The Great Gear Caper

Sketchy and I share a two-bedroom, two-bathroom space in the North Seattle area with our wonderdog Suki and our very pretty kitty cat, Mochi, who is also known as Conservative Decision MoMo because she thinks adventures are stupid. Our regular activities include hiking, scrambling, snowshoeing, rock climbing (in the gym), rock climbing (like on real rocks, outside), mountaineering (the kind with butt-chattering temperatures and glaciers), skiing (the kind where the chairlift does all the work as well as the kind where there are no chairlifts), ice climbing, and then an assortment of less-exciting things like baking and crochet. But mainly the outdoors stuff. As most readers here are probably already aware, none of these are low-overhead hobbies in terms of the gear you need.

Luckily it turns out that in addition to having a talent for getting himself into kind of bizarre-o scrapes, Sketchy has an absolute knack for organization. As he moved in this past summer his gear collection collided with mine, kicking off the Great Gear Caper because very simply we were drowning in random piles of very expensive equipment and everything was chaos. And thus from it, he made order. So here's a zone-by-zone walkthrough of our home, explaining how and why we've chosen to sort and store things the way we have.

Suki, wondering why I'm standing outside and making her sit in the doorway.

Welcome! As you come in our front door, Suki will greet you enthusiastically. She is loud, but about as dangerous as the average teddy bear. Dead ahead is our tech gear closet.

Daypacks, tech closet; also dog food storage container.

In the front hallway, we have a small bamboo rack for "city shoes" - non-athletic, non-climbing, non-trail footwear lives here. This keeps our around-town footwear quick to access, and obviously separate from our more specialized shoes. Once inside, you'll see our daypacks to the right. These are hanging on Command hooks (the smaller sizes won't work, but bigger Command hooks are perfect daypack hangers!). My Osprey Daylite, Daylite Plus, *old* Daylite, and Miracol trail running pack live here, as does Sketchy's Patagonia Link 16. Our smaller packs (under 20L) sometimes see use around town - dog park, grocery store, whatever - so we keep them in the front entryway, where they are quick and easy to grab on the way out the door.

Daypacks, whiteboard, keys.

If you turn around, you'll see a small whiteboard mounted on the inside of the front door. To-do lists, trip planning spreadsheets, and other written forms of organization are a personal quirk of mine: I use a LOT of them. But seriously, don't discount how useful this can be! Especially if, for example, you're packing the night before and there's something you need to remember to do or grab as you're departing the next morning (lunches in fridge! take out trash!), the whiteboard is a perfect spot to jot reminders to yourself as you're mid-process, so your forgetful butt will see that note as you're about to head out the door without whatever it is you were intending to grab. I find it's also helpful if you're getting organized as a team to write task lists (things like finish laundry, check forecast, charge radios, etc) on the whiteboard. It is also very satisfying to check off huge long lists of things - you'll feel like an uber-productive adventurer.

To the left: Crutches, a fun prize from one of those hilarious scrapes Sketchy likes to get into.

The tech gear closet holds exactly that - technical clothing. Base layers live in our "normal" clothes closets in the bedroom; some midlayers could go either direction (things like running hoodies, or semi-fashion fleeces), but in general, the fancier, more hardcore clothes go in this closet, and their less-intense counterparts in the bedroom. Ziplocs and some basic household items (unrelated to climbing because very sadly we too occasionally must act like adults and do chores and stuff) are also in here. Generally, Sketchy's stuff is on the left in the photo, and mine is on the right.

You know we've been injured the last 3 months because those ropes still have tags on.

Directly across from the hall closet full of tech wear, we use ladder hooks to store our climbing ropes. There's not really a particular sort order to them, but we have a range of glacier. outdoor, indoor/gym, and worn-out-old-and-crappy ropes for knot and system practice. Using this kind of hook *does* mean putting holes in your wall, so it isn't recommended if you're ever hoping to see your damage deposit again. It works really well if you're ok with that part.

This is as close as Mochi ever gets to adventure.

