upgrade #1.

So with the recording and mixdown of Ferocity And Fragility it became painfully clear my trusty 1.0Ghz dual G4 - my first Mac and the one that has been my Trusted One - was spent. Well, not entirely spent. But not up to the task of thirty-plus Logic tracks all loaded down with effects and such. And I really want to move on from the supplied Logic samples to much better ones for piano (namely, a particular Bechstein sample I have in mind) and orchestra (and possibly symphonic choir) which require significantly more CPU and RAM. Significantly. They are enormous.

So an upgrade to The Studio was in order. Namely, a beefier Mac and bigger monitors (to come soon) to properly monitor and mixdown.

This is not the one I really have my sights on (which is the G5 2.5Ghz quad core - read EIGHT processors on four chips loaded with 16GB of RAM) but I could not pass it up and hopefully it will work in the meantime -

A 2.0GHz dual processor with 2.5 gigs of RAM that I will upgrade to eight gigs if it passes the test ... which is to run through F&F without having to freeze every track (the test will be to leave all of the non-piano sample tracks unfrozen while at the same time being able to leave at least one of the, uhh, three piano samples running unfrozen and ready for editing).

So time to pick another element from the periodic table in which to name it and to properly add it to the family ... And I still will likely get that G5 quad monster in the near future but without loss of this one - I can enable Logic's node capabilities and use its two processors over the LAN to help with the computing.

...

Oh, and Uranium passed the test (all tracks unfrozen CPUs operating below redline with some headroom even to spare) -

And without fail I am working on another song project incorporating more instrumentation and orchestration to be uploaded when it is finished (or as a sample beforehand once it is at least a bit further along).

cheers

"The point behind all this fuss about pianos: the MUSIC they make and we, with our own two hands, can become at least for a few moments, immortal. For you see, all the shouting over political and religious issues will never accomplish what a single, simple piece of exquisite piano music will accomplish."

--- from Grand Obsession, Perri Knize

Which of course made me think of the passage from T.S. Eliot's The Dry Salvages where he writes ~

For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.

ferocity and fragility.

MP3 files (the song had to be uploaded in three parts) available for streaming/download on my reverbnation page. Or playable from the widget at the top of the column on the right ...

---

The idea.

Finally. It is finished. I posted the intro a while ago. But this is finally the whole thing. A song in three parts fourteen minutes long. A piano. An orchestra. A choir. A band. A voice. And now it is finished. This is just a demo. This is just the beginning.

[is there still hope for us?]

[is there still time for us?]

we torture ourselves

we have all this fear

we have all this rage

we have lost ourselves

through our course of action

our ignorance sustained

what have we learned

what have we to say

of how

of how

we have lost our way

and we

and we have lost our way

we must be the ones to save us from ourselves while there is still time

there is still hope for us

(if we learn)

there is still hope for us

(if we see)

there is still hope for us

The voice singing to the rising crescendo above the orchestra and choir as it builds and builds and builds and builds and builds there is still time for us.

...

cheers

the most incredible place of all.

So I have 'published' my first book (titled This Is The Most Incredible Place Of All). Weird. I'm not sure if it's really considered publishing. It's mostly a Christmas gift for family (sorry to spoil the surprise for any fam that reads this). Maybe I should say I have 'printed' my first book.

Anyways–it will be available in an 8x10 landscape softcover as well as a larger 11x13 landscape hardcover with dust jacket. The two versions will be exactly identical in content, but the larger format allows for both–well–larger photographs as well as more white space so everything does not seem so crammed on each spread. I'm making the larger one for myself really, but I wanted to have the smaller, more affordable softcover option for anyone who actually wants to order the book (the hardcover version will also be available in a week or so once I finish reformatting the design).

---

So this evening I picked up the first two that I had ordered (as a test) off the porch (and I bought two at a time cos I had purchased a pretty awesome Blurb Groupon - $20 for $60 worth of books - and it doesn't matter which city's Groupon site you use since it's an online deal - I bought mine from Colorado Springs or something). Opened the package and took a look–and despite being hard to impress on just about everything ... I was impressed. As in really impressed. The image quality was absolutely stellar. And the colour was dead-on to how I had meticulously retouched it. It took some basic color management (for those that don't understand color management, Blurb does a really good job of explaining it and how to set it up on their site) and I had to call them out on a flaw in their workflow (which involved neglecting a conversion to their printers' profile when making the PDF file from InDesign because without that conversion and thus no images tagged with profiles the spread previews looked really horrible online)–but once I ironed all that out I uploaded a final PDF and waited to see how a book would turn out.

Like I said–I am really impressed. I'd like to fix the spine of the softcover, but Blurb doesn't give as good of specs for the softcover variable width spine as it does for the fixed hardcover spine (they do provide a calculator but the safety margin on either side of the spine in my book's case was equal to the spine itself so they're clearly giving themselves some room to not be exact getting the spine copy lined up on the, well, spine) and the two books are assembled with the title on the spine aligning differently on each copy. Also, my only other nitpick is one of the two books was scored (this is a good thing) on the cover near the spine to make it easier to open. Not sure why the other one was not.

But overall I am blown away at the quality. And for a preview of the book, Blurb allows anyone to scroll through select spreads (of my choosing - didn't want to give it all away) with a little Flash player (and from there you can view fullscreen, see the book info and even order a copy if you're interested) -

This Is The Most Incredible Place Of All by Thom Schroeder | Make Your Own Book

---

80 glossy pages
13 tri-tone black and white photographs
22 colour photographs
12 essays
Selected quotes

Available in 8x10" landscape heavyweight glossy softcover ($39.95) and 11x13" landscape hardcover with glossy dust jacket ($89.95)

Sad story.

Joseph Puryear - a photographer and climber and Washington native - recently died while climbing in a remote part of the Himalayan Range in Tibet.

When asked earlier where his climbing heart lay, Puryear's reply echoed in every ounce my own sentiment ~

"It’s hard not to say my own home mountains the Cascades, but really my heart lies in all alpine travel and exploration off the beaten path and away from civilization."

...

(the photo is one of his most popular taken high on the Infinite Spur on Mt. Foraker six thousand feet above the glacier below)

climb list 2011.

First snow storm in the mountains and am already starting next year's list -

- Storm King - approach from Park Creek either via Cascade Pass and down into the Stehekin Valley (for the first time) or up from Lake Chelan (also would be for the first time) ...

- Formidable - approach over Cascade Pass and climb the south face. Camp at Kool-Aid Lake or bivy at the Spider-Formidable Col.

- Buckner - north face. Enough said. Third time's a charm. July.

- Challenger - Pickets. Finally. Yay.

- Ruth - summit this time. Early. Maybe camp up on the high east ridge for alpenglow and early morning shots of Shuksan's spectacular and terrifying north face. Maybe combine with climb of Challenger.

- Eldorado - from Sibley Creek/The Triad side this time. Camp high. Summit in the evening. Spectacular.

- Black - possibly. In the fall, maybe? Camp at Wing Lake.

