I Fucked Up, But Luckily No One Was Hurt.

note:  this post was written by Emma, the HC ambassador from GLAM climb of Texas.  Emma fucking rocks.

Emma bouldering at Lake Belton...you should always believe someone from Homo Climbtastic when they tell you someone fucking rocks.

Hey kids, this is Emma – y’all probably don’t know me because I’m a broke ass who spends her money on bicycle parts instead of climbing trips.  I do most of my climbing in the Austin area with GLAM, I’m not too horrible at it.  Yesterday I went out and did some fucks up so bad, I thought I’d write a list for y’all so you won’t repeat my mistakes.  I had a lot of time to think about this list while I was clinging to the rock fifteen feet above my last bolt and about a foot away from the sport anchors while not being 100% on belay.

1)      Always check your rope.  All of your rope, not just the first 30 feet.  I don’t care if the person who first took you rock climbing was the last one to pack it up.  Check it every fucking time.  If we had checked the rope yesterday, I wouldn’t be writing this list.  We didn’t check the rope.  That’s why I was stuck up on the rock while my belayer and a kind stranger were working on removing a massive knot from the middle of it.

2)      Take your freaking slings up with you.  Yeah, they look pretty attached to a tree holding all your extra quick draws but you spent $50 bucks on that shit for CLIMBING, not organizing.  If I had taken the extra 30 seconds to attach the extra 1/8th of a pound to my harness, I could have just clipped in to the chains and hung out all protected and shit.

3)      If you’re not going to take your slings up, at least take an extra quick draw or two, even if the climb you’re on has sport anchors.  I usually take two extras, but this time I only took the exact right amount for the bolts like a fucking dumbass.

4)      You know that hard route you can climb?  The one that you can usually get set up but it still challenges you?  Don’t warm up on that one, climb something easy first.

5)      Keep your insurance card on you*.  Or at least a copy of it in your gear bag.  I had my insurance card in my extra wallet that was in my car…at my climbing partner’s house because we carpooled in her car.  Had I fallen, not having my insurance information would have created one more thing I’d have to deal with, possibly in a motorized wheel-chair.

6)      Did I mention checking your mother fucking rope?  Really, check your rope.  Might be a good idea to have your belayer check it, too.

*#5 might only apply to people in the US.  I don’t know how Canadian health care works since all the Canadians I know are sexy motherfuckers that don’t inspire thoughts of health care when I look at them.

Oh My God Y’all Have So Much Fun!

Fair warning:  I’m writing this whole piece of fuckery on an airplane after having endured the gigantic titty fucking bullshit ass-rape that is an Asian airline check-in.  The woman in front of me saw a microwave on another woman’s luggage carrier and started screaming in Mandarin at her husband “See, we could have brought it!”  I bumped into some douche-tard’s luggage rack (which he thoughtfully placed in the middle of the walkway) and was accosted by said douche-tard, causing me to burn through the last of my self-control in an effort not to open his skull with his wife’s knock-off Louis Vuitton mirkin holder and eat the soft parts.

And that's how Mommy planes and Daddy planes make Baby planes!

Unfortunately, this trip to Asia has obliterated any chance I had of attending HC Summer Trip 2011, and to say that I’m fucking bummed would be a massive understatement.  On the up-side, I haven’t slept in 38 hours and I’ve been waxing nostalgic about my many many many (three) years of hanging with the boys and girls of HC, so I’m gonna’ lay down a piece of delirium-riddled memory glitter for you fuckers.  Remember, if something doesn’t sound right, chalk it up to the jet-lag.  That, or the gigantic bowl of congee I just inhaled after sprinkling something called “Tuna Floss” all over it…fuck…I think it’s giving me tracers.

I am not fucking kidding, this shit's amazing.

