tube style pack, minimal or no pockets, and easy axe attachment points have been the key to what I use.A large factor in my decisions for what pack to use is also the base weight. There has not been a pack in the last five year that I haven't trimmed the fat off or added components to, to fit my needs. That is until I began using the Parbat EL line.

Parbat offers a no bullshit pack that does exactly what it is designed to do. carry well and take abuse. Since the end of April/ begin May I have been putting both the El55 and EL27 through the wringer in Washington. Some Stats on both of these, the EL27 weighs in at a feather weight 540g (just over a pound in freedumb units) and the El55 sits at 620g. When empty the pack feels like nothing I'm pretty sure the packaging it came in plus the info cards weigh more. Now the real magic in  these packs lies within the construction, the majority of the pack the material is heat sealed together. This process is the material itself bonding, not bonding it with some type of adhesive, hence a bomb proof bond with way less failure points throughout the pack. Said material is ALUULA, a product from the aeronautical field with one goal, to make the strongest and lightest material possible. They bolster a strength 8x that of steel for its weight. Parbats packs utilize the Graflyte composites throughout the body of the pack with the duralyte used as the base/bottom of the pack. This was another aspect that stuck out to me. Often in the world of fast and light our trade off becomes durability. The dyneema packs that have filled the outdoors the last years often fail around the bottom of the packs where the most friction happens. This is also where the seam tape tends to peel or delamination begins. 

When it comes to wear and tear of products, my full time guiding schedule and free time being spent in the mountains has meant to burn through equipment. Trail runners I'm lucky if I get a full season out of them, working back to 30 day trips with nols or running laps of Rainier grinds most equipment into the ground. At this point in the season, around the half way mark, there is not much wear to be seen on these packs. The system I utilize is that the 27L acts as my dry bag/summit bag inside of my 55L. The Loops on the lower bottom make walking in a harness with this pack super comfy due to me being able to clip my glacier kit and pro there but still be able to to easily grab and unclip the gear. The same goes for the application of these packs in a ski mountaineering setting. My splitboard carries wonderfully even on the 27L version. The simplicity of the attachment systems on the sides of the packs and the axe attachments make for fast transitions. The only qualm some may have, the last few seasons of packs with different companies a rise in the exterior crampon attachment point has been a trend. I prefer having as little as possible on the outside of my pack and don't miss having this option. Generally when I am carrying a heavier load the dry bag on the side of my pack would be carrying the crampons and needed layers and snacks. The 55L has load limit of 19kg but easily carries more than this well although not recommended it is more than strong enough and often when guiding, the nature of things is I will end up carrying client gear.

The last major point of these packs is that in a world of greenwashing, this material is legitimately mendable and recyclable. Parbat uses 98% of each textile element minimizing overall production waste, and the material itself can be recycled into many other materials. Since the packs are made of moving and fixed elements this offers easy repairs from regular wear and tear.

More info on the materials and Parbat

https://aluula.com/our-story/

https://parbat.it/en/

* I am currently an athlete with Parbat and testing equipment, I have bias but strongly believe in these packs and materials.

Meeting an Old Friend

 "When you are totally defeated you begin again to enjoy the small things around you. Just going to the mountains, not for victory or glory, but to enjoy nature or enjoy fine people. If you always succeed you enjoy the admiration of many people. Being defeated means being limited to the basis existential choices of life. If you can enjoy the quiet evening hours it is beautiful; a hero who always succeeds may not have time to enjoy such things." -Wojciech Kurtyka

Inside of my head a version of me lives that is an old, broken, drunk, pill head. He spends his day laboring and nights at a bar stool, chasing his next high and speaking to himself chipping away at whatever self worth may have been left. Clothes hang on him like the bags under his eyes, liver spots dancing across his skin like the youth that once was. Calloused hands grip a glass reflecting the tension of his being.He rears his shit eating grin towards me and comes to play when I enter periods of stress, 

“You’re just another junkie what’re you doing here?” 

“Do you think you’re worth this success?" 

