Pasajes de Costa Rica, viaje 1, día 3

This is part of 8 posts where I will, with minor edits and omissions, put my journal from days in Costa Rica online. There is no real grammar structure, but hopefully it makes sense...

10/26/2009 Monday

I didn't realize it was Monday until I checked my phone to get the date for today's ramblings. I believe that means I'm getting the hang of the pura vida. Monday is very significant in my home life... here not so much. Aside from the bus schedule and a few restaurants, nobody seems to care what day it is. Every day is a good one. And I agree. This is off topic, but I'm starting to think of the Spanish translation for these sentences as I write. Maybe it's a game or mental test, but I think it helps me know where the gaps in my Spanish are.

This morning I woke up and took my time packing my things. I walked into town to change $30 into ~15,000 colones and stood in line at the bank for a long time, only to have their computer system shut down when I was next. After several minutes we all gave up hope. I walked to the currency exchange company and was charged a slightly higher rate (as I was told would happen) but at least had my 15k colones. I stopped by the bus station to get my ticket for the 11:45 to Manzanillo but was told I couldn't buy one until 11:30. Instead I did some window shopping. Before buying anything I stopped in the post office to see if I could mail to the US from there. The girl working spoke no English and asked me a question I didn't understand, so I gave up. I felt defeated and decided to just check out and eat my brunch (the remainder of a beef empanada from the bus station... perhaps questionable by this point, but still looking OK after 2 days in the fridge...) on the beach.

The bus ride to Manzanillo was quite an adventure... the old bus couldn't help but hit a lot of the potholes on the road. The most worrisome part, however, was crossing bridges. There are several bridges between Puerto Viejo and Manzanillo, all of which are exactly the width of said rickety bus. We slowly crossed each one, but took the last one at a slight angle. The bang/crunch we made sounded like significant damage to both the old bridge and the old fender or wheelwell on the old bus. Oh well, we crossed. I was a tad concerned we would end up in the river below us and recalled a story Whitney told me yesterday where a bus drove off a bridge near Quepos this week and a few of the folks that survived the fall still died by way of hungry Caiman. I'm happy to report there were no such deaths today, but the bus and bridge struggle seems to be ubiquitous.

Anyways, I sat next to a very nice Guatemalan girl on the bus. She had been to Asheville, NC and the Smokies and hoped to see Colorado one day even though it snowed there. She spoke good English so we had a nice conversation. Ironically I found her easier to understand than most of the Jamaican English speakers I've talked to in Manzanillo today. Despite the Rasta influence in Puerto Viejo, I didn't find it a problem until today. Manzanillo is essentially the end of the road on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, just a few miles from Panama. It feels like just a few miles from Kingston. The bus stopped in front of Maxi's cabinas & restaurant so I walked all of 10 meters to book my night's lodging... I splurged on a room w/ A/C.

After checking in I took my backpack and headed to the guide house for the wildlife refuge. Nobody was there, but there was a sign on the door with names and phone numbers of guides.
I headed down the coast intent on finding scores of howler monkeys on my own. While I didn't quite make it to Punta Mona, I did still have the hike of a lifetime. The beaches here are incredible, as is the jungle. I walked along the water to a point where a trail meandered into the jungle / refuge. After passing the Dolphin Lodge, civilization of any kind fades away. Humanity too, for that matter. I found myself on a damp mud trail with jaw-dropping coves to my left, rainforest on my right, and a canopy above me. No need for sunglasses on the trail. I was completely alone for literally a few hours. At times I expected a jaguar to jump out and end me... I recorded the sound of the jungle on my phone. I was Robinson Crusoe. Once again, how in the world did the Spaniards leave here after landing? I'm glad they did. I half expected to be shot by poisonous frog darts and cannibalized by an indigenous tribe (they're nearby). This was the most wild, natural, untrammeled place I've ever seen. At times I caught myself audibly uttering "un. be. lievable." to nobody. Several times actually. Thousands of ants used the trail I hiked. They formed a long line and slowly carried leaves and flowers home. I made sure not to bother them fearing they might collectively turn on me. I then realized I was in sandals with no bug spray... unprepared. N0-see-ums ate my legs. Better than a snake or a spider (I saw both). I thought if something did happen to me, nobody would find me until at least tomorrow. It was starting to get dim in the forest anyways, so I headed back. I don't want to over-emphasize the fear though. The overwhelming feeling was simple disbelief at the beauty. Some of the trees where as big as the Spruce of Olympic NP... maybe saplings when Columbus landed. I truly was stunned to silence by the experience. This is the prettiest ocean setting I've ever seen... and almost nobody else is here.