So yeah, I remember looking all over for an LGBT rock climbing group.  I came up with the old Stonewall climbers group, noticed that not a fucking soul is on there, and chalked it up to experience.  Finally, I stumbled across the Homo Climbtastic group on Facebook and decided to hook up with them in West Virginia that July.  I recruited a couple other Austin climbers, rented a mini-van, and started planning the trip…I guess I could’ve gone alone, but I had no fucking idea who any of these people were.  HC was un-fucking-known…I think Rowland was kinda’ shocked that other people were gonna’ show up for this junk show, too…so I felt better knowing that I’d have people to climb with in case nobody else came.  Or if I found out that HC was Ashton Kutcher’s way of punking me back after that unfortunate glory-hole incident.  Sorry Demi, I thought you knew about it, girl!  Call me, bitch…

This is what you get when you do a Google image search for Ashton Kutcher Glory Hole. It'll have to do.

We were also worried that the climbing would be a little too aggressive for some of the members of the Austin crew.  Alyson and I both led 5.11-ish pretty easily back in Austin, and Maddy could lead around 5.8 at the time, but we all had ropes and gear and verve and magical pixie dust and hopes and dreams and prick us do we not fucking bleed or whatever…Goddammit, keep it together, girl…just keep cool…bring it down a notch…I need a nap, y’all.  I need a nap so fucking bad.  Yeah, so we finally decided that fuck it, we had two relative newbies with us but dammit they were our newbies, and we’d take care of them.  And we did.  I don’t recommend showing up without having ever climbed before.  I almost wrote “unless you’re amazing hot” but do you know something?  I think even amazing hot brand-newbies who show up at an HC trip are probably not going to have a wonderful time…seriously, y’all can laugh all you want, but I really do think that Homo Climbtastic is first about have fun climbing, and after that it’s what the fuck ever else happens.  And taking care of someone, while possibly emotionally fulfilling, is not how we want to spend our vacations.  Now, if you’re a good belay and at least know how to clean a route, then Goddammit you better show up ‘cause someone will let you hop on a top-rope as long as you agree to clean the route or belay them up.  I’m just saying this isn’t the best place to show up with new gear and have someone teach you how to use it.

I conned Alyson, Lorig, and Maddy into agreeing to come with me in the end, and as we packed Alyson’s vegan food (that shit is fucking BULKY) I got the skinny from my climbing partners.  They’d held a lesbian/gender queer caucus without me, evidently, and the result was that we were not going to fucking camp with the rest of the gang since we were pretty sure we would be the only group not having a gigantic orgy and keeping everyone up all goddamn night.  We were going to camp somewhere without showers and bathe in a fucking river or something.  I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that the Austin posse rolled up in to Miss West Virginia fully prepared to be all by ourselves for the entire goddamn trip, thank you very fucking much.  Well, that and this dude I was dating at the time only let me go on the condition that I would be surrounded by lesbians the whole trip.  Yeah, that relationship didn’t last.

Lorig was our late-night trucker and pulled the graveyard shift from Texarkana to about Memphis…I’ll never understand how she does that shit…but we rolled into Fayettesville, West Virginia after a full 26 hour drive.  I convinced everyone that we at least needed to give the HC people a chance, so we rolled up to the hostel and kinda’ crashed.  All of our tough talk was some bullshit when we realized we were fucking tired and fucking hungry, so we pitched camp in the back of the hostel telling ourselves that we’d go find a more rugged camping experience the next day.  Or something, fuck it.  Rowland, Mikey, and CPowell all showed up a little later that night and came back to say hi, but since Austin was so fucked up from the drive we weren’t very good company.  Well, that and we had no idea who these people were.  I later learned that Mikey took a gigantic fucking leap of faith, too, in flying from SFO to Atlanta to meet up with Rowland for the trip.  CAS, as it happens, wouldn’t have known a soul if someone hadn’t asked her to pick up Ryan, at the time a complete stranger…point being we were all taking some pretty big chances on this deal.

Over the next 8 or so hours, Homo Climbtastic Summer Trip 2009 took shape.  The Canadian crew showed up, CAS rolled into the hostel with Ryan, Michigan came in early one morning I think with the Jon’s and Chavez, then New York showed up with Robbie (Hi Robbie, we miss you!).  There were more, of course, but an amazing thing happened to the Austin crew…our aggressive separatist stance melted away, and as we experienced HC in all its glory, we were forever changed.  Climbing with the group all day, dinner at Pies & Pints, then impromptu pole-dancing lessons in the common area at night…I just don’t know how it gets any fucking better than that.  2010 was more of the same, except in 2010 we all knew one-another and were able to promote the trip a little better, so more people could show up without worrying that we weren’t real.