"What’ve you done to repent for the person you were? Why are you trying when a bar stool or curb is your destination”

This internal monologue has ebbed and flowed for the last decade in my brain. I believe for the majority of my recovery I have white knuckled my way through sobriety. The easy part of sobriety is not using. A clear cut path of where the dump truck leads. The hard part is treating the deeply rooted personality flaws and mental health I have left largely unaddressed at times. A snake eating its own tale perpetuates the psyche I feel to be true in the underlying mentality of addiction. Cycles upon cycles, woven together in a mandala of space and time. I convince myself this is my strength in the mountains. A cold night on the mountain or walking through seracs whispering their crushing power through their deep base like groan is nothing compared to the man perched on his bar stool in my brain.

Since moving to Washington I have been a kid in candy store. A mania of alpine climbing, ski mountaineering, and guiding took place. Companies took interest in what I was doing for the first time and I felt recognized for the way I approached my climbing and my work ethic. In this moment is when he began to crawl out of his cavern like an aimless bum emerging from an overpass bivy. As of late I have been left with an inability to head into the mountains. The allure of the peace I generally feel when traveling in the alpine had all but left and instead a solitary cell had formed in my mind. The dancing motions of climbing through mixed terrain feel like a bull in a china shop.

I deeply believe the worth of a climb falls into the approach and ethics we adhere to. A simple, minimal, self supported approach is the way. 

“Success is not a triumph but a necessity… There's no mistaking it: You are only rewarded for the risks you are prepared to take. Once out of context, actions become indefinable. Any will power or ambition that is brought to bear is arbitrary. There are no external, urgent necessities to justify choices of profession, hobbies, or partners; no force or coercion to render life evident. Everything must come from within” (ADILKNO, “Out of Context,” 175)

Alpinism must come from within. The mountain hears,fells, and sees our intentions on how we approach it. The idea of conquering, fkt’s, and going to climb a route because the picture will be featured somewhere render the most important part of alpinism meaningless. The allure of recognition for one’s triumphs in the arena of mountains becomes shallow when achieved. The beauty of success is only actualized between a small team of people standing on an improbable summit done in a single push, with complete faith and love in one another. One can not dance through the mountains with the hope of a monetize-able return from their feat. This is the aspect of my alpinism that I hope to rekindle. My ethics may not be your ethics and that’s the beauty of a contrived activity such as climbing mountains. Style is everything and meaning from climbing comes from within.

I don’t know how long the drunk in will stick around this time. Often seeing him is like seeing an old friend. August sixth will mark a decade of my version of sobriety which is total abstinence. Sobriety,like alpinism, must fit one’s personal ethics and for me that’s total abstinence. That decade I have traveled the world, rekindled broken relationships in my family, had the opportunities of a life time, achieved feats I only dreamed of, and felt and seen beauty in this world that the pessimistic drunk can not conceive. I hope to continue to grow and heal as a human. I am deeply flawed but those flaws make me who I am and will take time to unwind. 

The drunk will hear the last call, bringing him back to earth from the flat circle of time his endless arguments with himself transpire. He’ll collect himself enough to stumble out the bar and through the haze of a Newport wandering his way back to whatever shack he calls home. I want to hug him and give him the warmth he needs to figure out what he needs to figure out. The survivors guilt continues to weigh on him as he curls up on his stoop, leaving him unable to make forward progress in his existence. My ill will to him has grown smaller. I am further from him at this point in my life than any common ground yet I feel more in common with the people I see on the streets of Seattle than my peers in the mountain community. The duality I have felt through out my existence is where he creeps in. Torn between the Netherlands, and the US, between sobriety and degeneracy. Work and personal life. Wondering when the shoe will drop. 

I sit next to my old friend and reminisce on times of chaos and fill him in on where my travels have taken me. The friends who are no longer here join us to fill in the gaps of memory’s lost to the Xanax brown out of my teenage years. We travel through the spaces that held meaning that are no longer there. The basement of launch skate shop would be a fitting setting, now most likely some type of smoothie bar. He fills with laughter and warmth thinking of the good times. I hope he finds a small slice of peace as he wanders of into the realm of dreams and before the cycle continues in the morning.

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."

 – Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours.