After spending some time on the beach and swimming until the sun set I ate 300kg of today's lobster catch and asked Dennis (a Canadian logger ex-pat from B.C.) how many people lived here. In a mixed Canadian/Rasta accent he replied, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe 150." There can't be more than 25 tourists here. To say you can't exactly buy tourist trinkets such as a shot glass or post card in this town is an understatement. Right now I might be as off the beaten path as possible. While the kids in town started the nightly soccer game I scored a guide for tomorrow morning. I recalled seeing Santiago's name on the guide house door sign, so when he introduced himself to me, barefoot and drinking at the bar, I asked if he was the guide. Yep. "Cool, I want to go see monkeys in the morning." The price of a 4 hour guided trek went from $100 to $35 when his boss entered the picture. I don't understand his Spanish very well but will study tonight and hope it goes OK. I think he recognizes I am not just a dumb Yankee after telling him $100 was too much, and he seemed happy to help me, so I'm excited. The lobster was probably the best I'll ever have. It came with fried plantains and Caribbean spicy rice and beans. Delicious. That plate and 1 beer ran $22, so it was pricy even by U.S. standards, but those were two fresh lobster tails I'll remember, and I agree with the guidebook that Maxi's kitchen boasts some of the best cooking in the area. I also chatted with an American girl who is from D.C. but went to U. Dayton. Small world. She had long dreads and works on a sustainable farm in the woods. I think day 3 has exceeded days 1 and 2. Based on the Salsa and Cumbia coming from next door, today is far from over. What a wonderful place this southern Costa Rica Caribbean coast is.

Pasajes de Costa Rica, viaje 1, día 2

This is part of 8 posts where I will, with minor edits and omissions, put my journal from days in Costa Rica online. There is no real grammar structure, but hopefully it makes sense...