As you can see on the left in the above photo, we keep our fun shoes on this rack. This is a shoe rack off Amazon (Songmics 10 Tier Shoe rack), and it's pretty nice because the shelf heights are adjustable. That makes it easy to get even our taller boots into it. In general, the bottom tiers are ski boots, the middle tiers are a mix of trail runners, hiking shoes, hiking boots, running shoes, approach shoes, and mountaineering boots, and the expedition Olympus Mons live on the top shelf because they are way too tall even for the adjustable nature of the shelving. If you're planning to go this direction, you may want to consider securing the rack to the wall - shoes are heavy and this isn't like 200% stable as a free-standing unit. The packs are hung on a Gladiator rack: most of our larger packs (ski touring, alpine, backpacking) live here. They're imperfectly sorted, but in general my packs are to the left, Sketchy's to the right, and within our own sections we more of less arrange the packs by liter capacity. Worth noting that, like our rope hooks, putting up one of these racks is a big ol' goodbye smooch-a-roo to your damage deposit, but the racks are awesomely convenient and useful, so you do your own calculus on that one. We obviously decided it was worth putting holes in our walls; YMMV.

Costco plastic tubs in TomCare cube organizer.

Beneath the packs, you can see an organizer unit. Those are TomCare 9-cube storage organizers, also off Amazon. They can be rearranged geometrically to suit you; we got several sets and use them in a couple places around the house. In the cubes, we put small organizer tubs from Costco. Each tub holds a "category" of thing - one is sunglasses/eye protection, one is first aid/medical, one is stuff sacks and ditty bags, and so on. 

Things are a little out of order in this picture, because we're packing up for a ski trip on Helens later this week. Pardon the mess. Worth noting: these storage cubes are actually large enough to hold two Costco plastic bins each, should you desire to stack more than one bin per cube. We like clear plastic tubs because it allows us to see the contents as we're looking for things. I'm a little amazed MoMo hasn't yet tried to climb into these and make a nest there - as a general rule if something is hollow and rectangular, she assumes you brought it specifically for her to make personal use of it - but I guess there's still time. 

Skis, poles, shovels, snowshoes, helmets. Suki's gear
(booties, parka, pack, snood, etc) is in the grey bin lower right.

If you turn around, you'll be looking at the other wall of our living room. Which, to my personal glee, is no less dedicated to outdoor pursuits. The ski rack we use is yet another chance to punch holes in drywall (go big or go home!). Should you wish to follow in our footsteps, it's a StoreYourBoard Omni rack. We have two side-by-side, to hold our skis, skins, Sketchy's random cross country setup, ski poles, avalanche shovels, and snowshoes.  On the right, you can see more of those TomCare cubes; those hold our helmets. On the top, we have Smith goggle storage cases, which is (duh) where we keep our ski goggles. (I just mistyped that as "googles" like four times in a row, now I dare you not to think "face googles" and snort to yourself next time you're hitting the slopes.) If you look left of the skis, you'll see our probes and beacons. Funny story, at least I find it funny; Sketchy's ex mailed him some really weird stuff as she was dividing up their possessions. In addition to shipping a block of tofu (no, actually, for real - just seriously like WHY?!) and a couple ratty dishrags from *Alaska*, she also sent these His and Hers towel hooks. After I finished making snarky comments, my true nature (hint: evil but mostly harmless) was revealed as I suggested we turn them into something actually useful and hang avalanche gear on them. So we did. And now those trite little knick-knacks can finish out their days with an actual purpose. To the right of the helmet rack, there's a TV and on the wall behind that, you'll find our hiking, climbing and mountaineering book library. Of course we have (a few copies of) The Freedom of the Hills, but we also find it useful to have things like backcountry ski guides, area-specific rock books, and a variety of specialized guide and handbooks for everything from knots to puppy first aid and technique manuals.

Lovely artwork, it goes beautifully with the day-glo orange accent in the corner.

