In response to my e-mail "how was Lopez"?:
---------------------------------------------------------
Lopez was good. Picked and ate a ton of Dungeness crab, biked quite a bit.
Pinnacle is a nice long distance in! Have fun! When you gt back, maybe we can do something heroic!
Lee
---------------------------------------------------------
Jeez, Lee, it doesn't get much more heroic than that! And I thought you meant something like Logan!
-Susan
Friday, July 30, 2010
My last trip with Lee
Oddly enough, I still have on my list of things to do "Write Trip Report for Horseshoe Peak", despite that we did it on June 26, so I guess I'll do that now. Not exactly a useful-as-beta trip report, but a trip report nonetheless.
Horseshoe Peak is mostly a scramble with one 5th-class move over on Ripsaw Ridge near Sahale Peak/Cascade Pass, for those who don't know it. In classic Adams style, we did the trip in a day, getting back to the trailhead just at dark, before we even needed to think about putting headlamps on. It was one of those awesome trips that makes you eager to get out and do more like it.
I've found myself remembering a lot of moments from that trip over the last couple of days, so I wanted to write them down before I forget them.
On the drive up, Lee had mentioned that he really didn't know the flora or fauna after all these years in the backcountry. I've tried to learn the names of the wildflowers I've seen, so as we headed up the trail I pointed out a few.
"Do you know what that one is?"
"Er, bunchberry?"
"No, that's trillium. With three petals. They turn purple as the flower starts to die. And that one's a kind of violet."
"But it's yellow, not purple."
"Yeah. Weird, I know."
"And that's hellibore," I continued as we motored up the trail.
"Hunh. I have some in my backyard, but it looks different."
I was quite happy that I could finally teach Lee something!
As we proceeded up the switchbacks towards Cascade Pass, every time we hit a bit of snow, he'd look upslope to see if it would be a good place to get off the trail.
"What do you think? Want to head straight up here?"
"Well, sure..."
He kicked steps for a while, until I offered to take over, and I started leading the way.
"Do you think we should maybe curve around to the left a bit to where it's a bit mellower?"
"Or we could keep going straight up this. It's really not that steep," I countered.
"OK, sure, whatever you want to do," he said.
So I lead up what I thought was going to be a more direct route, over some rocks where the snow was melting out, which of course resulted in some postholing and Susan ending up in at least one tree well.
"I think I mentioned that maybe we could have gone over to the left a couple of times," he stated, ever the diplomat.
Of course, when I checked the map again, what I had thought was going to be more direct wasn't more direct at all. It was just more difficult.
When I apologized for my mistake, his response was, "Hey, you've got to learn to lead the way now." That meant a lot to me at the time and even more now.
After we passed by the Sahale glacier and were heading over into the Horseshoe Basin, we were scouting a way down into it. It looked like we could go down a fairly mellow snow slope, scramble down a rock rib... or down a steep snow finger that Lee found. From the top it looked quite steep.
While I snacked, he went halfway down the finger (and then back up).
"I think it will go. How do you feel about it? If you don't want to do it, we can certainly go around."
"Well, if you're leading it, I'm happy following..."
And thus we took another AA (Ashlock-Adams) direct route.
On the way back, we opted not to take that same snow finger. We figured that the snow would have warmed up and been less safe, so we took another snow gulley up that was a bit shorter and less steep. When we got to the rocks at the top, we had the option of scrambling up the rocks or traversing to the snow on the other side. The wide snow slope was a bit less direct but mellow, but Lee's old boots were soaked through and he made a big pouty face when I suggested it. So we scrambled up the class 3-4 rocks instead. That pouty face (with lower lip stuck out) really cracked me up.
My compact camera had died, and the screen on his somehow crapped out that day, so we were taking pictures with his camera, blindly aiming without a viewfinder. He didn't usually ask for pictures of himself, but he asked for one when we stopped to have dinner on the Sahale Arm on the way down. Unfortunately because of the viewfinder situation, that meant that I ended up cutting his feet off in the last picture I took of him.
The views from that dinner spot were so stellar as the sun was starting to set.