And so, my darlings, I hope that HC Summer Fagtastic HomoErotic Climbings Throbbing Hot Wet Lip Fuck 2011 (Jesus Christ, who named this fucking trip??) is as wonderful for you as the last several years have been for me.  I’ve never met anyone who went on this trip and came away wishing they hadn’t, and I’ve never seen anyone show up by themselves who didn’t find someone to hang out with.  The climbing is amazing and you’ll have a fucking blast, but I think the most amazing thing about these trips is the realization that you are part of a community when you show up to be a part of Homo Climbtastic.  The Austin crew drove back to Texas with the very real sense that we were not alone, and that we wanted to continue to be a part of whatever the fuck this was.  I hope you’ll sign up and go on the trip.

Would You Like to Buy Some Chicle?

HC’s Spring trip is in full-swing, and that means that it’s Sponsorship time! We’ve been knocking on doors like a gang of 19 year olds trying to sell you some shitty knives, and emailing/calling/begging for sponsors always reminds me of being stuck in traffic in Guadalajara where those cute little kids come up to your window and try to sell you some chicle. I’m always super nice to those kids, ’cause I’m a decent goddamn human being, and sometimes I even give them a couple bucks. I see other people get really nasty & hateful with them. In case you were confused, this is a literary device called an allegory, and today I’m using it to exorcise my frustration with the good people at **** company for being snotty with me last summer. OK, so maybe the chicle kids don’t tell you that your marketing strategy is kind of lame, and will only appeal to 17-34 year old white men, but girl let’s be honest…if you can’t trust the people at Homo Climbtastic to be honest with you, then who the fuck you gonna’ trust?

You'd be a fool NOT to take marketing advice from this kid.

I’m also, as coincidence would have it, making “cold calls” to try & sell stuff for my real-life job…the one that actually pays my bills. Oh the rejection. If you’ve never worked in a sales position, then you just can’t grasp the humiliation we endure. And for some reason, every time I get involved in a job or in any type of organization, this is where I wind up…peddling my fucking chicle. Once, many many moons ago, I accidentally sold Cadillacs for a year. It wasn’t my fault, I was in a blackout. It was like, one night this guy invited me to a party & I woke up a year later driving a red Cadillac Eldorado with a geriatric sitting next to me telling me about his grand-daughter and how well we’d get along. Meth is a Hell of a drug. Anyfuck, I soon discovered that selling cars is one long, painful cold-call. I also learned that, as human beings, we deserve to be exterminated. My therapist says this is normal for someone who’s been through that type of trauma, and my attitude toward my fellow man seems to be getting better.

All of this is to give a huge, gigantic “THANK YOU” to our wonderful, amazing sponsors. Also, a gigantic “THANK YOU” to the companies who have been so gracious in their reply, even though they cannot sponsor us right now (I’m talking to you, Climb On!)

I have to go make more sales calls now. Hey, if any of you need a couple hundred thousand electronic components per month, give me a call…I’ll make you a killer deal.

Climbing With Kids…Yes, Really.

Happy 2011…or not, fuck it.  Another year, another notch in the belt, and one step closer on this gigantic escalator to Hell.  The big news in Austin Gay Climbing is that my partner and I have a kid now.  Like, a human child who requires that we feed him regularly, read to him, and stick to some type of pre-determined schedule.  Naturally, having a child for over a month now makes me a fucking expert on the subject, so I’m gonna’ give you homo’s (and faux-mo’s) some un-solicited advice on climbing with a kid.  I also realized that this article may get us noticed by one of those fabulous hate groups like NOM or Fox News, so if you’re reading this Maggie Gallagher or Bill O’Really (yes, o’really…I meant to do that…):  FUCK YOU!