- Snowfield - this was such a cool area when we climbed Colonial this year. Impressive. Possibly in combo with the Isolation Traverse below ...

And then backpacking -

Thorton Lakes - the Pickets. Again. Easy. With J.

Ice Lakes - in Autumn - maybe?

Kool-Aid/Yang-Yang/White Rock Lakes - see Formidable above - so combined. And at least the first, maybe the second, possibly the third? But if all of those then, why not just the entire Ptarmigan Traverse? Which would include climbing at least Dome and Le Conte and ... but definitely Dome.

- Thunder Creek - sweet. Long weekend. Three days. Start north, head south. Car shuttle. Get to know the valleys of the North Cascades a little better.

- Isolation Traverse - ok ok this is ambitious but just jotting it down ...

- the Enchantments - Autumn - hopefully ... maybe? Or maybe Ice Lakes or Black Peak ...

- the Sierras - of course. Kings Canyon. Yosemite. Julian. A week. Summer holiday. In-N-Out. Duh. Somewhere spectacular. Remote. Time to lounge for a few days. Let his little legs rest. Explore. Be a kid. In the mountains.

The whole point though of all of these is to mark a change. In direction. In both climbing and getting out in general. No day trips anymore. At least the same as this year if not even more über-ultralight next.

More remote.

More remote.

More remote.

No roads visible from any summit. No hard climbing routes (with the one possible exception of Buckner's damn north face of which I must, must, must climb). Mellow. Scenic. Deserted. But out there.

Already. I can't wait.

whether or not to just listen.

A late start. A wrong turn just after Hennegan Pass. Back track. Two and a half hours to here. Two hours without the wrong turn. A tight timeline. Fourteen hundred feet from the summit staring up at it from this high alpine ridge the North Cascades in every direction. The northern Pickets. Mount Redoubt. Whatcom Peak. Mount Challenger. I stop finally to pause and am startled by the silence. How quiet it is. A slight breeze warm in the sun crests over where I stand. A bug or two fly past my ear. Rockfall far in the distance. I just stand still for the first time in hours and listen. Look up at the summit from here. I could make it. I would have to haul but I have crampons and ax to get me to the top. The glacier is not opened up much and I spot a seemingly-obvious route. Mount Shuksan and Baker glisten in the autumn afternoon sun. Beckoning. Or. Or I could stop here. Pull out the sit pad acting as pack frame of sorts and plop down on a rock. Eat the fixings I brought with me. Soak up and absorb the silence. Not a soul in this valley. Probably not in the next. Or the next. This mountain vista is mine temporarily and I could own it for the next hour or so until the setting sun urged me to get moving back down shadows growing longer and higher up the valley walls. It is warm enough to be sitting here in shirt sleeves. I cannot describe the views or the silence. They must be earned. Experienced. Or. Or I could rush up to tag the summit quick. To see the north face of Shuksan though washed out at this hour. I could no doubt see more. More than I could from where I stood despite the already insatiable view. See. And then it hit me: but not hear. Cos all I would hear would be the crunch of my crampons on the ice of the glacier heading up. My own breathing. I could see from the summit for a few minutes before having to race back down. Or. Or I could save it. Save it for another day when Shuksan's north face was not blinded in shadow. I could let the sun wash over me. Enjoy this moment tucked away in these mountains for which I feel such a deep connection. I feel remote but then stare over at Whatcom and Challenger and sense their even more remoteness two valleys over from where I now sit here on this rock in the alpenglow. On the east ridge of Ruth there is this enormous cirque carved by glaciers scraped bare and smooth down to rock thousands of years ago itself falling thousands of feet down into the Chilliwack River valley where the Brush Creek Trail winds its way to the nearly-impenetrable Whatcom Pass. And beyond that lie the peaks of the northern Pickets. Whatcom. Challenger. Fury. Luna. I do want to see them. This is certainly a special and extraordinary place. There is the ice of glaciers. Granatic rock. Vine maples on fire middle of October. Firs. Cascades of creeks and rivers Ruth and Copper and Chilliwack from those same glaciers offering the intrepid climber the ability to see. I know I will be disappointed if even slightly for having chosen not to rush up to the summit. But it is so peaceful here. Time flies. Shadows lengthen. Light falls. I want to stay but know I must leave. The Ruth Creek valley is filling with darkness while high up on this ridge I bask in alpenglows and I could stay here indefinitely as I would like to think. But I gather my things. Take a last few photographs to remember the light and the shadows and race down.


-----


And all the while. All the while back down thinking to myself of the difference between seeing and listening. I have always wanted to see. To see from the summits of these peaks. To more and more peaks. Oceans of them. Above cloud-filled valleys glistening with emerald green dews and soaked from Pacific rains. To see from ice and rock. Always a race to the top. Then back down. Eldorado in a day. Sahale. Others. Seeing from the summits to distant peaks. But unlike today suddenly so sudden as if to catch me quite literally by surprise I discovered that leaves no time to just listen. Listen to the silence of these mountain vistas. Instead of racing to the summit just taking a moment to sit down and listen. I was amazed. My breath was taken away. Maybe more so than had I reached the summit out of breath no time to pause. No time to hear. What did it mean to just sit on a mountain ridge beneath the summit of an icy peak with views north to Redoubt and beyond and south to Cascade Pass and the majestic Glacier Peak rather than stand on the summit itself? Watching the light change. Clouds move. Disappear.

It sounded amazing.

"We poked along the high trails, wandered through the grasslands, let the mountain wind blow away flat-land cares."

~ Theodore Roethke, excerpted from The Wild Cascades Forgotten Parkland

lights.

Totally random. The other night just wondering whatever happened to Interpol. Turns out they've been putting together a self-titled fourth release due out next month. And have the song above out for free download and distribution (smart). Joy Division-ish and dark as hell Paul Banks' pleading baritone just like the Interpol we have come to know. It took a few listens but is now on repeat.




Is now on repeat.







Is now on repeat.

and a final reprieve.

"Everything is impermanent: thoughts, lives, mountains, stars."

~ Gary Snyder, pulled from North Cascades Crest by James Martin

an infinite regress.

Aristotle argued that knowing does not necessitate a paradox because some knowledge does not depend on demonstration.

To explain he writes ~

“Some hold that, owing to the necessity of knowing the primary premises, there is no scientific knowledge. Others think there is, but that all truths are demonstrable. Neither doctrine is either true or a necessary deduction from the premises. The first school, assuming that there is no way of knowing other than by demonstration, maintain that an infinite regress is involved, on the ground that if behind the prior stands no primary, we could not know the posterior through the prior (wherein they are right, for one cannot traverse an infinite series): if on the other hand – they say – the series terminates and there are primary premises, yet these are unknowable because incapable of demonstration, which according to them is the only form of knowledge. And since thus one cannot know the primary premises, knowledge of the conclusions which follow from them is not pure scientific knowledge nor properly knowing at all, but rests on the mere supposition that the premises are true. The other party agree with them as regards knowing, holding that it is only possible by demonstration, but they see no difficulty in holding that all truths are demonstrated, on the ground that demonstration may be circular and reciprocal.