To finish out this part of our place, here you can see yet more TomCare cubes, housing Nalgene bottles, our dehydrator, cooler, insulated bentos, a rice cooker, and assorted storage containers, mixing bowls, and dry goods (some outdoorsy, some not). Of particular note for the outdoor-inclined, we have 10# cans of Mountain House, maltodextrin powder, tapioca maltodextrin, and whey protein powder for making DIY trail meals. The dehydrator is pretty key for that; at some point, I'll be sharing some of my dehydrated meal recipes. The insulated bento containers mostly see use on day trips; I leave hot or cold food, as appropriate, in them to greet us when we make it back to the car. Stucker, Sketchy and I each have one: these are Tiger Lunch Jars, available in several places online. Shop around for the best price, it can vary a lot; Jet.com can be a good pick. In the back right corner, those orange things are our expedition sleds, also called pulks. I'm not overly thrilled about having sleds behind the dining table, but I guess we all have to make sacrifices.

Part of the closet.

Shoe organizer of gloves.

Exiting the main area of the house, we use our second bedroom as a combination office/den and gear storage space. We have an over-the-door shoe organizer full of lighter-weight gloves, mostly liner gloves and similar. Bigger, bulkier gloves (touring gloves, summit mitts, and so forth) live in a hanging shoe rack in the closet. That rack also holds harnesses, climbing shoes, chalkbags, down booties, and gaiters. Sleeping bags stack, in loose storage bags, to the left; on the right, small Costco plastic tubs of trail snacks and meal ingredients, with pickets and flukes to the far right. Up top, the box on the right has more ingredients, and there's also a car camping tent and another cooler. 

Scarf and tie hangers for climbing gear.

To the left of this stuff, we've got some more creative repurposing of common household items. If you climb, you know that comes with a TON of gear. To keep ours organized, we used scarf and tie hangers. We sorted things into loose categories. On the tie hangers, soft items, like prusiks, slings, runners, and PASs, go on one; hard non-pro items, like pulleys, belay devices, etc on another; a third holds passive pro-type things like hexes... you get the idea. Carabiners make their home in a scarf hanger. Below, we have some large, clear plastic bins. Those house tents, stoves, cookware, sleeping pads, and similar larger items. Again, we like the clear bins from Costco - they're durable, affordable, stack nicely, and you can see the contents from the outside, which is really useful. We prefer to confine the contents of each bin to one "type" of gear - like "food" gear (stoves, pots, etc) or "sleep" gear (tents, sleeping pads, sleeping bag liners and so on), but that's obviously up to you.

Hats for all weather.

Finally, the bedroom! We used another over-the-door shoe organizer in here; this one holds hats, Buffs, and neck gaiters. On the wall next to the door, we put Command hooks for baseball caps and sun hats. For hats, smaller Command hooks work great, and unlike some of our more ambitious gear solutions here, are damage-free for your walls. At the foot of the bed, we put up more Gladiator racks. These hold crampons, ice screws, ice tools, ice axes, and in the corner, our less-used larger packs that didn't earn spots on the living room rack. (Yes, we shame the gear that we don't like as well. Did you miss the earlier note about being mostly harmless but still evil? It's not untrue.) 

Crampons, ice screws, ice tools, ice axes, assorted packs.

We're both pretty serious about what we do, so this is how we've gotten two people's worth of gear for hiking, backpacking, camping, snowshoeing, downhill skiing, alpine touring, ice climbing, rock climbing (sport), rock climbing (trad), and mountaineering all into one household. We also tend to stay on top of our gear - we make a point of unloading in full after every single trip. The only exception is that if it's past 10pm, we can wait till morning. Annoying as that sounds, this system, like any system, is prone to entropy and so takes a little diligence to prevent it from eroding. Anyway, that's basically our place.  Feel free to comment with any questions and I'll do my best to get back to you!

Trek on, and use clear plastic storage bins!

Yaktrax, Microspikes, Crampons: What's the Freaking Difference?!

I see this question asked a LOT in online communities. When I was first getting started (just last year, actually - boy does *that* feel like a lifetime and a half ago!), I remember having the same confusion. This is compounded by the fact that sometimes, especially online, things get labeled as "trail crampons". (Hint: Those things are actually microspikes, not crampons, and if they're under $50 they probably aren't good ones. I'd recommend picking between Hillsounds and Kahtoolas for your microspikey needs, but more on that below.) So, here you go: a beginner's guide to the differences between Yaktrax, microspikes, and crampons.