Maggie Gallagher, still flush from her victory at the 3rd annual "Fun-Damentalist Christian Fag Drag" pie eating contest, where she took first, second, and fifth place!

I’ve googled “rock climbing with children” and the articles that come up all sound like they were written by some three-hundred pound shut-in with lipstick on her teeth.  You know who she is, too, so don’t get all uppity with me…the one who says recipes are “yummy” or updates her Facebook status with those “90% of you won’t copy & paste this worthless bullshit because you’re not real Christians(tm) and are scared to sacrifice chickens during a full moon in support of national swahili testicular engorgement month”.  Anyway they’re all super  lame, and of absolutely no help to someone as fucked up as most of us are.  So I’m writing this to those of you who don’t “enjoy” climbing now & again.  This one goes out to all of you who are climbers…actual, real climbers.  People who considered never having kids because you just can’t take that many days out of your training schedule, or those of you who passed on adoption because you were worried that the little fucker would wind up breaking your heart by coming out as an ice-skater or (perish the thought) a roller blader.

"This Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri is YUMMY!"

A)  Take the time to put that Goddamned harness on the child.  Your kid, whatever his or her age, will fuck this up.  I’m talking FUCK it up.  Shit you didn’t think was possible on this plane of existence will happen to that harness when your kid starts trying to put it on, so just save yourself the misery & take the time to do it yourself.  Wait until you’re in a better place spiritually to teach your children how to put on a harness.

B)  The shoes will not fit.  I don’t care how many times you go to REI or MEC and how many sizes larger you purchase, when you head out to the crag those shoes will be too small.  Tears will ensue as you, tired from a 45 minute hike with six hundred pounds of gear and enough food to survive for the next year on your back, attempt to grease your kids feet up with spit and shove them into the $70 shoes you purchased not 8 hours before.  Honey, listen to me:  Let it go.  The child will not be using his or her feet today anyway, drop it and let them climb in sneakers or boots or whatever fairy slippers you were manipulated into letting them wear to the crag that day.  Return the shoes tomorrow, or better yet hang onto them.  My experience dictates that, 3 weeks from now, when your partner comes with you, the child will be so excited to show off that those fucking shoes will slide onto their feet with tremendous ease.  Your child may even perform remarkably beautiful pirouettes in the shoes that were dismissed as “torture devices” or “fucking hateful.”  That last one warrants a stern talking-to, by the way…as previously mentioned, your kid shouldn’t be saying words like that.  But your climbing partners will laugh when he does, so…well, fuck it.

C)  This is not like the gym.  Your remarkable astute child will eventually point out that the rocks outside are “harder” than the ones in the gym, that the gym is air-conditioned (or heated, depending on time of year), and that the gym is “more fun” because you don’t have to get all tired hiking to the gym.  Resist the urge to hit the child, he or she is merely pointing out the obvious.  It may be a while before your child is capable of appreciating outdoors climbing.  I got nothing for you here in the way of advice, but I’ll tell you all that I’ve had more good gym climbs over the last couple of months than outdoors.  The kids can go climb by themselves at the gym, and so can I.  Figure it out.

There ain't no mutha fuckin' crying in Baseball, but Tom Hanks ain't said nothing about climbing.

D)  Crying is part of climbing.  I don’t care how old or what gender the child is, there will be crying if you insist on taking them climbing outdoors.  Be prepared for this.  They will fall and scrape their hands on the hike, their hair will get messed up, they will lose a favorite toy you told them not to bring but they snuck into their jeans pocket anyway, and they will get 3 feet into the air on their first climb and insist, tearfully, that they be let down post-haste.  That Tom Hanks “League of Their Own” crying in baseball bullshit will not stand in this instance, and you will probably feel like a total asshole for dragging your kids out into the wild with you.