Our own doctrine is that not all knowledge is demonstrative: on the contrary, knowledge of the immediate premises is independent of demonstration. (The necessity of this is obvious; for since we must know the prior premises from which the demonstration is drawn, and since the regress must end in immediate truths, those truths must be indemonstrable.) Such, then, is our doctrine, and in addition we maintain that besides scientific knowledge there is its originative source which enables us to recognize the definitions.”

~ Aristotle, Posterior Analytics (Book 1, Part 3)

And of course with all of this in part comes a theme. It seems I cannot help it. Two themes actually. Both enormous. Both exploding. Raging. F-sharp minor. Progressions. Over and over. A Bechstein enormous sound here in my living room windows open eyes no doubt blocks away rolling what the F is all that racket!? An enormous orchestration. An enormous symphonic choir. All going on this in my head tonight must quiet but cannot. Cannot. So I must apologize.

lying out underneath a blanket of stars.

On requisite walk tonight. The neighborhood quiets down. I see them. There they are. The Big Dipper. Polaris. Cassiopeia. Leo. I saw them last night too. Only last night there were more. Millions more. Those same constellations were there too of course but lost in the magnitude. Wrapped in down just a sleeping pad tossed on the rocks next to Upper Silent Lake buried high and deep in North Cascades National Park. The shadows of Fisher Peak and the immense north face of Black Peak hanging glaciers and all rising to the west. I just laid there staring. Counted twelve meteors leftovers from the Perseid a couple leaving trails behind them after they had disintegrated in atmospheres invisible. I could not help but to stare overwhelmed the Milky Way arcing overhead tracing its way across a pitch black night sky all of it there to remind me of how small I am. The vastness and immensity of it all. How many billions of light years had the light from that star traveled to reach me? Billions. Of how we are all spinning out of control but stabilized by the sight of the stars just covering me as if to say at least one of them out there I have traveled three-point-seven billion light years to reach you so do not forget that. Yes you are small. Yes you are weak. Yes you are frail. Sometimes you try. Sometimes you fail. But do not forget that.

Do not forget that.

ferocity.

This is part of the mess. This is just the introduction. This is nothing.

And there is an MP3 linked here in case the player does not work.

I must now finish the piano cacophony that comes in after this introduction. And then the rebuilding and utter crescendo of all the instruments this all just came to me by accident out of nowhere like everything else of course and at last then the ending symphonic and slow and beautiful and haunting and wonderful probably only to me but that is okay key signature and tempo changes and a Bechstein in a corner alone and an orchestra and all of this shit once in my head then in Logic now out there.

cheers

this mess i hear.

For whatever reason it just looks messy. It is messy. And I cannot seem to get the arpeggio or the huge massive minor theme or the quiet simplistic motif or the interlude or the cadenza or the looping synths or the strings or the strains of a Bechstein then huge triple forte chords or the samples or the ending out of my head.

... someday I will actually finish this mess.

seas of granite skies of blue.

summer holiday 2010.

'You can't take this for granite.'

~ julian

27 july. Day Four. Summer holiday. It's not quite ten o'clock in the morning and we've been up and around. Had my coffee. Trying to get some sun but it's crazy-windy today. Keeps the mosquitoes at bay I guess but it makes it tough to relax. Trying to figure out a plan for today. We will probably relax this morning then have some lunch by the water and a little more relaxing. The water is cold so not sure about swimming especially with this wind. Then maybe around two or three o'clock or so head up for a go of the summit on Agassiz. Last night was spectacular. The clouds had all disappeared but the light was still good. Running around looking for places to shoot. Need to explore to find new ones for the next couple of nights. There is another lake under Isosceles Peak that I want to check out for sure for a different perspective of this Palisade range. And of course Palisade Basin need to decide if it's worth packing up all of our stuff and moving or just trying to take some photos when the light is good and then getting back here before it gets too dark. It's quiet. The stream between these two lakes where we are camped cascading is all I hear. Julian is off climbing and exploring. The wind is dying down. But then it is warm at last. Yesterday's hike to Bishop Pass was good. We made great time the first couple of miles. Then I think the weight of Julian's pack started bothering him. And then there were the steep switchbacks up to the pass. But he made it! Eleven thousand nine-hundred and seventy-two feet. An elevation record for him. It was when we started down that he got sick. We were almost to Dusy Basin and had stopped for a bit of a break when he walked off came back and told me he had thrown up. Aww. It took me by surprise cos two years ago at the tender age of eight we climbed up to Kearsarge Pass some fifty miles south of here to just shy of twelve-thousand feet and he had rocked it whereas I had come down with a splitting headache. So I did not even consider the altitude of Bishop Pass. We hurried down to the basin and I found us a good spot to set up our little camp above two lakes overlooking the Palisade Crest to the north and peaks unnamed to the south where the trail wound down and down to finally meet up with the Middle Fork of the Kings River and the JMT on its way either to Evolution Basin further north or Mather Pass to the south. I quick tossed up the tent and Julian took to crawling in and crashing immediately. He was out the rest of the afternoon. So I had a few hours to set stuff up and then wander around myself. I napped on a rock with a view to the lake and the Palisade peaks. Then went to find a rock chair on which to toss one of our sleeping pads and read a bit from 'The Alchemist' which I had brought along to finish during the next three days out here. Julian finally woke up and we made dinner in time to finish up before the light started to do its thing. Then there we were running around us each trying to take our own shots in this most spectacular granite basin at eleven and half thousand feet. As the light wound down I was wrapping up and glanced up to see he had found a rock above on which to sit and write in his journal. I grabbed the long lens and fired off a couple of frames. They are my favourite frames of the whole trip. Reflections of mountains and skies and alpenglows none of them compare to a shot of my son on his own three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of granite and mountains just taking his own time being his own self journaling his experiences in these mountains remote and far removed from all he knows but yet perfectly comfortable in it all. Perfect. And unforgettable. He is across the stream from me now. I have tossed a pad on this rock relaxing watching him climb some boulders and cracks figuring out ways to their tops. To solve their 'problems.' He really is quite a good climber despite my lack of any formal instruction. I need to be sure to tell him that. Sometimes I think I criticize him too much. Am too hard on him. He is still just a ten-year-old boy. But I am sure to tell him how proud of him I am. Haven't seen any kids hiking through here. No one close to his age making the trip up and over Bishop Pass six miles and three thousand feet of elevation into this basin as he makes his way up a crack on another boulder off in the distance. I like the subtle sounds out here. The wind through the Juniper Pines. The constant sound of white noise from the stream. Occasionally the sounds of birds. The flapping of the nylon tent fly gently in the breeze. Silence. The sun is exhausting so now escaped into the tent for a while before we gather our things to try for the summit of Agassiz. It seems like the wind has died down and it gets stifling in here even with the doors open. Full moon last night killed our chances to see the Milky Way. It pretty much rose as soon as it started to get dark. Bother all. Well off we go.