10/25/2009 Sunday

In many respects this was a Sunday unlike any other in my life. I woke up well rested but extremely parched around 9am. It took me a while to mobilize, but I was eager to familiarize myself with my new surroundings. I walked into town and had to laugh. I expected to see something along the lines of at least Playa del Carmen south of Cancun after all I had read. Indeed, most of the business in town is built around tourism, but unless there are major changes (hopefully not) this area won't be a new Mayan Riviera for at least 75 years. I would guess this is what corners of Florida looked like around 1900 - minus the cars, scooters, electricity... very few businesses were open. I bought a 600ml water bottle from a stand at Playa Negra for 500 colones. After walking Playa Negra and being somewhat disappointed in the scenery (aside from the intrigue of sand that resembled crushed coal) I decided to walk to Salsa Brava and watch some surfers. No surfers. It dawned on me that most of the town was probably just going to bed, based on the scene at 9pm last night. Oh well, at least I had my bearings. I had planned on being out most of the day but instead was back to the hotel within an hour. A little confused about the lack of picturesque beaches, I re-read my guide books and finally read that the real gems of the coast were a few km south of town and got more interesting as you approach Panama. I headed back to town and rented a bike with the goal of scouting the beaches and ultimately riding home for dinner. Bikes are the standard means of transport in this town. My specific bike today was probably made before I was born... a green fixie (pedal backwards = brakes though) with mushy tires. $5 for the day. Content with looking slightly less a tourist, I road the "paved" road towards Manzanillo. Beyond the fringe of Puerto Viejo, the jungle is impressive and the Cabinas become more impressive. It seems the wealthy ex-pats live this way... I pass a sign selling 49 acres of land including beach for $150k and have to stop myself from immediately turning on my phone. After about 10 minutes I pass a wooden sign with "Cocles" carved in it. The road veered towards the beach and revealed paradise. Clean sand (there was trash on the beaches in PV, although all the recycle / trash stations with encouraging signs that clean beaches are better seemed to indicate progress on that front), waves big enough to possibly surf, clear water, tall palms for shade. This was what I had seen from the plane yesterday and longed for. I locked my bike to a tree and walked toward the water. I dropped my backpack and tested it out... the water was colder than Tulum, Mx but still quite warm. I walked back to my towel, applied excessive sunscreen and lad down to just listen to the lapping of the waves for a while. After 30 minutes I was roasting and decided it was safe to leave my things and enjoy Caribbean swimming. I took my rightful spot directly in front of my towel and began bobbing in the break. I noticed the two girls within earshot of me had American accents and spoke English. I asked if they had been to Manzanillo, hoping to find out if the beaches were in fact more impressive further south. Although they hadn't, we did end up chatting for a while. They had just moved from Jacksonville, FL after graduating from UT Knoxville, to Manuel Antonio on the Pacific coast. Very nice, welcoming, well traveled girls. At 1:30 they asked if I knew what time it was. I opened my zippered pocket to grab my watch right as a wave hit me. I immediately remembered my bike lock keys had been in that pocket, and of course no longer were. A few minutes of searching produced no results. Whitney and Rachel felt bad, so I borrowed a bike while they shared their second. I felt bad but the rental guy said it was no problem, and a few minutes later I jumped on the back of a scooter with a guy owning chain cutters.

[Sidenote: explaining "lifeguard" to a man that doesn't speak English is tough. Ex:

I lost my bike keys.

Where?

Playa Cocles, in the ocean.

Where is the bike?

On a tree near the... the man that watches those that swim.

- blank stare -

When a person looks at swimmers, when it's dangerous, from above.

Oh, near that man?

Yes, on a tree near the man.

]

Potholes require good ab strength and balance while riding a Vespa on a gravel road. Minutes later I was back at the bike shop. $4 for a new lock. Pura vida. The girls had showered and got their bags to catch the 4pm bus to San Jose, then Manuel Antonio. We ate lunch at my first soda. An enormous amount of rice and beans topped with ~10 oz. of fried chicken. Clearly lunch is the biggest meal of the day. Food for a whole day plus juice and tip for $7. Not bad. After lunch we rode to my room so they could change out of wet clothes, borrow some Aloe Vera (we all got burned), exchange emails, and invite me to Quepos for a surfing contest on Halloween. I've already paid for my hotel in Santa Teresa then but may take them up on it. I'm not sure if I could get to SJO on time for my flight, so it's not likely, but a good option anyways. I wish I were less worried about making plans in advance. I read a lot about Manuel Antonio and it sounds fun. Either way, they caught the bus and I headed south again. I rode as far as I could before needing to turn around to return my bike. I stopped at the beach near Punta Uva. There was 1 other person swimming about 1/4 mile from me, but otherwise not a soul. I have no idea how/why Christopher Columbus kept going after he landed there, but I believe it looks about the same now as it did then. Incredible. I saw my first wild monkey there too. (I have heard several howler monkeys but not seen one.) By the time I had my camera out he was two trees away. A really awesome experience. So much character/personality in his face. A that point I decided to change plans and spend tomorrow night in Manzanillo with the monkeys, sloths and macaws.