E)  In spite of all of this, your child will want to come climbing with you again next weekend.  You won’t understand why, because you’ll feel like a total failure for letting your kid get tangled in their harness and for trying to force those goddamned shoes on their little feet.  You’ll remember wanting to smack their teeth out when they complain that they’re hot, or cold, or sweaty, or thirsty, or they want pizza and not another Clif bar.  You’ll recall the harsh talking-to, or perhaps even the time-out over the curse words they repeated after hearing other climbers shout them at the tops of their lungs, and you’ll remember the tears…Oh God, the tears.  It’ll be like the first time you saw “Steel Magnolias” with the fucking tears, and for every one they shed you’ll shed two because you’re not doing it right and now they’ll never like climbing.

But they will.  Mostly ’cause they like hanging out with you.

And if they don’t wind up being the next Chris Sharma, well…fuck it.  Odds are good they’ll also be heterosexual and that they’ll identify as whatever gender they were born into.  Ain’t that a bitch?

Things We Believe In

So this morning I’m sifting through my work email & I see that one of my many many many many bosses has finally completed my mid-year performance evaluation.  I know this dude really doesn’t like me, mostly ’cause I’m much prettier/smarter/gayer than him, so I’m totally in avoidance mode.  I’m literally working my fingers to the bone (hehehe…bone…) in an effort NOT to read that performance review ’cause I’m pretty sure it’ll make me so mad that I’ll get lupus or herpes or a flesh-eating bacteriums from reading it.  This is the guy who made fun of me for being a climber and, really, sort of shamed me for not playing golf or some other lame-ass douche-tard sport.  Yeah, kids…that’s how we do it in Corporate America.  Fortunately for me, I got an email from Nat.  If you don’t know Nat, then…well, she is one of the coolest people you don’t know.  She’s also super hot…like, super super hot.

Nat...climbing. I told you she was super hot, you should believe me when I say stuff.

Anychrist, she sent me an email this morning with instructions on how I could channel all of this pent up rage into something productive…so here’s the email from Nat:

I’m a member of the Southeastern Climbers Coalition, which is a group that helps protect and preserve beautiful cliff lines and lands for future generations, saving many tracts from being turned into subdivisions.  I am also working closely with them in my role as a Park Ranger with the National Park Service at Little River Canyon, which is a breathtaking expanse right here in the South.  It’s been exciting and rewarding, and I am working towards coming up with more ideas and solutions to help forge a solid relationship, as well as provide support for the SCC’s goals, programs, and educational outreach.

As this is an issue I am personally and professionally involved in and passionate about, I am asking for your help.  The SCC has entered the Pepsi Refresh Project for the month of November.  If you are unfamiliar with the program, it is a plethora of grants for community project ideas that groups compete to receive.  The public votes on which ideas and plans they support, and thus a winner is chosen.

The grant that was applied for was in the amount of $250,000.  With this money, the SCC will work towards securing two areas–one in Alabama, another in Tennessee–that are slated for development.  If we can obtain these areas, they will be preserved and utilized by the public.  Some of the areas the SCC has already saved are enjoyed not only by climbers, but also hikers, cyclists, birders, and nature lovers.  They are a special treasure for everyone, and the SCC hopes to purchase these new spots.  Check out this video to get a better idea of who and what the SCC is, and what their goals are for the future.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPDqp9FbbeE&feature=player_embedded#at=20

This is a super cool picture that I lifted from the SCC website...I put it here because I was afraid all this text would bore you, the reader, so I thought I'd add something to liven it all up & keep your interest until you get to the end of the post. I'm sure that my transparency here is an excellent example of the type of behavior that leads my boss to give me shitty reviews.

Please vote for this project.  It’s as simple as sending a text, or pressing a button on the website.  You can vote every day in the month of November (of course, only one per day).  They have even set up a reminder email that can be sent to your address daily.

I know this may seem an annoyance or hassle.  You may think, I’m not going to go to all that trouble every day.  However, I would implore you to please support the SCC and this project.  As my family and friends, I am also asking on a personal level to support my connection with this group, as it helps foster new opportunities and angles to my job.  With these new avenues, I hope to personally improve as a public servant and continue to focus on putting my all into Little River to advance and elevate it to its designation as one of the Nation’s wild wonders.

Here are the ways you can vote:
1.  Send a text with the numbers “104071” (without the quotes) to 73774.
2.  Go to http://www.refresheverything.com/seclimbers and click on “Vote for this idea” in the upper right corner.