28 july. It is early. The sun just peaked up between Mount Winchell and Thunderbolt Peak across the lake. The water is still glass. The moon is hanging low about to set behind a range of peaks whose names I do not know but from which Observation Peak seems to rise the tallest among them. I crawled out of the tent to sit on this rock overlooking it all Julian still tucked inside asleep. The sun glistens off the waters. I am wrapped in my sleeping bag. It is quite beautiful. What strikes me odd when I think of sunrises and sunsets is I can watch the shadows shorten instead of lengthen as I more accustomed to seeing. Going to go make some coffee soon. Moby and some others make a good soundtrack for this particular morning. There is still a chill in the air until the sun has had a chance to warm things up a bit. So we started our climb yesterday at two. Headed cross-country straight up past the lakes toward the base of Agassiz. We had made good time Julian excited and after an hour were already scrambling up talus towards the gully I guessed would take us more or less straight up to the summit nearly two thousand feet higher. Talus and scree steep me leading slowly always making sure Julian was doing okay. As we climbed higher we could see a big group huddled far below back at Bishop Pass. He was doing so good. Approached thirteen thousand feet. Another nine hundred to go and I figured we could just make it by five o'clock which I had set as our turnaround time. But then everything changed in an instant it seemed. He just broke down. We stopped together and decided where we were would be our summit. No worries. How proud of him I was I told him over and over. He cried and asked that I not think of him as a crybaby. I could not tell him enough how much that did not even cross my mind. To take a look at where he was. The summits of peaks we could not even see a thousand feet lower now visible far off in the distance. A haze hung in the sky muting the sun. And when he asked me that I about lost it high on this ridge mountains and lakes and wind beauty surrounding us waiting for him to catch up then almost near me asks for a hug and I said that was exactly why I was waiting for him so that I could give him one! And to tell him again how amazing what he did really was. I reminded him as we descended how one of my jobs of being his dad was to push him to try things he could not or would not think he was capable of doing by giving him the opportunity to try. He nodded in between tears. He said how he was inspired by me how I could have easily climbed Agassiz. I told him I turned around many times on mountains because I was scared. Wanted to make sure I got back home to see him. Wrapped in down warding off the bit of wind and this morning chill as the sun rises higher and the moon sets lower I look back and think back to moments with him and that one on Agassiz will always stand out. So we didn't make the summit. No matter. I led down stopping every so often for him to catch up. The way back seemed ten times as long as when we were headed up excited at the thought of standing on top but he kept after me his little legs taking him around and over boulders and granite and streams. With our camp he called 'home' in view we saw a marmot and his spirits lifted instantly. We do love the marmots and had said earlier how our trip would not be complete until we saw one. He got a good picture of it and then once back crashed in the tent while I started dinner. We ate on our rock. Then after he promptly went back to the tent as I wandered away exploring for a new subject or perspective in which to shoot the impending evening light. But the sunset came and went with little show and I made my way back up to our camp to climb up on our rock and found Julian below shooting reflections with his tripod and camera. We've had lunch now. We took some final shots that evening then made our way to the tent after finishing up the requisite chores of washing up in the stream and brushing our teeth under the stars. A bunch of hands of Uno led up to us switching off the lantern and bidding each other a good night. Clouds have rolled in! The wind is still pretty consistent and I have gone from sunbathing on granite in just shorts to pants and down sweater all in the matter of an hour or two. I am sitting on this granite rock now as the sun comes and goes clouds streaming in and out overhead. I do not know but all of a sudden from this perspective I feel a sense of awe. There is so much granite. I can still hear the little stream below but looking out across the lake to the Palisade Crest peaks and the jumbled mess of granite in every direction it is quite something to behold. It is again so quiet. Just the stream and at times the wind. Shadows move across the face of Agassiz and Winchell and Thunderbolt and Palisade changing the scene by the second. The lake moves in and out of shadow. The wind at times howls through the junipers. I am excited for our upcoming little expedition over to Knapsack Pass and Palisade Basin this afternoon. With the clouds there are photos to be taken seemingly constantly as the light shifts and changes with their every move. I will miss this place of granite and mountains and skies and winds and water. I will miss the quiet. I will miss the time spent with Julian just he and I no distractions except the occasional marmot sighting or photo-taking opportunity. I will miss just relaxing no real agenda other than to soak up some sun and scenery exquisite beyond my pale descriptions and lame photographs. There is absolutely no one around. It is just the two of us. I am relishing it. Counting every moment. Tomorrow we pack up and head out. Back up and over Bishop Pass and down to South Lake. Julian has wandered off now somewhere to go play or climb or explore he has seemingly the whole world of this rocky basin at eleven and a half thousand feet he worked so hard to get to in which to play. The clouds continue to build on the other side of the pass they seem to be intensifying. We have yet to see a thunderstorm build over the mountains while out here. Thinking we may have missed our chance as Sunday evening seemed to have been quite intense. The sunset from the town of Bishop was all mad-crazy red and beautiful and I had remarked to Julian pointing in the direction of the Palisade peaks if only we were up there then! But we would be the next night. And the next. And the next. And I am excited for tonight.

29 july. We headed out around two again cross-country over hills and boulders and around tarns and streams. It was pretty easy-going especially compared to our climb up Agassiz the day before. Some more boulder hopping over talus slopes Julian confessing that was his favourite part. He would hop from boulder to boulder with the ease of a mountain goat picking our route traversing up towards Knapsack Pass under the immense bulk of Columbine Peak. A few more steps he led up and then we were there. And the view. Wow the view! Straight into the heart of Kings Canyon National Park and the Eastern Sierra spread out before us. The rest of the Palisade Crest peaks. North Palisade and Thunderbolt still. But also Middle Palisade and Disappointment Peak. Mount Sill. The peaks east beyond Mather Pass of the Eastern Sierra Crest. Split Mountain. Goodale. Mount Pinchot. And so many other nameless or more likely named but unknown to me. A whole world of granite and sky fell before our feet. Layers and layers of it in all directions. I took some panos. Julian took some too. I took some shots of him standing on a ledge with the backdrop of granite behind. We had a bit of a snack. Hung out just in awe. Then we headed back to camp for supper back the way we came past the lake beneath Isosceles Peak. Promptly after we ate the light started to change so we grabbed our cameras and headed out for the next hour immersed in our craft of trying to capture it. The clouds had held! The light was spectacular. It is now the next morning as I write this and the sky is still littered with them blocking out the rising sun behind Winchell and Thunderbolt to the south and east the mountains look amazing here from this rock littered with cloud shadows our final day. Julian is still sleeping but will no doubt be up soon to join me. We had stayed up last night outside the tent in awe at the stars. Much to our delight the Milky Way came out. We saw the headlamps of hikers coming down from Bishop Pass in the dark. Picking out constellations we cannot see from home. I spotted Leo. We tried our hand at remembering others that seemed familiar. Julian was taken aback in amazement and wonder of the magnitude out here and we got stiff craning our necks for so long the night air still warm without the chill of any wind of which to speak. Cannot say that for now the wind is back and it is chilly just sitting here on this rock. Trying to soak up this place as much as I can before we load up and shoulder our packs for the climb back up the pass and down past all those lakes to Spencer and eventually home. These three days have been spectacular. I learned a couple of years ago to try to find a spectacular place where we could get in to and then just spend a couple days relaxing and exploring rather than constantly being on the move. His little legs are strong and have taken him far but it is good to just let him play. Digging in the dirt under the Palisade Crest. Climbing granite boulders in the Sierras. Playing with Stanley and George. Being free no constraints short of his own imagination. I cannot imagine being a ten-year-old in a place like this free to be a kid and explore and have to myself. I have to provide him these opportunities to let him grow and be himself as he told me last night during our star-gazing fest how the mountains change you Dad he said to me. I asked him how? He said they make you stronger and appreciate nature more. I could not have said it better myself so instead let his words echo off the distant granite and come back to us sitting on our rock. He makes me awfully proud. I smiled to myself and held him tighter. Under more stars than either of us have seen in far too long and the graceful streams of the Milky Way a quiet like no other the shadows of these immense granite peaks Agassiz and Thunderbolt and Palisade stark against the night sky we fell silent.

