Chapter Five: Cragdog!
Cycles. Life has its ups and downs. When you’re riding the high, at some point you know that there’s bound to be a comedown. The mathematician in me says: sinusoidal wave. Same as same. There’s more than one way to skin a cat but the point is, the duality we experience in life induces a cycle. And at this point, I’m back at a trough. All of my new friends are kept busy by work and life. Meanwhile, I’m unemployed, as I ended my internship at Porsche earlier than anticipated and for the first time in my life, I don’t have to go to school. So what is Pathfinder to do, other than climb alone at the gym, like he once did before meeting his new friends?
At this point, my car is still in the shop so I Uber to Stone Summit Atlanta (SSA), the climbing gym in my area. One Friday, I come before noon, only to find out that the gym opens at 1pm. It was one of the only times this Fall that it got cold in Georgia. I remember pacing outside, trying to keep warm and ready to get my fix. Now, the gym usually opens earlier in the summer, so there are others who make the same mistake I do. When they try to open the door, I deliver the same line time and time again. “They’ll open at 1pm, the schedule has changed for the fall”. At some point, I see this small skinny dude with a beard about as big as his face. He’s wearing a pretty colorful beanie and some super small shorts. I think I wanted to make a judgment regarding this hipster hippie lookin’ dude but I was more so confused than anything.
After I read off the script in my mind, we get to talking. Patrick introduces himself and we get to talking about where we’re from. You know… the things that you tend to talk about when you meet someone. Nevermind the fact that about a week after I met him, we went to a Korean (nude) bathhouse together. We talk about Texas, where Patrick is from. I tell him about Hueco Tanks. If Fontainebleau is the mecca of European bouldering then Hueco Tanks is its American counterpart. We talk some more and decide to team up and climb in the gym together. Throughout our climbing, we kept discussing some GroupMe chat that we were a part of. Recently, I had met some people at the gym and we made a GroupMe for the SSA members who wanted to find a rope team in the gym. At the end of our session, we decide to exchange numbers. Patrick Wylie… Why does that name look familiar all of a sudden? I tell him my name which, as I’ve said before, stands out like a sore thumb. We realize that we’ve already met online and talked to each other. We were probably the only two members that actually talked in that group. We laugh and bring it up in the GroupMe, as the others joke that “They’re so glad we found each other.” True love.
Since Patrick works in film, he is occasionally unemployed. Both of us shared the same drive for punishing our bodies with nonstop climbing throughout the week and neither of us had any restrictions, like work hours or what have you. At some point, we climb at Boat Rock together and I’m introduced to Ringo (Cragdog!). I’m amused by this little “Min Pin”, who we originally thought was a Chihuahua, climbing up the rock and keeping up with us climbers. The bond that Patrick and I share solidifies and deepens, as I see what a kind and strong soul he has. Anyone who meets him falls in love with the dude instantly. He’s just that great of a character. He invites me to his friend’s giving, a first experience for me. We have a grand ol’ time and go back to his place. Of course, this hippie has a didgeridoo, or however you spell that. Another friend of ours from the gym, Tyler, who apparently calls himself Iceman, goes to town on that didgeridoo. I think it’s still reported missing from Patrick’s residence. You may or may not find yourself hearing it from the top of Currahee, on a hot miserable day, as the music slowly fades to labored amplified breathing, because it sucks going up the “Stairway to Heaven”.
Tyler snores a good bit and Pat’s roommate’s wiener dog whimpers as he tries to find shelter in my giant mountaineer thighs, trying to find the beta to block both ears off from the cacophony generated by sleeping beauty, who’s sleeping next to me. You can imagine I got a solid 4 hours of sleep. I slept some more in the car on our way to Foster Falls, going in and out of consciousness and in and out of Georgia, due to some weird sorcery (land surveying). When I get there, we meet up with Tom and Wally and I introduce Tyler and Patrick to the Chossy Trio Renegades. CTR 4 lyfe!
Fifty years from now, a young generation of climbers might see this photo. The conversation will go like this:
Man, those guys were hard back then. They didn’t even have antigravity harnesses.
No shit! And they didn’t have spider silk ropes. They used plastic ropes!
And they had to belay each other. Imagine not having your Scarpa Rock Magnet shoes when you need a break.
Not only that, they had to hike in and out. No teleporters back then.
Yep, they were hard to the core. They ate this stuff called Spam. And some of them liked it, I heard. Damn dude. Can you imagine being around back then?
— Wally’s sincere, slightly comical tribute to all who have come before us. No matter how big or small your contribution to climbing was.
It’s so cold that day, that on the warm-up route (WHICH IS NOT a 5.8!!), Wally can’t feel his skin as he locks into the crack. No golden locks there, huh? Well, his skin is destroyed as he slips out and he’s forced to resign for the day and go into teaching mode. Meanwhile, “No Take Tom”, a 60+ year old crusher sends the route with no problems whatsoever. He’s just as kind and humble as he is strong, although I don’t talk to him much that day and not by choice. When we were at the Red, I was taught to clean anchors and rappel. I wanted to put it to the test and did not realize how long it would take me to get through this. Firstly, Wally and I practiced the anchor cleaning on the ground. He told me that this is the test. If I “die”, he gets my gear. Fortunately, I got to keep my gear. We were good to go. What I didn’t realize, however, was that the route Patrick put up was my complete anti-style. I struggled with the roof section for what felt like an hour. I’m glad I told Wally to equip my Grigri before I went up because I weighted the rope nonstop. I almost bailed until Wally said: “Do you really want to tell them that you couldn’t retrieve their gear?” I get to the top and clean my first anchor, terrified to trust any of my gear. I couldn’t believe I was up in the air, with the rope untied. It just felt so unnatural. Eventually, Wally comes off belay and I rap down. When I finally “land”, relief and pride wash the frustration off of my face and Wally cracks a smile as we’re finally done with the entire ordeal.