Top to Bottom: Yaktrax, Microspikes, Crampons

Yaktrax: metal coils around rubber straps underfoot; stretchy upper. They are lightweight, not very durable, and provide relatively little traction. Cheap, and not ideal for trail use: offering minimal grip on inclines, they're best suited to things like delivering pizzas during winter in the Midwest, or navigating icy parking lots.

Microspikes: metal spikes on metal chains underfoot; stretchy upper. Slightly heavier than Yaktrax, significantly more durable, and offering a lot more traction. They're ideal for compact snow/ice, compatible with pretty much any hiking-appropriate closed-toe footwear, and suitable for all but the absolute steepest of hikes. Best brands are Hillsound and Kahtoola, as mentioned above: they're more durable and give you more traction than the cheaper options you may find online. Yes they're a little pricey, yes they're worth the money, just trust me.

Crampons: adjustable metal bar with large metal blades underfoot; they have a strap or metal/plastic lever uppers, and require specialized boots, specifically a really really stiff sole (plus, depending on the crampon, specific toe/heel welts to attach to the shoe). Expensive. Heavy, burly, and dangerous if used incorrectly. Optimal for extremely steep slopes, hard ice, or icy vertical planes; think primarily glacier travel and ice climbing. If you're thinking crampons, you should also probably be thinking ice axe and attendant skills (such as self-arrest).

Snowfield below summit scramble, Mt. Stuart

Personally, I don't think Yaktrax are worth anything and, after going through two pairs that both broke within the first four uses, I stopped buying them. I own both crampons and microspikes, and both of those see plenty of time on the trail - they're both extremely useful, and they shine in different situations.

By most people's standards, I'd say Tony and I are relatively intense in the mountains: we spend a lot of time there, from high summer to deep winter, and we travel in all sorts of terrain and substrates, from basic hiking trails to rocky scrambles, deep snow, glaciers, and technical rock and ice. Whenever possible I opt for microspikes over crampons: they are cheaper, lighter, more versatile, less hassle to use, and come with significantly fewer risks. What do I mean by risks?

While crampons can seem like the obvious "do it all" choice because they offer the most traction of all, they do have some real drawbacks. First of all, they only really work correctly on mountaineering boots with stiff soles, so you have to be wearing the right footwear to make them useful (unlike microspikes, which just pop on over any old boot and you're good to go). In order to engage the differentiating features of crampons, like the front points, you need to be able to really drive them into the terrain: a softer boot won't work, because the sole will flex and unseat the crampon, which is both unhelpful and unsafe. Beyond that, in addition to being big and heavy (bummer #1), they're expensive (bummer #2), and just by their nature pose some hazards to both gear and human health even on appropriate boots (bummer #3, and probably the most significant consideration).

A crampon-worthy incline on Mt. Stuart

Crampons are basically big, sturdy knives strapped onto your feet. They can and will cut through fabric or flesh should you take a less-than-careful step while wearing them: almost everyone I know has sliced up at least one pair of expensive pants or gaiters with crampons, and on warmer trips where you might be wearing less clothing, crampons will absolutely consider your calf a satisfactory substitute for those fabric layers. (A bloodier and more painful, albeit likely less expensive, substitute.) But gashing your leg open isn't the biggest hazard with crampons: should you slip, stumble, or fall in them, those big ol' knives on your feet are liable to catch and dig in hard to the hillside - which, when combined with your body's downhill momentum, can and often does result in a snapped or shattered ankle. That kind of torque on the leg can also cause serious knee injuries, like meniscus tears, cartilage damage, or ruptured ligaments (think ACL/MCL/LCL-type injuries).

Microspikes are the right choice for the vast majority of hikers and routes - if your activities warrant the use of crampons, honestly, this article is probably just a bunch of stuff you already knew. To sum up:

Yaktrax: hard pass.
Microspikes: the right choice about 90% of the time.
Crampons: mountaineering, ice climbing, and other extreme pursuits that would make your mom pass out if she knew what you were actually up to.

Knife edge to the summit, Eldorado Peak

(Just as a brief note: snowshoes are another winter traveling tool some people have questions about. In short, the devices described above are for substrates that are firm or solid, supporting your weight; snowshoes are for soft, fluffy snow that you'll sink into without extra flotation on your feet. Longer snowshoes have greater surface area so provide a bit more float; they are also more awkward to manage while walking, weigh more, and collect larger amounts of snow on their tops as you break trail. Go with MSR snowshoes; no other brand even comes close. Different models are more or less aggressive with their features, such as underfoot traction, side traction, and heel elevator bars. Your needs there will be determined by how aggressive your routes are. Snowshoes are their own beast and will be covered in their own post!)