After returning the bike, I decided to have a beer and dessert (still mostly full from lunch). Rest. de Paso, right across the street from my place and on the path to the beach, was a good choice. The dulce de leche crepe was a huge success. Reggae bumping from the speakers... a good end to my day. They sold bulk mate but don't serve it. Bummer since I didn't bring any. The Che poster at the bar made me want some. I settled for reading Compañero on my hammock instead. I met my Colombian neighbor then. She has a good story; in the fair trade coffee business, travels a lot... going to Seattle in February to work and learn English, then off to England to sell fair trade coffee there too. Very cool. Based on my encounter with her and her friends, I believe Colombian women could take over the planet if they organized and chose to do so... they would be supermodels in the States. I am meeting many diverse and wonderful people so far. Feliz noches.

Pasajes de Costa Rica, viaje 1, día 1

This is part of 8 posts where I will, with minor edits and omissions, put my journal from days in Costa Rica online. There is no real grammar structure, but hopefully it makes sense...

10/24/2009 Saturday

My upcoming night's sleep feels like one of the hardest earned in my life. Here's to sleeping like a baby! I write this from a situation my dad would find a personal hell. Tonight stands alone as the most humid in my life, and the fan isn't quite keeping up to say the least. I am in room #3 at the Exotica Lodge in Puerto Viejo de Talamanca approx. 100m from the Atlantic Ocean in southern Costa Rica. I was too tired to care upon arrival, but in the morning will try to do the American thing and buy myself into a more comfortable situation. The fridge and the fan work, and the cold water is nice, so it could be far worse... camping in Moab in August, for example... Anyways, this story really begins yesterday around lunch time. I was trail running on a stunning fall day in Boulder at the base of the Flatirons. No surprise I didn't keep up with coworkers Darren and Tim, but it was really the perfect use of a lunch hour given the weather, setting, etc. I really love the fall. After trail running I finished the work day and headed to happy hour to celebrate several coworkers birthdays. A few hours later I made my way to DIA for the 1am flight to ATL. (By the way, I found it especially tough to leave Tacoma this time. I know he's fine but I feel kinda bad leaving my little buddy for so long. He's a good kid...) I didn't really sleep on the flight, and didn't really sleep on my 4 hr layover in ATL, so I was ready for sleep when I got on the plane to San Jose. That didn't really happen either. (I met a girl from Jersey who lives in Aspen that slept soundly though. I told her I was jealous when she woke up and we talked for a while. Molly... she was definitely a Molly based on previous experience... reminded me a lot of Kendra too. Sidenote: all of the girls I've ever met living in Aspen have proven especially intriguing. Rad chicas. I might have to move there.) Sleep was in short supply then too. I was excited to see the Atlantic. Flying over Florida, however, was shameful. There is no more green, no more swamp... only roads and vacation homes. It was depressing. 3 minutes after Florida disappeared, Cuba came into view. Unspoiled white sand beaches... much better! Our pilot seemed to agree. After Cuba came the dark blue ocean. So dark, it seemed fake, like a bluebird day on the slopes in April where I would almost swear the sky has switched to purple, but I digress...

I really believe it was love at first sight for Costa Rica and I. I had a window seat and finally saw land again. Unspoiled jungle led right up to the coast where white wave breaks met white sand. A muddy brown river flowed slowly into the Atlantic... maybe the Parismina. The Canal del Tortuguero was also in plain sight, but otherwise nothing but rainforest jungle blanketing gentle mountain slopes. As we neared SJO you could see crops, but it was much more pure than Florida a few hours prior.

