 Cave Talk
The three cavers couldn’t have known it then, but in deciding not to turn back late one Sunday afternoon in December 1994, they were to trigger events that would change our views of prehistory. They had gone into a small, known cave close to a popular hiking trail near the village of Vallon-Pontd’Arc in the Rhône-Alpes region of southern France. They suspected that a slight air current coming out of a pile of rocks at the end of the cave might mean there was more to explore beyond it.
 I am doing something extraordinary, as you have probably read on my Facebook page
I began to hate myself about 2,500 miles into a 3,000-mile bicycle trip, when I realized that I was apparently more interested in telling the Internet about my trip than I was in actually experiencing it. Somebody should really come up with a word to describe the feeling you get when you’re telling your uncle about the craziest goddamn thing that happened on your epic cross-country bike ride, and you realize he already knows the story because he read it on your blog a couple weeks ago.
 Confessions of a Crack (Climbing) Addict's Other
As far as I know, there is no 12-step program, and there isn’t a support group for families or friends of addicts. “It’s all good, clean fun,” argue the addicts as they dab away oozing knuckle blood with grimy sleeves. “Good, clean, fun.” That’s how it starts. I confess. I am a Crack Climbing Addict’s Significant Other. I try to be supportive, to understand the disease and to appreciate its power.
 Rhapsody in Blue Yonder
Mountain resort-town economics are cyclically dictated by their seasonal attractions, whether they be rivers or ski slopes. As most of the ski lifts have squealed to a halt by now, unemployed locals will scream for the borders when the gates are finally unlocked. Others will choose to take deep breaths and long draughts of beer with familiar faces at watering holes now void of tourist throngs.
 The Lost Art of Being a Slut, Or: I Am a Dory Whore
We've all done it, men and women alike. Climbers, skiers, dirtbags, boaters. Admit it, at some point in your recreational life, you have found someone's gear at least as appealing, if not more so, than the person themselves. You think yourself above sleeping with someone just to access the fringe benefits, and then you get a glimpse of that sweet camper or the Grand permit and off you go!
 Riding the Pulse of a Mountain
In the Oriental philosophy of medicine, health is achieved by maintaining balance between opposing forces such as yang (light, hot, hard, penetrating) and yin (dark, cool, soft, yielding). We as a species should take note that the world is losing yin at an alarming rate. Paradise gets paved daily. The cities, crawling with SUVs, trap and emit heat and hardness — seeming to turn the people who live there a little harder as well.
 Lucid Dreaming
Some people think life is a dream. There is no real evidence to the contrary. After all, every “fact” that defines reality in our waking life is processed through our conscious mind. All data passes through the filter of our awareness. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes and the sensation of touch are the only links to the outside realm of scientific method, identity and the concrete. From inside, reality and imagination are indistinguishable.
 Our Lady of Perpetual Wildness
Yips and howls bounce from mouths of red warriors to the sentinel mountains surrounding Crested Butte. Spring is not quite yet ready to tackle the High Country March and the deep night is a continuous melody of victorious war cries even after the Red Lady Salvation Ball revelers empty into the streets. The fight to save Mt. Emmons, aka The Red Lady, from the devastation of molybdenum extraction is one of the longest-running mining battles in history.
 Cat Grass: Mud Season Diversions in the Rockies
Trapped in the house and inundated by another late-season snow storm, I wondered if The Sun would ever come again. Days were definitely growing longer, warmer as well. The spongy ground had been newly exposed in the last week except for a few strongholds of icy crust lingering in the trees’ shadows, bastions of last Winter’s reign. Our animals sensed a change as well. Bears were probably stirring in their sleep returning from their Winter pilgrimage to dreamland.
 The First Cut is the Deepest
It’s the ultimate torture: After driving through the night from Denver, I was sitting in a motel room in Moab, Utah, with the window open, watching it rain. In sheets, buckets, cats-and-dogs. Torrential downpour. I felt like Noah, but without the ark or the wildlife. After a while, my riding buddy Ed and I got tired of watching SportsCenter inside and the deluge outside, so we got our gear on, loaded up Ed’s Pathfinder and readied for a wet ride.
 What We Eat
I watch the rocks. From my desk at work all day long, for years, I’ve watched the rocks of Mount Elden, one of Flagstaff’s lesser landforms, out the window of my classroom. Little has changed. Again today, as it always has since I’ve known it, this mountain compels me: Come. Three seasons of the year for the better part of the past two decades now, I’ve ridden its trails home each day, a few too-short miles of amazing boulder-covered, dacitic, woodsy singletrack with inspiring, evocative names like: Spring, Tree, Fat Man’s and Forces of Nature.
 Ode to the Bike Geek
Oh, Bike Geek, you are the yin to my yang, The peanut butter and cream cheese to my hamburger (don’t knock it till you try it), Not to mention the padded shorts to my saddle. Your ability to don the micro-fiber Lycra condom-like sprint suit spectacle onesie brings a euphoria to my day. Without you, no respectable human since the ’80s would wear blade sunglasses.
 Teton Climbing Achievements Announced
Climbing historian, guidebook author and TBP volunteer Renny Jackson has compiled a list of the most significant achievements in Teton climbing history. The list will serve as the foundation for the historical component of the bouldering park we seek to build at the base of Snow King Mountain in downtown Jackson Hole. We are publishing it here in full, and we actively encourage feedback from climbers and historians to help us finalize the list.
 First Chair
I believe every day should start out with quiet time, time to collect your thoughts, time to ease into the day. Today I have this as I find myself sitting in my car in the parking lot staring out the windshield, waiting for the lifts to open. A CD is playing but I can't hear the music. I'm focused on something but I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the wind-driven snow. Maybe it's just early.
 Mountain Church
February 2010 - Ritual.
Ritual is what I need.
Sitting here in this beloved mountain temple, on my nifty little ski bench in the back of the car, the dressing ritual in this special place has every exhalation feeling lighter and more peaceful. My spirit has already started climbing out of the cellar.
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