Review: EPIC Peanut Butter Performance Bar

Fair disclaimer: I don't love date-based bars, so out of the gate, this one was fighting an uphill battle. That said, the first bar I reviewed (that Quest vanilla almond travesty) set the bar (ha!) pretty low. Given my generally lukewarm or even outright chilly feelings toward date bars, I confess to having some doubts as to my food selection as I loaded my pack. We were heading up Grasshopper Pass in the North Cascades for the second time in a week.

Our first trip had been clouded in, but I was desperate to see my favorite trees (Western larch) in their fall finery, and I was about to have surgery, so we figured we'd hedge our bets just in case I wasn't able to hike for a bit after the operation and we went despite the crummy weather. It was admittedly a soggy, wet, cold hike that first time around, but beautiful in the moody way that rugged mountains can be in icky weather.

I'm delighted to say that I came through surgery pretty well and was given the all-clear for aerobic activity once the swelling had settled out some - which lead to this trip, shortly after my procedure, to catch larch with sunshine and views. It never ceases to amaze me how different the very same hike can look in the span of a week, and with different weather.

Photo Credit: Tony Munden

I busted this EPIC product out at the top of the pass,  and I think the process went something as follows: Take bite. Chew. Think to self, with some surprise, "Wow, this actually isn't bad..." and interrupt self mid-thought by announcing out loud, "Oh, darn, there's the date."

I'd give this probably four stars out of ten - not great, not my first choice, but it wasn't inedible. If you like date bars and the taste of peanut butter, you might love this. It wasn't for me, but I think I was predisposed to dislike it. My partner seems to have even stronger feelings than I do regarding date bars, by which I mean he totally hated it, so your mileage may vary. It's still a better buy than the Quest bar, if you want to damn a product with faint praise.

Review: Vanilla Almond Crunch Quest Bar

I have a persistent personal quirk: I'm irresistibly drawn to trying out new food products and flavors. This includes the alluring (think Hawaiian Punch-flavored licorice) as well as the bizarre (miso-flavored soft serve ice cream), and on occasion the downright vile (kimchi-flavored Ramune soda - it's as bad as it sounds). On this week's trip to the Wallowas, I indulged this particular quirk because I'd heard great things about Quest bars and I saw some on sale at the grocery store. I'm allergic to chocolate, which constrains my trail food selections on an ongoing basis (so MANY bars have chocolate!!!!), so I chose a non-cocoa option, the Vanilla Almond Crunch bar. With a tingle of glee and curiosity, I loaded this little mystery into my food stash for the trip and away we went. I was honestly pretty excited - I love trying out new foods on the trail.

We started hiking at 4:20am (I know, I know, wrong 4:20), and I wasn't feeling breakfast at that hour. By the time we hit our camp location around 9:00am though, I was starving. With the anticipation of a little kid rushing to the Christmas tree in the wee hours of December 25th, I pulled out my Quest bar and opened the wrapper.

Rarely have I been served such a crushing culinary disappointment in the backcountry. The texture had the peculiar space-age quality of old school PowerBars, and the chemical stink wafting off the thing might well have triggered an EPA air quality investigation if we still lived in a time when the EPA actually did anything besides deny climate science and fund people's charter jet vacations. But I digress.

The taste is the worst part of this bar. It doesn't start off too badly, but as you chew and swallow, the full flavor hits you, and it's roughly equivalent to licking the rim of a can of acrylic paint. Do what you will with the use of the word "rim" here.

Don't buy this. Seriously. If it had been less than nine miles to the nearest trash can, I wouldn't have finished it. Zero stars, and $2.50 I would rather have chucked in a Dumpster than put in my mouth.