-------------

30 july. We are now in Redding having covered just about half the distance home from Bishop. When we got back to town yesterday after our hike out we went to the Bishop pool and took a shower and swam. Julian and I went off the diving board. There was a huge water slide. It was the best five dollars I spent the whole trip. All the while under a ninety-five degree Owens Valley sun dry and hot as can be expected end of July. This morning heading out from Mammoth Lakes north on US-395 driving past the left turn for CA-120 just outside of Lee Vining with some hesitation. That was the road that led up Tioga Pass into Yosemite National Park and a lineup of cars this morning waited to make the left turn to do just that as we cruised by headed instead north past Sonora Pass back up Monitor Pass and winding back down first through the northern Sierras past Tahoe then through the oak hills and onto Sacramento. It was tough saying goodbye to these mountains I will not see again. Until we come back that is. I kept looking back. Of course there are things to which I look forward to getting home but of course it is always tough to leave as I sit next to this pool in the hot afternoon sun watching Julian splash around and try to dive without kicking back his legs. I give him some instruction. I'll join him shortly then we'll go for our last In-N-Out. Relax a bit this evening. Maybe take a walk after supper. Already repacked everything back in Mammoth. We'll get up early. I'll try to find coffee here in town and we'll jump on I-5 for the long drive north. It will be good to take a shower in my own shower. Sleep in my own bed. Feel the breeze through my own windows. Lie in my own grass. Look forward to our next holiday.

summer holidays.

!!!

Our upcoming trip ... I lost count at something like 3583288712504 lakes ... We will be climbing Mt. Agassiz (which will be Julian's altitude record at nearly fourteen thousand feet!) while also perhaps checking out a cross-country route over Knapsack Pass to see what Palisade Basin holds (I'm thinking it just might behold a bit of spectacularness). Who knows. We're just going to wander around granite peaks and swim in cold pristine alpine lakes under the sun (and possible afternoon thunderstorms!!!!!) and generally enjoy being where there will likely be very few other people surrounded by granite and quiet. Oh, and more granite. And some more. And more. And more. A little effort goes a long way.

Here's to summer holidays.

cheers

!!!

sun gangs.

For it has been awhile since I have posted a song. And this is a good one. This kid writes some incredible music. Simple. Second only to the tour de force of Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler though on a completely different level which of course was Suede for all of only two albums. And his voice second only to Brett Anderson still though on a completely different level. Painful. Strained. Good on repeat after it gets dark and quiets down.

Anyways ... so here it is. I quite like this simple version.

cheers

strains of herodotus.

I probably should not post this cos it was thought up and recorded in a day. Sunday morning this simple totally basic pathetic arpeggio in my head so sat down at the Bechstein for a bit. Played. I don't know I liked it totally basic all pathetic. Looped it to itself. Then to some strings. Banged the ending on the piano. Some change to B chromatic then to end on E♭ minor. Quick mastered the 2-track but very rough. As always just an idea. Just an idea that conveys nothing or so I think. If anything this is less messy than the other song I am working on which is totally jumbled and crazy right now in my head. And the dozens of others some enormous cacophony I cannot quiet down. I still hear it looping. I hear a voice singing rising with the music to some total crescendo lyrics scrawled ink in a notebook lying on top of the Bechstein its ebony scratched and worn. I hear the enormous E♭ minor chord. I hear a louder orchestra than Logic or some digital domain can contain. I cannot get this out of my head but must go to sleep. For now.

We gaze beyond the veils

beyond the seas beyond the stars

we seek to find the light

to find the way to hold what is ours

beyond our sorrows beyond our pains

to prove in time our finite loss yields infinite gains

like histories before us we strain

we strain

we strain

we strain

we strain

...

An MP3 file is linked here. Cheers. Goodnight.

just a bulb some glass and a piece of paper.

It has kind of gotten routine. Open image. Adjust in Camera Raw. This move. That move. Yaddee yaddee yada. Blah blah blah.

But today I was just scrolling through some photos and came across this one -

Eh.

A shot I took of Mount Conness across Tolumne Meadows in Yosemite when Julian and I were scrambling up above Lower Cathedral Lake on a backpacking trip last summer. Way back when I had posted it (it was actually the first shot I posted from our California vacation) a guy I know here at REI commented had I tried it in black and white?

Nope. I had not but thought maybe some day I'd get to that. Well, today I did.

And it made me realize wow how lame it has been the routine. Of open image. Adjust. Blah blah blah. On auto pilot. Here I found myself actually thinking. Sort of pouring over and through the shot kind of mesmerized with the different contrasts and light among the peaks and the trees and the sky. You know sort of like hunkering over a negative on a light table. Under an enlarger in a darkroom peeling back the layers looking where to dodge some exposure. Burn in a little more. Develop a test strip only to do five more trying to get the exposures just right before committing to a full size sheet of paper cos you didn't want to waste any.

There on the left of the frame. The peak in the far background not catching any light. The one in front of it in the sun and the one in front of it partially in shadow. Three different contrasts – shades of grey – all right there. And on Conness the south face partly shadowed and partly lit up by the sun it all going on at the same time. The other smaller peaks around it all caught in different levels of contrast. I went over it methodically sort of dodging and burning slowly like I would in the darkroom.

Then the sky. Then the trees in the foreground some lit up but the shadows heavy as the sun slipped lower on the horizon. It was cool. Opened up the shadows giving them less exposure. Burning in some midtones giving them more. Dodged some highlights. Here and there. Making sure they were bright but not too bright. Delicate. All a balance. Then adding the different tones to give the image some depth like it would have if it was a silver gelatin print bathed in stinky but all too nostalgic chemicals. Not too warm but just slightly.

All to end up with something like this ...