When we got back to the trailhead, just before dark, we each had a beer. We had each brought some along, and I remember that he liked the trippel I had brought. And he was quite proud when I managed to finish it (although he probably helped a bit).
-Susan Ashlock
Horseshoe Peak is mostly a scramble with one 5th-class move over on Ripsaw Ridge near Sahale Peak/Cascade Pass, for those who don't know it. In classic Adams style, we did the trip in a day, getting back to the trailhead just at dark, before we even needed to think about putting headlamps on. It was one of those awesome trips that makes you eager to get out and do more like it.
I've found myself remembering a lot of moments from that trip over the last couple of days, so I wanted to write them down before I forget them.
On the drive up, Lee had mentioned that he really didn't know the flora or fauna after all these years in the backcountry. I've tried to learn the names of the wildflowers I've seen, so as we headed up the trail I pointed out a few.
"Do you know what that one is?"
"Er, bunchberry?"
"No, that's trillium. With three petals. They turn purple as the flower starts to die. And that one's a kind of violet."
"But it's yellow, not purple."
"Yeah. Weird, I know."
"And that's hellibore," I continued as we motored up the trail.
"Hunh. I have some in my backyard, but it looks different."
I was quite happy that I could finally teach Lee something!
As we proceeded up the switchbacks towards Cascade Pass, every time we hit a bit of snow, he'd look upslope to see if it would be a good place to get off the trail.
"What do you think? Want to head straight up here?"
"Well, sure..."
He kicked steps for a while, until I offered to take over, and I started leading the way.
"Do you think we should maybe curve around to the left a bit to where it's a bit mellower?"
"Or we could keep going straight up this. It's really not that steep," I countered.
"OK, sure, whatever you want to do," he said.
So I lead up what I thought was going to be a more direct route, over some rocks where the snow was melting out, which of course resulted in some postholing and Susan ending up in at least one tree well.
"I think I mentioned that maybe we could have gone over to the left a couple of times," he stated, ever the diplomat.
Of course, when I checked the map again, what I had thought was going to be more direct wasn't more direct at all. It was just more difficult.
When I apologized for my mistake, his response was, "Hey, you've got to learn to lead the way now." That meant a lot to me at the time and even more now.
After we passed by the Sahale glacier and were heading over into the Horseshoe Basin, we were scouting a way down into it. It looked like we could go down a fairly mellow snow slope, scramble down a rock rib... or down a steep snow finger that Lee found. From the top it looked quite steep.
While I snacked, he went halfway down the finger (and then back up).
"I think it will go. How do you feel about it? If you don't want to do it, we can certainly go around."
"Well, if you're leading it, I'm happy following..."
And thus we took another AA (Ashlock-Adams) direct route.
On the way back, we opted not to take that same snow finger. We figured that the snow would have warmed up and been less safe, so we took another snow gulley up that was a bit shorter and less steep. When we got to the rocks at the top, we had the option of scrambling up the rocks or traversing to the snow on the other side. The wide snow slope was a bit less direct but mellow, but Lee's old boots were soaked through and he made a big pouty face when I suggested it. So we scrambled up the class 3-4 rocks instead. That pouty face (with lower lip stuck out) really cracked me up.
My compact camera had died, and the screen on his somehow crapped out that day, so we were taking pictures with his camera, blindly aiming without a viewfinder. He didn't usually ask for pictures of himself, but he asked for one when we stopped to have dinner on the Sahale Arm on the way down. Unfortunately because of the viewfinder situation, that meant that I ended up cutting his feet off in the last picture I took of him.
When we got back to the trailhead, just before dark, we each had a beer. We had each brought some along, and I remember that he liked the trippel I had brought. And he was quite proud when I managed to finish it (although he probably helped a bit).
-Susan Ashlock
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Dense Air (Sea Level) and Good company!
I've know Lee for close to 15 years....off and on..... seasonably..... as we taught Telemark skiing
during the winter months and I'm at a loss as to the fact that Lee is gone......