SJO took me by surprise, as did the humidity. The airport was so small, much smaller than Cancun, for example, which supports a smaller town. I changed into a t-shirt while waiting for the checked baggage to start and regretted not also carrying on shorts. I forgot that 70*F in Boulder feels nothing like 70*F in the topics. Oh well. I took a taxi to the Caribeño bus station... the driver spoke almost no English. It was put up or shut up time for my Spanish lessons. When he dropped me off, he complimented my Spanish, so I guess I did OK. He asked me where I was going, for how long, whether I'd been to CR before... simple stuff. When we got to the bus station I thought it was a joke. No tourism here... la gente in the true colors. Complete culture shock. I questioned this whole trip; I was scared and alone. No English. Period. 4200 colones (~$8) bought me a seat for 4 hours on a bus with no AC and no bathroom. Again, still exhausted, I wanted to sleep but couldn't. As we descended from San Jose to the Atlantic I was in awe at how beautiful the country is. My eyes were huge for the first half hour. The jungle is in command, and only a tiny strip of pavement slices through it. Viva la selva. Waterfalls, mudslides, clouds like Gorillas in the Mist... very captivating. The my neighbor with the window seat woke up. This was a true answered prayer. For 3.5 hours we talked in mostly Spanish... again, almost no English. We talked about interests, music, movies, jazz, the towns we drove through... He was 23, from Nicaragua, 1/4 Italian, had an ex-girlfriend in Spain whose dad was African and mom Swiss. Trying to explain bluegrass proved unsuccessful aside from explaining the state my brother lives in has grass called bluegrass. We talked about being single, my plans in CR, religion. He is Presbyterian and in seminary helping a remote village on the Panama border. We talked about missionaries, favorite foods, etc. I was in disbelief that I could understand him and vise versa. My brain hurt but spirits very high as the sun set. Too tired to walk or think, I took a cab to my hotel. 45 seconds later I was here... unpacked a bit and then sat down on the bed. The linens are clean. I'm not sure what the pillow is made of. It will do. A spider and centipede crawl across the floor. Thinking I should put up my mosquito net, I eat an apple and fall asleep. I woke up 2 hrs later. I need more rest. It's 11:30pm. Almost 2 days with little more than a nap. Tomorrow will be low stress! Until then, insects, birds (and the occasional monkey) sing me to sleep. Pura vida.

making the most of the summer

Alright, now that it's mid-October I can write about mid-July here...

Me voy a Tejas (Wedding #2)

The weekend after Ryan and I got rained out as described in the previous post, I flew to Austin to be in my second wedding of the summer. It was great to be back in Austin, and believe it or not the 104 degree heat didn't get to me that much. In a break from the wedding festivities, I got to see a few friends from a previous job and have wonderful Tex-Mex... not to mention beer with lime in it that wasn't Corona. What a fabulous idea that is.

But back to the wedding... I got to see my sister and new brother-in-law's home during a post-rehearsal open house. It was great seeing family and meeting new faces on the other side of the wedding. For some reason it felt like I hadn't spent that much time with the fam in this kind of setting in a long time, even though a lot of us had spent Christmas together and we had a wedding the previous May. Ahh well... it was good. Real good. We had the rehearsal dinner at Texas Land & Cattle, of course. It was a traditional Cowboy/Western wear themed party, but I showed up in a guayabera shirt, more of a gaucho than a cowboy. (I had tried to pick up some chaps on craigslist but nothing really fell into place.)

I called out a few relatives that I heard had spent a meal at Quizno's or Subway or something unallowable like that. My sister (the bride) thought I was wasted, but my announcement to the whole party to consult me for culinary advice was sincere and sober. Let thee be warned; the food in Austin is way too damned good to bore your taste buds! Don't give in to the national chain!

Wedding day was very hot - 104 - and the wedding was outside in the afternoon. The stage:

I would have preferred it were October, but there was a nice Central Texas breeze blowing in from the Longhorn ranch on the other side of the fence cooling us off. It was what it was, and we had fun. Amazingly enough, despite me being the only remaining single sibling, there was no onslaught of "so when are you getting married?" jeers. Gracias.

It all went way too fast, and I found myself needing to spend the next few weekends doing little of note.