Cashmere Mountain (September 2018)

My friend Stucker managed to snag an overnight permit for the Enchantments near Leavenworth, September 3rd and 4th in the Eightmile/Caroline Lakes zone. I don't think I've talked about Stucker much on here yet, but he and I do a lot of hiking and climbing together and he is a super cool dude. He also asked me not to use his real name, so Stucker it is. Anyway. Two days, one night, two friends and a single objective: tag Cashmere Mountain, a Bulger summit.

By "pretty brushy", I mean this.

Basically, the Eightmile/Caroline zone doesn't easily connect to the rest of the Enchantments area, meaning peaks like Colchuck and Dragontail are, while not impossible, fairly shall we say ambitious objectives. So we settled on Cashmere as our target, since it resides within the area we had a permit to camp. Being who we are, we decided to take a less-common route up the mountain. We entered at the usual trailhead, but instead of heading to Caroline Lake and then continuing up to traverse across for the summit, we cut up from the trail and began following an arm up the hill. The plan was to summit, then descend to Caroline Lake and camp, exiting on the trail the following day and making a loop instead of the more conventional out-and-back via the lake. The first part of this loop route is wholly unmarked, without even a bootpath or flagging tape to follow, and at points was pretty brushy. Given that we were talking 5000' and change of elevation gain in under 4 miles, the answer to "Which way do we go now?" was almost always as simple as "Up".

If only the descent route had been as obvious. (Foreshadowing!)

Cashmere Mountain

Though brutally steep and filled with close encounters of the shrub kind, our ascent was fairly uneventful. (We weren't moving especially fast, mostly thanks to me. Stucker is much quicker than I am. In my defense, we would not long after discover that I had an undiagnosed broken arm, which I consider kind of a viable excuse.) The route is sun-exposed and entirely dry, so bring plenty of water. Early September still meant temperatures above 80F, and during breaks we could see fire control aircraft flying nearby. During those breaks we could also hear the wind in the dead trees below (snags left behind from old fires) - as I'd read ahead of time, it really does sound creepily like a group of happy enthusiastic people laughing or cheering. We carried on through the heat, dust, and huckleberry bushes and even with my slowpoke ways, we did make the summit block before our cutoff time.

This is where things got interesting.

We decided, instead of staying high and scrambling over toward the ridge, to drop down, cross the meadow below, and reconnect with the route to Caroline Lake. This decision was fueled in part by the fact that I had been struggling some on scramblier sections, and we were hoping to both make my life a bit easier and also save some time. (See above about the broken arm thing.) We'd also both seen reports online of others crossing the meadow rather than doing the higher scramble traverse, and we felt ok about taking that option. Well, long story short, our GPS froze up and we missed the connection back over to the lake. Daylight was fading and it felt like we were caught in an endless cycle of optimistically following game trails (I dubbed them "trails of lies" because they all looked promisingly like bootpaths, and they all led exactly nowhere) and yelling at the GPS. There was bear poop everywhere, in festively seasonal shades of berry reds and blues, and we were both growing frustrated. I think it speaks volumes about our friendship that neither of us screamed at the other one.

Crossing the meadow. Scenery was ok.

We eventually ended up roughly a half mile below the lake, on the opposite side of a ridge from the trail, down in a creekbed in the densest brush I've ever seen. At least there was water there - we were both pretty much empty. We refilled from the creek, then commenced intense brushwhacking. The terrain was too steep and uneven to put a tent on so truth be told, we were racing daylight to find a flat spot where the tent would fit.

Eventually, thanks to yet another trail of lies, we found one. We came upon a spot along the "path" where all the thick, tall grasses and bushes had been flattened; it was almost exactly the size of our tent footprint, and flat enough to pitch on. It actually looked like someone had camped there within the past day or two, given the size and shape of the flattened-out spot. Since it was pretty much dark, this was chosen as our bivvy site for the night - largely for lack of a better idea or option. We began setting up the tent, chatting as we did so.

Stucker: We better hope the bear doesn't come back.
Me: ...what bear?
Stucker: The bear that pooped everywhere back there. I think this is his bed.
Me: Dude bears don't make beds in the summer, they sleep in dens in the winter but I think in summer they just wander around.
Stucker: I think this belongs to the bear.
Me: Well we're sleeping here tonight anyway, so I'm just going to keep telling myself it was people.

Sidehill THIS, suckas!