We never climbed together but we did rope up together once, a few years ago, when I had to free dive my sail boat while we were on a cruise to Sucia Island in the San Juans.
I had driven over some polypropylene crab line and had about 20 feet wrapped around my propeller, so it was either cut it away ourselves or call for road service.
So.... since it was my boat it was decided that I do the mostly naked dive, and that Lee would belay me with a rope girth hitched around my ankle in case I passed out from the 50 degree water.
Anyway..... once the fouled rope was dispatched and I was hauled aboard, we settled into a festive evening and I remember the conversation being ribald and ever so eclectic.
Lee is a prince...Past, present and future...... He graced my life with his presence, wit and charm.
I will truly miss the guy................
Pierre (Pete) Bustanoby
WAC class of 1979
during the winter months and I'm at a loss as to the fact that Lee is gone......
We never climbed together but we did rope up together once, a few years ago, when I had to free dive my sail boat while we were on a cruise to Sucia Island in the San Juans.
I had driven over some polypropylene crab line and had about 20 feet wrapped around my propeller, so it was either cut it away ourselves or call for road service.
So.... since it was my boat it was decided that I do the mostly naked dive, and that Lee would belay me with a rope girth hitched around my ankle in case I passed out from the 50 degree water.
Anyway..... once the fouled rope was dispatched and I was hauled aboard, we settled into a festive evening and I remember the conversation being ribald and ever so eclectic.
Lee is a prince...Past, present and future...... He graced my life with his presence, wit and charm.
I will truly miss the guy................
Pierre (Pete) Bustanoby
WAC class of 1979
A full and good life
Sam Tran (ICOS Corp colleague)
PS. Susan, would it be ok to put the instructions on how to login and post on the front page? I'm thinking most people have not figured it out yet.
Getting the ball rolling...
Here are a few things I remember about Lee that I jotted down last night after I found out about the accident:
I always felt honored and lucky to climb with Lee.
He was always creative and had the knowledge and energy to solve any problem, from torn pants in the backcountry to routefinding to digging pits.
Like Murray said, you knew he would be able to get you out of any jam.
In a world where I feel like I can't trust very many people, I trusted Lee. He might not have always taken the optimal route, but he would always find something that worked. He could fix anything, stay calm in any situation, and was strong as an ox and quick as a rabbit.
He was stubborn and honest and frank and a good human being. He never stopped learning or reading.
He always, always, always had a great sense of humor, was enthusiastic about everything he did, and curious about how everything worked. He was such a goofy bastard. I can't look at a picture of him without laughing! While Murray is the great destructor, fan of trundling and burning, Lee was more of a constructor, building cairns, making solid camp sites in the snow, etc.,etc. I remember him constructing the 'golden piton award' for Pat in honor of his Bulger List completion last year.
On our recent trip that was supposed to be Monument and Lake, we ended up doing Mt. Robinson instead. He could go through the bushwhacking sections twice as fast as I could. (And so could Murray!) He cleared avalanche zones by throwing rocks and triggering wet slides. He was a master at that - his sense of snow was amazing.
Things I'll remember:
He'd always bring along a copy of the Seattle Times with him for the drive.
Doing the Jumble puzzle together.
Jack Mountain
Crater Mountain
He was so jealous of my Exped sleeping mat that I was tempted to buy one for him.
His sewing kit
His astonishment at the fact that I didn't drink. He was always giving me shit about that and very proud when I did manage to finish a beer after we finished Horseshoe on our last trip together. I was looking forward to telling him about how I hauled a bottle of riesling into camp last weekend and actually liked it.
I feel like I've told my non-climbing friends millions of stories about him, each time having to explain that he's Lee, my 52-year-old climbing partner who lives down the street.
I loved climbing with him. He was funny, but never too talkative. I either called him lardass, Old Man Adams, or to really give him a hard time, 'dad'. I can't remember us ever disagreeing about anything... although we might have debated a route or two. Perhaps the reflection of the rear-view mirror isn't quite accurate, but I can't remember ever being annoyed with him. I always went on any trip with him with all potential unpleasantries fully disclosed and he always gave me the choice of opting out of anything I might not be comfortable with.