On the Sharp End in Boulder Canyon

On a Sunday afternoon in mid-August Brian and I went up to Boulder Falls to climb Buried Alive, a 3 pitch sport climb on Tonnere Tower. I decided to put up or shut up, and had a fine learning experience in the process. This was only my second lead, and the first multi-pitch lead attempt. I felt confident in putting my skills to the test, and was psyched to have a partner to follow me up. There was a couple starting our intended climb just as we got there, so we decided to start on something else to warm up with. (Feel free to grin and laugh now if you know where this is going.) We chose the route that looked pretty straightforward about 20 feet to the right of the main event. Once I was 30 feet up I realized that the next 30 feet were beyond 5.9, and had a date with an "almost epic..." After backing off the crux of a 5.11 pitch that I couldn't finish (not to mention lead), making use of a nearby tree, downclimbing to try the 10a next door, not realizing I left a draw in the 3rd-to-last bolt on the 11 (that bolt is 2nd from top here, with my tree in the background), and generally doing my best to ignore the sensation of the shriveling of my testicles, I found myself standing on a ledge to anchor in to the top of the 11 but with too much friction in the system to actually pull the rope into the anchors. Brian had loads of slack in the line, but I literally was pulling with all my strength and no budging. The rope is fine and wasn't stuck on anything but it was not happy being clipped into 2 routes at the same time. Too much friction. Lesson learned. I was glad nobody else was watching, or at least I couldn't hear them laughing from the parking lot. Anyways, then Brian gave it a shot and did very well up to the point that he had decided was far enough. Afterward we hit up the main event since our neighbors were coming down p1 of Buried Treasure. I then discovered the enormous and wonderfully pleasant difference between 5.9ish and 5.11ish. I got to the top of p1 and Brian cleaned up after me. We then realized our brains and arms were jello so it was time to rap 95' back to safety.

I would really like to try to finish Buried Treasure, and would also like to try The Twilight Kid again but only as long as somebody can lead it or toprope it for me... ahh well. All in all I was thrilled to have the knowledge and ability to get myself out of a bad situation, then lead at least one pitch, belay my 2nd-er and get us back to the deck via rapping safely. My new rope and draws did their job, so I was happy. At least now I know for sure where my limits lie and can work within them and hope to push beyond them safely in the future.

Muzzurrah Hilltoppin' in the Sawatch

A few weekends later Phish rode into town and tore Red Rocks to pieces, but I didn't have tickets for any of the 4 nights. The best alternative was to get the heck outta dodge and pretend I wasn't missing one of the best weekends they ever put on and hike a 14er. [Seriously, if you haven't heard these shows, get them! In hindsight, I should have ponied up $250 to a scalper to see 7/30. It is a terrific show, a fun cerebral listen, and gives hope that Phish is back to a far superior era than some of the more recent ones. It probably sounds dumb, but it was sooo uplifting to hear them reaching their full potential again. Welcome back boys, I'll see you soon!]

On the last day of July Ryan, Allison, Trey and I headed up Missouri Gulch towards our old friend Winfield and camped on a cold night. On August 1st we summitted Missouri Mountain. I was worried about trip reports mentioning the climb from the trailhead to treeline being a memorable nightmare of switchbacks. To my surprise and satisfaction (and definitely due to the fact that I had begun running/training for an upcoming 10k) I had little problem with this section. I actually could not believe how well I did; the difference was more than enough for my hiking partners to notice. I am usually terrible at ascending steep hills, but was very comfortable all the way up. Once at treeline we noticed there was fresh snow on Belford, a neighboring 14er. [Snow in July! This has been quite a cool and wet summer, to say the least.]

