I think it was something like:
- Silverado Squatters
- Bear Fingers
- Mark’s Moderate, to Theodore Roosevelt (!)
St. Helena was the first place I ever climbed outside. I was hoping I’d learned a few things since then, but it didn’t feel that way: I fell off almost everything. Way to go, top-rope tough girl.
But I’m improving as a pack-mule, if nothing else. And the relief I felt at the occasional opportunities to jam (fingers, fists, feet … um, elbows) suggests I’m coming around on crack climbing, too—at least as an alternative to hanging off sections of cheese grater.
Speaking of dairy: On the way home, Max shared lessons learned from his stint in industrial farming, milking 300 cows per shift on a desert kibbutz so hot that the cows had a shower room. This was easily the most times I’d ever heard a man say “teat infection.”