Thanks for the email, Nat!  Y’all be sure to take a minute to vote for them!

Breaking News: Ale-8-One Bottle Molested by Rowland, Company demands STI Panel

Red River Gorge October 2010 Trip Report

Day 0 (The Lost Day)

fuck UA

OMFG, Worst Service Ever. Never fly United Airlines if you have a choice. A wise girl scout once said “if you want to make God laugh, just make a plan”. I was off from work, packed, tucked, and sitting on the damn plane for half an hour. When the captain goes all like “not to worry folks we have a minor leak in the fuel line or maybe hydraulics but we should be able to depart in a few minutes”. Cut to an hour later and I paraphrase “this is your captain, I’m a dumb jackass, get off the plane and take all your bags”. Cue 100 angry passengers, 2 United agents, and the great four hour wait to speak to one them. Not cool. This guarantees I miss the connecting flight in Chicago and poor Mike is now stuck in Lexington when we should be setting camp at the Red. If you ever fuck a UA steward give it to them hard and at least for five hours. I got it from them bad. Rant Over.

Day 1

hurts so good!

5am flight to DFW. 7am flight to Lex. Success! Mike and I hit Wal-Mart for all the essentials: cereal, rice milk, tangerines, and a bottle of bourbon. We drive in and setup camp at Land of Arches. Happily my old friend Sabrina, from Pittsburgh, was there to greet us. With just a few hours left of light we decide to hit Roadside Crag for a quick warm-up on Trouble Clef 5.9-.  This is a classic slab line for Sabrina and I, but Mike’s slab cherry gets popped and he takes it like a man. With darkness approaching we head back to camp to warm up with a nice campfire. Mike demonstrates his mad girl scout skills by starting a large campfire in under 20 seconds, the secret is gasoline.  Sabrina proceeds to breakout a dangerous quantity of peanut butter cookies and we grab some PB+J’s for dinner.  What happened then is hard to recall but I know we began to drink the bourbon under the guise that it provided warmth from the chilly night.  To further that end we thought it wise to walk through the fire being happy little pyros with a large toy, thank God Merrell knows how to make a fire resistant shoe.

Day 2 (the Awesome day)

Michael getting busy at Bruise Brothers

I woke from the cold the next morning feeling surprisingly spry yet stumbling slightly, shaky in my step.  The Georgia crew, Alex and Paul, arrived sometime in the night and in true style I had absolutely no recollection of that.  With Sabrina vomiting in the field, and some strange purple stains on my jeans, I figured out quickly that we got sloshed.  Mike provided a few details, such as someone may or may not have crawled into a women’s tent and vomited there.

Either way coffee solves everything and so we bummed some hot water off of Paul after learning that Mike is only capable of large fires and not handling stoves, an excellent tidbit for the Austin Arson department.  The St. Louis crew of Michael, Meli, Mary, and Christy were supposed to have shown up the night before but was still not accounted for.  I feared that somewhere along the treacherous roads of Missouri a rogue biker gang of lesbians turned the men into castrati and kidnapped the women forcing them into a life of leather pants and bandannas.  Turns out they camped in the back of the lot and we were too busy drinking to notice they rolled in, oops.

Everyone looks so busy

The morning consisted of climbing in the Muir Valley at the Bruise Brothers Wall.  Mike and I got there first and led Little Viper 5.10b.  Jungle Trundler’s 5.11a bouldery start and crack feature became Mike’s new favorite route at the RRG.  The rest of Homo Climbtastic showed up and put up Hey There, Fancy Pants 5.10c as well.

We had an almost full Mo going on with St. Louis, Georgia, and the Ryan’s!  The crag started out quite empty but was becoming quite crowded with breeders so we decided to switch crags to Roadside and meet up with Michigan crew which hadn’t shown up yet.

Mike heading for the anchors on Ro Shampo!

Roadside was a great time. Mike successfully led Ro Shampo his first 5.12a! Ro is my classic project, flashed once but sadly never confirmed; oddly Mike did not love it as much as I. Still if you had but one route to climb in the Red I’d vote Ro all the way.