Ice Season, Moving, Fitness, Equipment

 The end of march is sadly marking the end of my ice season but also marking an exciting change of location, career and habits. This ice season has overall been phenomenal, my comfort on leading ice and mixed terrain has jumped grades every weekend and the ice has been fat and good throughout Wyoming. Consistency in partnership has been challenging at times but my drive has only grown and my move will open up doors. Later on I will dive deeper into some of my climbs from this winter season but the big thing on my mind has been my move to Washington on end of March. I arrived to a stark difference from the high desert winter landscape I've called home for 4-5 years now. The PNW is known for it's rain this time of year. A new job with International Mountain Guides brings me to this part of the nation. I am beyond excited to start this job and think/hope career wise this move will be a large leap in the right direction to continue my growth as a guide. I began my trip in Seattle and was quickly excited to head north and abandon the busy-ness and overstimulation of the city. It was great catching up with an old friend but Seattle is a pace of life i am not used to and hope to stay not used to. I made the trek north where I was pulled over not once but twice due to the difference in Wyoming license plates with the county number can add confusion, the first interaction left me rattled after an ice agent was also there asking for my passport and immigration status. Strange times we live in. After bouncing around Bellingham I decided to head south east and check out the local drytooling where I hope to put in many hours this summer. East of North Bend Washington is Wayne's World, an awesome looking drytooling area. Although it has been raining for 4 days tomorrow a window is opening up and I hope to get a solid day of toprope soloing routes in. Fun Fact a good amount of twin peaks was filmed around here. Although the change of routine or lack thereof has been a difficult adjustment I am filled with excitement for my future here. Me and Sage plan to find a place somewhere around Washington and the prospects of living with my girlfriend are very exciting. The extra downtime has opened up quite a bit of reading time and Michael Mann's "heat two" is just as good as the first film.

    My final outing into the Wind River Range this winter was with my good friend Jerrick to climb the gully route on Lake Louise for a third weekend in a row because coordinating getting to Cody had become a difficult task. The day was blue bird as can be and our approach was blessed by a upclose sighting of a mama moose with a baby moose in tow, a beautiful sight. The day remained splitter and perfect temps to climb in with little to no wind on the lake crossing. The first pitches of the climb were a mix of aerated ice with tricky protection and engaging movement compared to the last weekend soloing of this section. This brought us up to the amphitheater with many options of where to go. My first choice was the thinly formed leftmost line, I had brought rock gear hoping to snake my way between jams, mixed moves and thin ice scratching but was shut down by lack of protection, only having brought cams from black totem to number 1 and handful of chocks. Beaks would have been money in the entry moves to get to the thin smear of ice leading to bomber cracks but the unprotected crux moves for 20' lead me to retreat to the belay and pick another line. This was the mountain steering me to the true money line of the day. The rightmost line was made up of a traverse on hollow ice into solid mixed terrain under a roof that ate up small cams. The movement was engaging and pumpy and led to thin hooking on a solid smear of ice most likely in the WI4+/5 range. The moves felt commiting and hard to reverse as ditos white flag and sade's smooth operator hummed in my ears. delicate foot work brought me to a exposed stance where i could slip in a nice yellow screw. easier terrain lead me to a nice belay to bring Jerrick up on his first mixed line and sustained ice line, the belay was filled with joy upon his arrival, a beautiful line of great movement shared with a friend in a stellar perch in the winds. 

                                                          The traverse into the climb

                                                                 The pitch Money Line

One last note is a recent modification Jay at Backcountry cobblers did for me which was adding double chest pockets on my merino sun hoodie. The minimalism in gear has been a blessing and curse when it comes to functional design and often the single chest pocket is better then none but in my mind especially for winter ascents and alpine guiding work the double chest pocket on a base layer is gold standard. This allows cellphones, powerbricks, extra batterys, and head lamps to escape the icy zapping of energy caused by the cold temps. An easy and cheap modification has made a layer I already use for every outing indispensable.

To finish some more images from this winter, Looking forward to a summer of guiding and playing in the cascades and left dreaming of the upcoming winter season. hoping to take advantage of my proximity to Canada and cut my teeth in the Rockies next season.