Mount Conness, Yosemite National Park, California © 2009

And I remembered for a little while I guess that spark of excitement over a photograph. What it was like to care a little bit more. Nothing really just a photograph afterall. But to be hunkered in the dark a red light over in the corner running back and forth the smell of chemistries in the air just a bulb some glass and a piece of paper.

one foot in front of the other and other such ramblings.

"It's amazing what you can do when you put one foot in front of the other."

Leading the last bit to the top of Desolation Peak.

So while heading up to Desolation Peak I was thinking of the last couple of trips. Three thousand feet up. Another thousand and a half to go. Darryl huffs those words in between steps up and and up. The last couple of climbs have been well I dunno. Uneventful. Which is just a different way of saying boring I suppose. So reading back through the reports they seem well I dunno. Uneventful. I'll just say it: boring. Comparing the two Buckner reports one to me at least seems impassioned and purposeful. The other mundane maybe even forced. The difference? Well, we were stopped on Sahale both attempts. We had just about the exact same weather although it was a little better on the second go. Clouds raked over Cascade Pass below us both times. We basked in the sun above. Oh yeah. On the first time out we saw a helicopter circling around the Taboo glacier on Torment. And two days later I found out an experienced climber had died in a freak accident. A chunk of ice on the bergschrund broke off underneath him and he fell in to the void.

That's the closest I've ever been to a climbing accident. I've read about plenty. I know plenty of people who have been much much closer. Involved in some cases. Or brought into them just by being there. I've even known of a couple people from a climbing class I took years ago who have since died climbing. So I know that cloudy evening after hearing the news a couple days later I felt like I had been punched I guess. That guy had twenty-five years experience. Twice my own. A wife. A daughter. Nobody's safe.

But that's all just playing it up really. Unless we stay inside our drywall boxes all our lives we're not safe so to speak. But that's too obvious. Duh. Regardless the news impassioned my writing and I felt a sense of purpose to that one. I look back on Constance and Buckner [remixed] and nothing. Of course it was cool being there. Of climbing. Of mountains. Well more so Buckner than Constance. By a factor of at least a hundred. But that was it. Nothing else exciting to report. So why did I bother?

When it's a boring read to me I can only imagine how boring it is for someone else. So what? So I look back on some other at least to me impassioned posts. That first Buckner report. A solo trip into a fantasy world. A trip with my brother to the Winds. Rambling on about blisters. A night alone next to the Grand Canyon. Those are interesting to me. I can look back and remember why I wrote them. Most of them were started with pen and paper. A small notebook I carry with me on climbs and backpacking trips and stuff to jot things down so I don't have to rely on a faulty memory after I've returned. All of them are tagged 'journal' cos they were written from that.

So is it as simple as that? That I shouldn't feel obligated to write up every trip I take? So we try to climb a mountain. Big flippin' deal. So what. If nothing exciting happens I should not force myself to write ten thousand words on the ordeal. And not only if nothing exciting happens. If I am not inspired to write I shouldn't. There. Done.

So what the heck is this post about? To write ten thousand words about how I should not write ten thousand words? About nothing? Hopefully not. That's not the plan at least. The plan well I got hiking up those four and a half thousand feet to a lookout tower atop a little-known peak called Desolation deep in the North Cascades wilderness. I was thinking it before Darryl opened his mouth and said what was on my mind. I've thought it before. The whole concept that seems rather quite amazing of how after only a couple of hours (on our own power - that is essential) we can find our surroundings totally and incredibly changed. From power-boating along a lake staring up at mountains surrounding the place in every direction to two or three hours later looking down on that very same landscape. How? Duh.

By putting one foot in front of the other.

It's not hard. Well, for some maybe more so than for others. But really it's not. Every half an hour we climbed a thousand feet. And that seemed pokey under the circumstances (those being the facts I was carrying less than ten pounds and wearing trail runners on a great trail - much different than thirty pounds in mountaineering boots over snow). So a couple hours after being dumped at the boat landing on Desolation we were looking way down at Ross Lake and across to a pretty fantastic scene spread out around us as we made the last steps to the lookout and the summit. Two hours. Maybe two-and-a-half.

What else could I have done in that time? Watched a movie. Worked of course. I dunno lots of things. Some productive. Others not so much. Not the point. With a little effort and a couple of hours I changed my perspective. I would have loved the chance to sit down against my pack leaned up on the lookout. Look around. Pull out my journal and write something for real. Whatever was on my mind. Not anything forced cos I felt I had to say something about some trip or other. But something real. Unplanned. Just rambling. Cos rambling sometimes is the best.

lenses and stuff.

I am kind of stubborn about some things. I mean all things. So I have always sort of cast off the idea of multiple lenses. Oh and I'm sort of cheap too. Like as in I have one lens why would I need more? But recently a shot taken of Buckner's north face from clear across the Eldorado icecap on the summit of Klawatti Peak made me change my mind. It was an impressive shot and had to have been taken with a long lens.

So after much debating I decided to up my arsenal of lenses. Well, I didn't really have an arsenal. I had the 18-55mm kit lens. Plastic. But it worked fine and was sharp enough. Trouble is there is no way I could ever get a shot like that of Buckner with just that lens. That and I was getting bored of taking the same kinds of photos cos I was limited to such a narrow focal range.

So I looked into the options. There were a lot of them. Kind of staggering actually.

There was of course going with the über-expensive Canon L lenses. At over a grand each I was quick to dismiss that option given the fact I take photos purely as a hobby and there is really no reason for me to spend that kind of money on a lens. Now something for my house - that would be a different story ...

Next up was the über-zoom option - a lens with an extreme focal range like 18-200mm+. That would be convenient cos changing lenses I am assuming will be somewhat of a pain while hiking or climbing. Trouble with that is all the reviews of those sorts of lenses said the same thing - that those ultra-zoom lenses tend to lack sharpness at the wide-angle end of their range, which I would use a lot. So that was out.

Then I found the perfect lens - the plastic (and cheap) complimentary lens to my 18-55 - the 55-250mm (and on a crop-sensor 20D like I have that's a focal range out to 400mm in 35mm/full-frame speak). The reasons as I saw them were pretty simple -

• plastic build to some = crappy; to me = lightweight and in the case of the 55-250 half as much as a comparable L lens (something like 14 oz. vs. 24) and I shoot 95% of my stuff in the backcountry after having hiked or climbed in for miles so every ounce counts
• cheap - like I said, I don't take photos for a living - I wanted something good but affordable
• IS - image stabilization - helps cos shooting at long focal lengths means you have to up the shutter speed to keep from getting jitter/unsharp photos (when shooting handheld the rule of thumb is 1/focal range-th of a second; i.e. @ 200mm you should shoot at least 1/200th second) so this should help since that is not always possible when stopped down
• one reviewer remarked that if you liked the sharpness of the 18-55 (I do - it's fine from my hobby perspective) you would similarly like this lens

Sold. Picked it up off of someone on craigslist. So that gave me a range from 18-250mm.