All's well that ends well: no bear materialized (though a gently herbally-influenced Stucker almost fell off a log while bear-bagging our food) and we did manage to navigate our way out the next day (though it was an epically sketchy sidehilling extravaganza). I will forever refer to that campsite as "Goldilocks Bivvy", and harbor a healthy skepticism when it comes to relying on my GPS, but overall I'd count the trip as a win. (I will say however that I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a trailhead in my life.)

Cashmere is a strenuous but not technically difficult scramble. The typical and more heavily-trafficked route via Caroline Lake is likely easier to follow; I can't say for sure since we literally never saw it. The loop method shaves a bunch of mileage, and it's beautiful and intense (this whole thing totaled under 10 miles, and you worked for every inch of it). Have your routefinding skills on point, and beware the trails of lies.

Trek on and tag more Bulgers!

Who's Who: The Cast of Characters

To help you understand who (or what) I'm talking about on this blog, here's a brief introduction to the main people in my climbing crew. This will periodically get updated.

Candymouse: I'm the author. I'm frequently sarcastic, I like to think of myself as witty, and I got my nickname because, being significantly smaller than most of my (mostly male) climbing partners, when they're all sinking into snow past the knee I'm "running up on top like a little field mouse". Also I love candy.

Sketchy Tony: Sketchy for short, he probably has the most impressive climbing resume of all of us, including a self-guided summit on Denali in June 2018. Currently in training to be a guide, his nickname was given to him by his classmates because of a series of unfortunate accidents last season (most mostly not his fault but it's still funny).

Stucker: Other than Sketchy, Stucker is my primary climbing partner. Stucker, I'm pretty sure, is part mountain goat and the remainder cat; he's quick, strong, and nimble, and we do a lot of cool stuff together (by which I mean, he lets me follow him around while *he* does badass stuff and helps me do some of it too). He's working on knocking out peaks on the Bulger list. Stucker is responsible for giving me my nickname.

Suki: Suki is my dog, a 5-year-old lab mix. She is dopey, friendly, and 200% heart on the trail. She rides the struggle bus hard in snow (she's heavy, with dainty little feet, relatively low clearance and a super short coat, so... she sinks a lot and gets cold easily), but her enthusiasm never flags. She excels at long distance, multi-day summer hiking and is defiantly unafraid of thunderstorms. To make up for it, she has a truly irrational fear of vacuum cleaners, brooms, and cans of compressed air.

Mochi: Also known as the Conservative Decision Cat, Mochi (or MoMo), doesn't ever leave the house. She is the foil for Sketchy in terms of decision-making - for any risky call he makes, MoMo will sit primly in her cat tree and level merciless judgment upon us all.

Getting Started: Begin at the Beginning

There are so many topics to cover under the broad umbrella of "outdoors" - from issues of health and safety, to trip reports and route beta, to the politics of public lands and conservation, to gear reviews, people bickering about off-leash dogs and the merits of freeze-dried meals, and oh so much more. We'll get to all of that eventually, I'm sure (the bickering especially, since I seem to be a perpetual sucker for absurd and trivial conflicts).

Basically, this blog will touch on as many aspects of the outdoors as possible, and I'll break my posts down by topic as follows:

• Trip Reports: This is pretty self-explanatory - after I do a trip, I'll write/brag about it.
• Unsolicited Advice: How-to guides, tips and hacks, suggestions... basically me acting like I know what I'm talking about. I'll don my self-appointed expert halo and tell y'all how to run your business.
• IMHO: Reviews of stuff and things. Books, gear, clothing, protein bars - you name it, I'll try it out and give you my take.
• Soapbox: Where I'll get totally opinionated and sometimes political - issues like public lands management, endangered species, race and gender in the outdoors, and all that jazz, as well as less serious things like the aforementioned off-leash dog issue.
• Comestibles: Recipes and suggestions for favorite trail meals and snacks.
• General Content: Things that don't fit into any of the other categories - like this post, for example.
• TMI: Stuff about me and/or my personal life - probably at least tangentially outdoorsy, because that pretty much IS my life, but no promises.

I'll try to keep it all relevant, readable, and hopefully entertaining.

Welcome to Chick on Rock!