Once in the basin above treeline, the valley opens up and the hike is trivial until you reach the beginning of Missouri proper. Beyond that, there is a fairly serious incline gaining the final ridge, but once you're on the ridge you're home free. The weather was perfect for us, and we probably could have stayed on top for hours if we cared to. I was overwhelmingly satisfied that my lungs were getting in shape, and to see Huron, the first 14er I summited two years prior, from another angle. The central Sawatch aren't the most challenging mountains in the state, but they offer great views and a great excuse to get outside! Here is the obligatory evidence:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/brett_burch/sets/72157621918368062/

Wedding #3

The next weekend I borrowed a coworker's condo in Frisco and found myself back in the mountains. This was the third wedding of the summer for me, Tony and Shelly's, atop Keystone. This was yet another wonderful weekend in the hills, spent relaxing and enjoying the company of college friends. Before the wedding Ryan and I took his kayaks out on Dillon and had a nice time on the water. After that it was off to Keystone to ride the gondola to 11,000', sunglasses mandatory, with Quandary as the backdrop to the bride and groom's big day.

This comment is in no way an attempt to take away from any of the other weddings I have attended, but seeing Tony and Shelly together was very moving. They truly were the most excited couple I had ever seen walk down the aisle. Tony cried and Shelly glowed... that was pretty much the only way I could describe it. Maybe I shouldn't say any more. It was just really moving. I hope one day to have that same experience.

You gotta run like an Antelope, outta control!

I spent the better part of August and September gradually increasing my running distance to over 6 miles at a 10 minute mile pace to run a 10k section of the Boulder Marathon. Again, historically my cardio has been terrible, so agreeing to run a leg of a marathon was not something I necessarily jumped at when the opportunity presented itself. I did look at it as a way to improve my health (mental and physical) and to prove to myself that I actually could run that distance, regardless of the pace. Averaging a 10-minute mile is hardly worth getting CNN on speaker phone for, but it was what my body would consent to, so I was happy to take what it would give. I finished my 6 miles in about an hour, as expected, and wasn't too sore afterwards, so I can't really complain, but to be perfectly honest I was disappointed with my time. I had trained at a faster pace and hoped for the race to be my best pace yet. This was likely due to the fact that I started running unprepared and with a full bladder, forcing me to stop to use a porta-pot before starting my 5th mile. That was a mistake, to say the least. I guess I'll have to run the Bolder Boulder next Memorial Day and improve :) All in all, it was a goal accomplished and a pat on the back for my lungs to have allowed me to run at all, so I was thankful for the opportunity and look forward to the next one. Handing off the ankle RFID to my teammate to finish the race I thought back to when I first moved to Boulder and how I probably couldn't have run 2 miles without being completely winded. I suppose it's true that sometimes you need to look behind you to see where you've been and appreciate how far you've come...

Now that the race is over, I'll probably try to improve my time over shorter distances (maybe starting with 3 miles, for example), but either way I've been keeping up the running. It's funny what wanting to be in good shape for ski season will make you do... and speaking of, it's currently snowing right now, so ski season isn't too far away! Snow, baby, snow. I am seriously driven to not let my lungs keep me from ascending a 14er couloir and skiing down it, so hopefully I'll continue to improve until I really need it in the spring.

making the most of the rainy season, part III

Wow, it has been a long time since I have updated here... If I remember correctly, there is still much to tell about the rainy season, so here goes.

In late May I took an Intermediate Snow course through CMC Boulder, which was a continuation of last year's Beginner Snow course. In Intermediate we learned how to use snow pro, roped travel, setup anchors, and self arrest with crampons. It built on Basic Snow and the Basic Rock School from earlier in the spring, and was a nice culmination to likely end my classes for a while. I now feel well equipped to safely travel up couloirs (for ski descents, of course). I really like the idea of snow travel as a means of ascent (avoiding the crowds and extending the climbing season), especially when combined with a ski descent (hence the Avy 1 class also). The next class I take will probably be Avy 2 and then eventually leading trad rock. After that, I think I am schooled out.

In early June I bouldered a bit on Mt. Sanitas right outside of Boulder. It was the first time I had really spent much time on Sanitas, and I have to say it surprised me. Maybe I wasn't in the beginner area, but I definitely thought the climbing would be easier. I've heard about tons of V0/V1 problems but didn't find too many when I was there. It was really busy but the rock was much kinder on my hands than Flagstaff is though, so it's a nice little outing in its own right.