My old friend Peter managed to find his way down from Chicago and climb Ro with us as well – not a 12 cherry for him but still his first time on the route.  It was epic to see him progress so far since I left the frozen tundra of the north. All this time Jonathan was running around trying to find some nice climbs for his crew but Roadside is often busy and they settled on The Return of Chris Snyder 5.11d.

short person crux

They were having a good go of it but it was getting dark and Jonathan asked if I’d clean it up. Now I was thinking this was gonna be a nice easy short 11 but no I look up and it’s 95ft tall and the climb hasn’t been finished. Sweet baby jebus.  After getting some locking draws from Mike, I grab a headlamp from Jon and start up.  Super fun easy moves, but sustained, very sustained. At the last couple bolts I switch the follow-up system I’m on to lead and finish the last few moves.  While cleaning I learned that energizer headlamps are impossible to turn on with tired fingers and that I can tie a figure eight in the dark.  Coming down through the open air 70ft off the ground, 20ft from the wall, in the dark was amazing, perhaps one of the best moments of the trip in my mind. For recovering gear and not falling on/killing my belayer I earn some free Miguel’s from Jonathan, super tasty Thanks!

Day 3 (The cold day)

Alex climbing in boots

Brr. Cold. Fuck that shit. In utter irony the coldest climbing day is done in Purgatory.  Yup, Pendergrass, I donated like 10 bucks when I was dirt poor in college so I feel like I own a small piece of this place. Anyhow we began on the shaded wall 100ft from the one in full sun.  While I’m half asleep from too weak coffee someone sets up The Gimp 5.10a and Jumbo Shrimp 5.10a. I was an ass ignoring everyone and basking in the sun while eying Hellraiser 5.12c.  After Alex sketches out on the Gimp he hops on Hellraiser only to face the sick reachy sloper of defeat, I decided against trying the route.  Some guys, who smell distinctly of weed, come by to play with Hellraiser so we head back toward the St. Louis crew.

Alex starts on Jumbo Shrimp, in boots, and halfway up goes slightly off route pulling off a small chunk of the wall, Christy who is belaying is wisely wearing her helmet; Alex was cool about it and hung onto it before throwing it safely into the woods.  Meli braves the route only to be faced by the comedic stylings of Mary Tang and takes a catch.

Michael and Mike

Needing new toys Michael, Paul, Mike, Meli, and I head to the Playground and work on some fun slab routes. Michael and I lead Slide 5.9 and Tire Swing 5.10a, respectively. Meli works on Slide which is very reachy for shorties, but pulls through the crux.  Tire Swing has a great bouldery start and some hard to read traversing which made it feel tougher than 10a.

Alex, Christy, and Mary Tang spent a little extra time in Purgatory for their wicked ways and pulled on some elevens including Christy’s project Special Boy? 5.11c. Mary Tang took a sweet whipper on this one.

Michael getting ready for a Brief History of Climb

After Playground the rest of went over to the Gallery to check out a route for Paul called 27 Years of Climbing a five star 5.8. Paul, Michael, and Meli hit that one which I’ve done in the past and know to be super fun.  Mike and I put up a Brief History of Time and since I was feeling great I gave it a second go.  With a little convincing we got Michael and Meli on it and they seemed stoked after finishing it up. Paul vows to get on that one next time.

After a full day of climbing we head over to Miguel’s to hang out but damn was it crowded. You’d think they had a drag queen showdown or something. The main lot was full, the overflow lot was full, and side of the street parking was full for a good 100 yards.  Nevertheless our fabulous selves wrangle a table indoors and enjoy good company.


Christy bringing draws to Roger (who once again showed his excitement for climbing by forgetting to bring along gear)

Christy to the Rescue!

Roadside once again, cause St. Louis needs a quick exit.  We worked on Dragonslayer 5.10d and Crazyfingers 5.10c. Now depending on who you ask the grades are exchangeable. I found Dragonslayer to be way easier than Crazyfingers and of course I’m right and the guidebook should change, is all I’m saying..