Jesus, he was a good skier.
He LOVED South Spectacle Butte and the larches there. And he LOVED the ice 'skating' on the way down from Greenwood
He survived Hard Mox, a rock that pinned his foot underwater while he was scrambling. It seemed like he could survive anything.
I'm trying to finish a Lagunitas IPA in his honor as I type this. That's the beer the three of us shared after Silver Star in April.
I really looked up to him, perhaps more than anyone I know. It has taken me all these trips to realize that I'll never be half the climber or skier that Lee was. I learned a lot from him, just hearing about his career and other aspects of life. Maybe he was a little like a surrogate father.
I remember last summer while he was racking up summits like crazy something he said that surprised me at the time. He said that there's a lot more to life than climbing. And that really meant something to me, coming from an amazing climber who obviously felt so passionate about it.
Lee, I miss you already.
-Susan Ashlock
I always felt honored and lucky to climb with Lee.
He was always creative and had the knowledge and energy to solve any problem, from torn pants in the backcountry to routefinding to digging pits.
Like Murray said, you knew he would be able to get you out of any jam.
In a world where I feel like I can't trust very many people, I trusted Lee. He might not have always taken the optimal route, but he would always find something that worked. He could fix anything, stay calm in any situation, and was strong as an ox and quick as a rabbit.
He was stubborn and honest and frank and a good human being. He never stopped learning or reading.
He always, always, always had a great sense of humor, was enthusiastic about everything he did, and curious about how everything worked. He was such a goofy bastard. I can't look at a picture of him without laughing! While Murray is the great destructor, fan of trundling and burning, Lee was more of a constructor, building cairns, making solid camp sites in the snow, etc.,etc. I remember him constructing the 'golden piton award' for Pat in honor of his Bulger List completion last year.
On our recent trip that was supposed to be Monument and Lake, we ended up doing Mt. Robinson instead. He could go through the bushwhacking sections twice as fast as I could. (And so could Murray!) He cleared avalanche zones by throwing rocks and triggering wet slides. He was a master at that - his sense of snow was amazing.
Things I'll remember:
He'd always bring along a copy of the Seattle Times with him for the drive.
Doing the Jumble puzzle together.
Jack Mountain
Crater Mountain
He was so jealous of my Exped sleeping mat that I was tempted to buy one for him.
His sewing kit
His astonishment at the fact that I didn't drink. He was always giving me shit about that and very proud when I did manage to finish a beer after we finished Horseshoe on our last trip together. I was looking forward to telling him about how I hauled a bottle of riesling into camp last weekend and actually liked it.
I feel like I've told my non-climbing friends millions of stories about him, each time having to explain that he's Lee, my 52-year-old climbing partner who lives down the street.
I loved climbing with him. He was funny, but never too talkative. I either called him lardass, Old Man Adams, or to really give him a hard time, 'dad'. I can't remember us ever disagreeing about anything... although we might have debated a route or two. Perhaps the reflection of the rear-view mirror isn't quite accurate, but I can't remember ever being annoyed with him. I always went on any trip with him with all potential unpleasantries fully disclosed and he always gave me the choice of opting out of anything I might not be comfortable with.
Jesus, he was a good skier.
He LOVED South Spectacle Butte and the larches there. And he LOVED the ice 'skating' on the way down from Greenwood
He survived Hard Mox, a rock that pinned his foot underwater while he was scrambling. It seemed like he could survive anything.
I'm trying to finish a Lagunitas IPA in his honor as I type this. That's the beer the three of us shared after Silver Star in April.
I really looked up to him, perhaps more than anyone I know. It has taken me all these trips to realize that I'll never be half the climber or skier that Lee was. I learned a lot from him, just hearing about his career and other aspects of life. Maybe he was a little like a surrogate father.
I remember last summer while he was racking up summits like crazy something he said that surprised me at the time. He said that there's a lot more to life than climbing. And that really meant something to me, coming from an amazing climber who obviously felt so passionate about it.
Lee, I miss you already.
-Susan Ashlock
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)