This is fast becoming the Sam and Derek blog. Not my original intentions, but Что будет, то будет (Russian for, "what will be, will be"). All I can say is: Next week will be different. A multi-state posse of ten will be rolling to the New River Gorge, assembling in full on Friday night.
As for this weekend, one word: Chill.
Derek and I hit up some true, J-Tree-style hand cracks on Saturday morning at the Junkyard Wall. I reacquainted myself with the art of crack climbing on New Yosemite, an ultra-classic 5.9, while Derek got in his first-ever crack lead (and first trad fall) on Labrador, a beautiful but rarely climbed 5.8 on Cat's Wall. We also discovered a population of giant, mutant spiders on the abandoned North Junkyard Wall, while climbing a smattering of .7s and .8s. In the afternoon, we wandered over to Kaymoor, where I got my ass handed to me on a silver platter. Derek belayed me up a steep 5.12a, where I linked the moves, but the redpoint remained far from my grasp -- so I settled for a beautiful 5.10a arete.
Rain hit hard Saturday night and drowned any plans for climbing on Sunday. But we eagerly raced back to Bragg where homework and dirty laundry awaited. Whoohoo!
Sorry for the lack of pictures. The climbs we worked demanded the belayer's full attention, and with only two of us, we were a hand short for taking good photos. All we got was one obscene picture depicting Derek's and my dim view of sport climbers. Sorry, folks, but my mom reads this blog.
Long Live Trad Climbers: The Few Who Do Stupid Things for a Pointless Sport!
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