todays trip report requires a bit of discretion. the place we went to has what the climbing community coyly refers to as “access issues,” so there is an understanding among the people who climb there that we not discuss where it is, how to get there, and so on. because there are a lot of routes, the benefit is that you can climb there on a sunday, get on a bunch of classics, and not see a single goddamn person. but the main benefit of no crowds is not, as you might guess, the ability to get on popular routes without waiting. no, the real benefit is that you can climb naked. as pictured here.
ok, so we didnt really climb naked, and this picture was taken purely for the blog. which may have made heterosexual cohort zach uncomfortable, although i couldn’t truthfully tell him that our trips weren’t normally like this.
although not naked, i did in reality spend the entire day in underwear, flip flops, sunglasses, and a helmet. the south is hot y’all!
given that i cant publicly disclose even what state it’s in, me and laurie decided to refer to this climbing area in the open as as The Super Secret Place.
even among the regulars, people dont know the name or the grade of 3/4 of the routes there. fortunately, we had the most recent revision of the bootleg topo for the area, which you too can obtain if you’re willing to forgo your sexual orientation for a few hours. (Editor: Does it really take that long to fuck (redacted)? Me: Yes! You only wish you could have. And you can’t print that name here.) suffice it to say, the dixie dyno’mos will stop at nothing to get a bootleg topo. but dont ask us for it, because we think that’s a right of passage everyone should experience. certainly better than whatever was involved in joining your fraternity, if only because we have the dignity to skip the cracker and admit that the paddling was enjoyable.
The downside of the area is the occasionally spartan bolting (better than no bolting) which demands creative stick clipping and sideways mammer-jammering. So half the time we climbed anything we were tied into another rope and swinging around to clip the next route over. Still, despite the heat, and the spiders, and the mammer jammering, the route quality is stellar and the grades challenging. The latter probably explains why someone abandoned this pair of (Redacted) brand climbing shoes at the base.
Matt said, “Maybe you shouldn’t badmouth (Redacted) in case they decide to sponsor us?”
“If that happens, I’ll just delete all the references to (Redacted), and help them come up with a new ad campaign. I can see it now. (Redacted): Better than Montrails!”
“Maybe if they give us free shoes they’ll just spray paint their logo over a pair of good shoes like they did with (Redacted Redacted).”
On the way home, we passed a sign next to a gas station that said “boiled peanuts”.
“STOP THE FUCKING CAR.”
The boiled peanuts sign was underneath a sign that said AMERICAN OWNED.
The “American Owned” signage made me and Matt feel a little uncomfortable, because it’s the equivalent of “NOT FOREIGNER OWNED.” In any event, one would assume that if you’re going to take particular pride in your American-ness, you would take particular pride in the pièce de résistance of southern cuisine, boiled peanuts.
NOT TRUE. Those peanuts were hardly boiled, and if I was driving, I would have turned that car right around and chucked that styrofoam cup hard enough to blot out at least the second half of “American”.
Also, I demand to know what the hell the female equivalent of “Extenze” they were selling is supposed to do.
with the trip just about over, i thought about my goal that morning, which was basically to find a place with bolts with no more than two hours of thorny bushwhacking, and to waypoint the shit out of everything on my GPS. after we left, i was sad i didn’t have more time to get on harder routes, so it was kind of funny that we debated going to sandrock instead the morning of. so, moral of that story, if your group is five or less, grab that motherfucking machete and move toward the abyss.