Trouble is I have really wanted Canon's 10-22 ultra-wide lens for a while. And some dude was selling it on craigslist for a hundred bucks cheaper than I have ever seen it listed there or anywhere else before. Of course I shouldn't be spending money on lenses, but at the same time I have a bunch of trips planned this year (Dusy Basin in Kings Canyon NP to say the least) and it would be cool to have a really wide-angle lens. I had already read all the reviews - it's a sick lens. Basically an L in sharpness and contrast but without the red stripe around the lens barrel.

So I bought it. Ugh.

But now I have a focal range of 10-250mm (16-400mm in 35mm/full frame format) which is pretty impressive and should work for just about everything.

-----

So after using them for a couple of trips into the North Cascades (climbing Mt. Buckner and hiking up Desolation Peak) I am actually surprised at the fact I have found way more use for the telephoto than the wide. I think to the extent that it will be the lens primarily mounted to my camera but we'll see how it goes.

Regardless, that should do me for a while. Oh, except now I need a new camera bag to fit the longer lens (well, for what it's worth I had made one I found at a garage sale last quite awhile) ...

slices in the ice.

Buckner is on the right; Boston on the left with Ripsaw Ridge connecting them.

18 june 2010. So we were trying again for the steep remote north face of Buckner buried in the heart of the North Cascades. We were trying again cos last August there was not enough snow to climb it. So we were back now in June. Turned out last year's snowpack dwindled quickly so that by July routes normally climbable a month or two later were not. Glaciers were cracked open. North faces bare down to rock. And this year's snowpack with the winter that seems to be dragging out through June has left the mountains caked heavy with the stuff. The meltout is slow. We found cornices resembling enormous tidal waves high on Sahale. A belay up steep ice to the Sahale-Boston col with no runout dropping far below to the Davenport glacier. A quick shout to a pair of climbers trying for Sahale from the Quien Sabe and Boston Basin. Then turning around.

Buckner alludes me still.

.....

I found Matthew sitting in the sun outside The Original Bakery in West Seattle where I was supposed to pick him up from him having taken the ferry over from Vashon. He had finished his coffee and was reading the paper catching up on the World Cup apparently while no doubt enjoying the unexpected warmth and sun. I slumped in a chair across from him to soak it up myself for a bit before we crammed back in the truck for the long drive to Marblemount and up the Cascade River Road. We were really in no hurry.

Our plan was to grab a permit for the Sahale glacier camp that evening which we knew was only maybe a four-hour climb and near the summer equinox we had light until ten o'clock or so. Then we'd get up around four the next morning to climb Sahale, traverse around Boston to gain access to the upper Boston glacier, descend the glacier to the base of Buckner's north face, head up, summit and drop down the south face into Horseshoe Basin across the Davenport glacier and back up to our camp to grab our stuff and haul it back to the car. It would be a long day. A very long day. No really. A very long day. Most of the descriptions of the descent route included the word 'grueling.' I assumed that was no coincidence.

But eventually we surmised we should go and we jumped in the truck to hit up northbound traffic on I-5 to Mount Vernon. It was absolutely gorgeous out I remember thinking. Unexpected. I think the forecast had said mostly cloudy or something to that effect but the forecasts have been wrong for the past couple (or few) months so I have not really been paying much attention to them. It's just a really weird year weather-wise and has not made any sense. And I am quite sick of it. But this day was beautiful and we were enjoying it.

We made the turnoff before Marblemount on Ranger Station Road to have Ranger Joe grant us permission to camp at Sahale. Matthew and I talked about the whole permit system sitting on the tailgate of Stuart a bit later at the Marblemount Drive-In (formerly Good Food and to prove it or more like confirm my suspicions to such I by chance found the old Good Food sign stashed around the side of the building). About how we understand the need to limit the number of people staying in certain areas but on the other hand about all the times we have been to those areas to find them nearly deserted. And the fact that most rangers seem more like police officers treating everyone with just a bit of smug and contempt rather than helpful backcountry experts eager to talk about and share these wild lands as one might expect.

We finished our greasy spoon food in the sun then got back in the truck for the long twenty-two mile haul to the Cascade River Road's end a couple miles shy of Cascade Pass. I've been down that road a few times. It would get old if it didn't gain access to some of the most spectacular mountain country in the world. Mountains jagged and rugged in every direction. The higher you climb the better and further the views. Eldorado. Forbidden. Johannesburg. Torment. Formidable. Magic. Spider. Mixup. Sahale. Buckner.

More than I could possibly ever know or explore.

And glaciers. Glaciers. Glaciers. Inspiration. Cascade. Quien Sabe. Forbidden. Klawatti. Eldorado. Boston. The largest non-volcanic glacier in the lower forty-eight. Looking at a topo map of this place nearly gives me the shivers. The blue and white contour lines denoting them set in lovely contrast against the brown and green of the rest of the landscape. I decided a few weeks ago I want to find a huge map of the Cascade Pass region of the North Cascades to frame and hang on my living room wall. Seriously.

All that to say the drive is not bad. Neither one of us had really packed before we left. I had just thrown all my stuff in my truck and Matthew was borrowing a pack I brought for him so we dumped all our gear into the bed to sort and weigh and contemplate. To bring or not to bring? Do I need that extra pair of socks? Damn I forgot to bring a t-shirt so I guess I'll wear the cotton one I was wearing. Do we want ice screws? Three or four pickets? Decisions decisions. Finally we stuffed our packs and shouldered the load that seemed quite manageable (among our gear I was carrying my three-something-pound two-person tent and trying out a Neo Air nearly microscopic sleeping pad) and left the truck for the trail.

It was warm as we set up the switchbacks to Cascade Pass just after three-thirty. The pass is visible from the parking lot and I remember eyeing a route directly up underneath the shadowy and imposing and downright ugly north face of Johannesburg up and up to the pass. It looked like it could go since snow still hung around. Maybe for the way back.

The hike up to the pass was enjoyable. I started out ahead but quickly fell behind as I stopped to shoot clips of video. Mostly to record the sounds and quiet of the forest. Trickling water off soaked logs. Small waterfalls along the way. A grouse in the distance. Just quiet and still forest air. A few times I'd glance up and see Matthew a few switchbacks above.

I had time to think to myself. Nothing remarkable or revolutionary mostly a reminder of sorts is all. A reminder about why I like to do this sort of thing so much. The sweat and the sacrifice I guess. The sweat from pushing myself. Up and over high mountain passes. Along nerve-wracking steep snow ridges and rock faces. And the sacrifice of some comfort to gain access to these places rugged and pristine that defy description but that are beautiful beyond any. When the light spotlights one peak basking in alpenglow while behind dark clouds brew setting it off. Or the spectacular sight of a rainbow dropping out of skies hit by the setting sun against seemingly invisible rain drops scattered beyond.

There is something wholly unique about hiking and climbing in these North Cascades. About how you start so low and end up so high. In forests dripping from rains seeming to melt in the sun. Filtered sunlight striking a trail switchbacking up and up. The soft crunch of boots on dirt and mud. Every so often a peek through out beyond to mountains rising high above river-carved valleys overflowing with green. To finally break out above as the trees and mud give way to rock and ice. The soft crunch of boots to a hard crunch of crampons. The sounds of climbing gear clanging against itself that lend a sense of seriousness to this outing something more than just a simple hike.