A few weeks after Sanitas, I took a spur of the moment long weekend to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. I went with the same friend I took up to Sanitas. We left Boulder on Wednesday after work and had what basically equates to 5 days of ridiculous debauchery in one of the most incredible settings on the planet. Let's just say that if there ever was a weekend where I put on a good Hunter S. Thompson impersonation, this, dear friends, was one of a select few, hence the leaving out of several details here. Before leaving Boulder we stopped at Liquor Mart for provisions, leaving town with a handful of bottles of beer, a 1.75L bottle of wine, a bottle of vodka, and two 12 packs of canned beer. Wednesday night we drove as far as we could before I started to get spooked of driving with all the deer on the side of the road. We got to Monarch Pass, where it was still very cold and snow was in our campsight. (Nothing like a little alcohol to take the chill out of the air...) We took our time getting going and got into Telluride around noon on Thursday. I hadn't been back to Telluride since I was a boy (middle school?) so this was a very nice reunion. The San Juans were simply stunning, with tons (tons!) of snow still on them. Most of the first day was spent drinking and unloading the Jeep while we set up our camp, finally seeing a few shows, and then head back to camp only to fall asleep and ultimately miss David Byrne's headline of the night. We made friends anyways, and ultimately did not go back to bed until the sun was coming up over the mountains. We slept under the dawn/stars and woke up to begin drinking again. We had a few beers for breakfast (which became the norm of the weekend) before we headed into town for the shows. We danced all day and I got a pretty good sunburn on my feet. That night Béla Fleck & Toumani Diabaté were definitely the highlight show of the weekend for me.

Every act we saw was fantastic though... it got to the point where I would stop checking the schedule, because it simply did not matter who was playing. Every band I knew put on a great show, and every band I didn't know encouraged me to check them out when I got home.

Saturday we woke to a completely different cold and rainy setting, so we headed into town for shelter... not to mention we had run out of beer. We reloaded at a nearby gas station and then headed to the bars. Most of the bars in town were packed, but we managed to find a corner where we watched an incredible dance-off by two of the drunkest people I've seen in recent memory. Ex:

We made our way back to the stage for Yonder Mountain, who were terrific as always, and during which I ran into another Boulderite... small world. The rest of the lineup that night was incredible, with Gaelic Storm capping roughly 10 hours of dancing. My legs were tired, and I was bummed going to bed because Sunday meant a long drive home back to responsibility. The 3am quesadillas helped ease the pain though :) Sunday we caught the first two shows, packed up our tent and headed back to Boulder. I was bummed we had to leave before Emmylou Harris played, but I knew we had to. We went home via I-70 instead of 285, and that made a truly wonderful Tour de Colorado. Photos of the weekend can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/brett_burch/sets/72157620431813195.

The weekend after Telluride Ryan, Allison, Brian and I hiked up La Plata via the Southwest Ridge. Ryan and I got our revenge after last year's Jeep-sinking 4th of July incident. It was our first new 14er of the year, and a lot of fun, although (this is the rainy season, after all) we did get rained on and had some nearby lightning. We actually ended up removing our packs to run quickly to the summit and claim our prize before a quick descent. I was happy to have made it down fairly dry, but will try to not cut it so close with the weather in the future. Photos of the outing are at http://www.flickr.com/photos/brett_burch/sets/72157620702598064/.

Lastly, Ryan and I tried to climb on 4th of July weekend in Boulder Canyon and got rained out. As soon as we reached the crag after some trailhead-finding troubles the clouds let rip with rain and lightning nearby. It looked something like:

I was happy just to head into town for some time at The Spot. The 4th of July truly seems cursed for us.

Thus concludes the rainy season. Bring on the snow season!!