Anyhow to earn our sponsorship status from Beta Clothing Designs, Alex and I stripped down to our skivvies and donned the bright red highly breathable boxers that Beta sent us.  Alex led Crazyfingers in the boxers and I took my clothes off for Ro Shampo.

Alex in just Beta Clothing Designs boxers

I managed a one-hang on Ro Shampo.  While Alex and I were at Ro, Mary and Paul attempted a trad crack but bailed when they realized they ran out of fisting gear, I mean fist size gear. It was approaching mid-afternoon and the St. Louis MOs had to be on the road. We said our goodbyes and headed to some warm-down climbs. Mike and Paul worked on Altered Scale 5.9+ while I went and did my business in the woods for the first time, rather relaxing I must say, I highly recommend everyone give it a go.  After losing about a pound I felt good enough to attempt Way Up Yonder 5.12a.  After pulling the 5.11b bottom Up Yonder I began Way Up Yonder. Got four clips up and feeling like a scrotum I said fuck it and bailed, thank God for project draws.  It went from a fun pockety climb to a slopy overhanging bullshit. F that.  Alex played on it for a bit and then we hit Miguel’s for some tasty stomach hurting pizza, yummy.  While there Alex showed everyone the fine art of rimming an Ale81 bottle, skills he attests not to use, but clearly well practiced.

An Ale81 getting rimmed by Alex.

Back at camp we washed down, ate way too much jerky, and discussed the best gay slang terms to have the servers at Miguel’s yell out around camp when bringing out your pizza.  My personal favorite is “daddy”, can’t you imagine it “I’m looking for daddy, I got a hot big one for daddy”…  Speaking of daddies we also discussed the fine art of projecting a cock, cause some sends take some time and practice…

Mike hits Fuzzy Undercling

Day 5

Alex and Paul roll out despite having a perfect day of climbing available. Weak sauce.  So Mike and I hit military wall, sadly where Jonathan Elyea (pronounced L-E-A), was the day before, totally didn’t get enough climbing with our Michigan crew.

We had flights in the afternoon so we hit just two climbs. Fuzzy Undercling 5.11b and Possum Lips 5.10d.Fuzzy was nasty, the ground erosion is making the boulder start even harder, not cool.  Possum Lips though was awesome. This route was a piece of cake for Mike (god-damned tall people) but for me the crux was a feet on tiny pebbles, hands on super thin crimps dyno to a horn. Great fluid movement but hurt like a bitch. Super technical, love it.  The crag was quickly filling with breeders so we headed out to pack and hit the airport bar for a beer.  A great trip ended. Didn’t get to hang with everyone long enough, only one option: Bishop….


say HorseCock!


High-Res Photos

Written by the Evil Solar Powered Rope Gun

Homo Climbtastic Dictator Abducted

We’ve received several emails and phone calls inquiring as to the whereabouts of HC’s most famous dictator, Alex Rowland (AKA:  Ra-Ra).  Seems the dearth of commentary on Georgia’s political turmoil hasn’t gone entirely unnoticed, and for your concern we’re all truly gratified.  Your prayers mean so much.

Rowland was abducted by a group of hillbillies (all of whom identify as dom tops) several weeks ago while climbing in the back-woods of Tennessee, though the ransom notes we’ve received (all dictated, not read, by Alex) have been very clear, no rescue requested.  We’re all hoping he’ll get his fill & comes back to civilization very soon, though personally I think the hill people have bitten off a tad more than they can chew with this one.  We here at Homo Cimbtastic headquarters (located in the world’s gayest bunker…you know, the one Lindsey Graham uses in case of emergency) are praying that Alex will wear them out eventually.  Well, either that, or Alex’s ass hair will finally start growing back in & they’ll return him out of pure need for a good wax job.

a picture left by Alex's abductors. Poor Alex. Poor, poor Alex.

So keep him in your prayers, light a candle, and hopefully we’ll be seeing more from him in the very near future.  And Alex, if you’re reading this, for Christ’s sake honey give those poor people a breather.