We made it to the high camp a little before eight o'clock. Everything was under snow so we stomped a rectangle in it and used some pickets to flatten it out before setting up the tent. Matthew fired up his trusty Whisperlite and we melted some snow for soup and hot drinks and water for the next day. I took some telephoto shots of the layers and layers of peaks as the sun slipped lower in the sky towards twilight. Then we climbed in the tent for some dinner before wrapping up in down bags bundling up against the cold mountain air for the night.

4:22 a.m. 19 june 2010. Matthew woke first and unzipped the tent fly. It was already getting light and a cold breeze through the tent whipped us into action. We quickly munched on some breakfast before tying into boots and harnesses for the climb ahead. The snow crunched under foot as I headed off towards the summit of Sahale for Stage One. This was the easy part. Or so I thought.

I reached the spot where we had bivied last August this time around completely covered in snow just a few rocks barely poking through. And then up the steep now snow-filled gully towards the summit and the Boston-Sahale col that we had made short work of last summer now looking at the last pitch while Matthew caught up I shouted down maybe we should break out the rope and set up a belay. It was only maybe sixty or seventy feet but it was awfully steep and there was maybe only thirty or forty feet of runout before a sheer and exhilarating drop to the Davenport glacier far below.

When he reached me he uncoiled the rope while I drove in a picket and an ice ax to tie myself into. I said I didn't mind leading and grabbed his pair of pickets and my second ice tool and set off on a running belay. I got maybe only twenty feet or so underneath an overhanging rock cliff where the snow had begun to unconsolidate and melt out unpredictably. It kept giving out underneath my weight and I'd slide down towards the drop. Snow and ice I kicked up scattered down the slope and quickly disappeared over the void. I backed down some to place a picket in something more solid before trying again. I didn't like it. 'Matthew want to give it a try?' I resorted shouting down to him. I pulled the picket on my way back down to him and traded him spots only this time setting up a true belay for him as he headed up in my footsteps. After some time he got past where I turned back and led the rest of the pitch to the top of this snow field where he could peer over and beyond to Boston and the corniced ridge that lay between us and what we assumed were the upper reaches of the Boston glacier.

We talked strategy. He saw a climber pop up below on the Quien Sabe having made their way up from Boston Basin and shouted a greeting. Could we get past the corniced ridge? Well could we safely get past the corniced ridge. We agreed someone might be able to but neither one of us was feeling super confident about it. And so after maybe fifteen minutes - around eight in the morning - we turned around.

I belayed Matthew back to me then on further down. He placed an intermediate picket on his way down for me and as the slope mellowed off he shouted up to take him off belay. I followed as he belayed me down. Took the rope from him when I reached him and he quick set off back to camp while I descended only as far down as where we had bivied last year to sit on the one exposed rock and soak up the view. Cloud caps swirled over the north flanks of Buckner and I strapped on the telephoto lens to shoot some photographs. I took some video. Just hung out there by myself taking it all in.

And thinking to myself.

Like Constance had we given up too easily? Was our redline so-to-speak a few notches lower than it was years ago? Or were we just being smart? Safe? It seems a fine line and to me then at that moment at least a little fuzzy. Even the snow the last twenty or so feet to Sahale's summit was unconsolidated and crap enough to make Matthew nervous so we didn't even try to go for that. We probably could have pushed ourselves. The thing about this climb was where we turned around was sort of the part where up until that point we were not committed. We could easily get back to our camp and on down Cascade Pass and home. But just past that spot maybe somewhere along that corniced ridge I don't know we might have crossed that point and been committed to going all the way up and over Buckner. I know that weighed heavy on my mind. Maybe Matthew's too.

And it would have been a long day. Possible but long. We had climbed Eldorado in a single sixteen-hour day car-to-car. We had a couple of long days on Stuart. But that point of commitment being on either side of it makes a big difference. We trust each other's judgment in the mountains. That's why we climb together. Neither he nor I are trying to push the other too much.

So as I sat on that lonely rock soaking up sun and mountains I was just glad to be there. In that spot. The valleys to the west below filled quickly with clouds but the sun beat down from where I sat. I watched them rake over Cascade Pass exactly how they had last August. I watched Hidden Lake disappear from view swallowed whole. I watched Matthew a mile or so away and a couple thousand feet lower ambling around camp.

Nine o'clock. The clouds were climbing up Sahale Arm. Fast. Time to gather my stuff and head down to join him. It didn't take long and I was walking up to the tent to toss my pack on the ground before packing myself up so we could head back down.

We glissaded the steep slope leading up to the camp and ten minutes later found ourselves engulfed in the clouds we had eyed from above. Whiteout. Luckily our tracks had not completely melted out so it was a simple task of just following them all the way back along the arm to Cascade Pass where we finally broke out of the cloud layer to grey and dull below. No more sun for us that day.

Like we had discussed we opted to head down what Matthew named the Cascade Pass Direct route back to the truck. Instead of taking the trail and its thirty-seven switchbacks we'd just shoot straight down for the parking lot that we could see from eighteen-hundred feet above. At least that was the plan. Unfortunately I apparently dismissed my instinct and replaced it with dumbness and just followed a set of boot prints we could see going down down down. About seven or eight hundred feet down - halfway - the boot prints just stopped at a rather large cliff. Matthew thought we might find the person responsible for them camped out in a tree well or something cos there certainly was not a second set heading back up. And there was no getting around this cliff even after a short debate of possibly trying to setup a rappel off some trees or rocks or something to the void below.

So up we climbed to within four or five hundred feet of the pass in order to head over closer to under Johannesburg where the snow dropped at a reasonable angle all the way down to the parking lot. We had to mix it up with some slide alder and blossoming devil's club but what North Cascades climb is complete without that? Eventually we found a way that would go and once the slope eased we plopped down and glissaded most of the way to the parking lot. One more thick patch of alder and devil's club and we broke out to the clearing where a couple of picnic tables were perched for people to enjoy a lunch on a nice day under the constant waterfalls and crashing ice avalanches of Johannesburg's infamous mile-high north face.

We breezed past them. Dumped our stuff next to the truck. Changed. Chilled for a bit before heading back down for a shake at the Marblemount Drive-In. For whatever reason Matthew always has to have a shake post-climb. I am not complaining. Just saying. Same lady working the window. I missed the sun at seven thousand feet. We told ourselves next year. July. We'd be back. August was too late. June to early. I want to walk across the Boston glacier weaving around crevasses. I want to climb the north face. I want to glance down leading up to the shadows cast by Ripsaw Ridge the crevasses of the glacier slices in the ice far below. I want to stand on the summit of Buckner. Maybe more so than any other peak I have ever climbed. Some day. Definitely some day. Just not this day.

But it's okay. It's okay. Buckner will still be there. Waiting.