Today the morning sun crawled through my window and sat quietly on the floor of my apartment while I got dressed. As I left for work, I imagined it sauntering over the coffee table and up the wall only to loiter between shadows on the bookshelf for hours. Yesterday I caught it showing off near the coffee shop as it appeared satisfied by it's own unpredicted presence in the otherwise cold days of early February.
I have been hesitant to write lately. This due in part to a general lack of my own personal progression in climbing, but also in hopes of avoiding the obvious topic of unexpected change in my heart as of late. Alas, I'm overwhelmed with the freshly painted blue backdrop of my home town in Bend. In the past, I've causally opted to brave uninspiring forecasts for even a few simple pitches at the Morning Glory wall. Last weekend, and the many before have left me speechless. The walls of Smith materialize as a pop-up mud playground that gives the impression of an intricate cardboard cut out.
What better way to put life into perspective then by taking a handful of its certainties and hucking them into the air like a deck of playing cards. As they fall and reposition themselves, I'm able to tactically re-arrange my life.
Last weekend as I mindfully walked my feet into the layback of Times Up's 25ft runout, I heard a choir of shutter closures coming from the gully. Bruce Adams had sneaked into the rocks above and snapped this shot of me entering the crux — shortly before my first of many falls. Thank you Bruce :)
In other news, I'm fairly certain my cat has been plotting my ultimate demise. It's rare that on film I catch her, but as seen here she is attempting to gnaw a core shot into my new Sterling 9.2. I'll continue to document her murder attempts as time goes on. I hope to make it through the spring unscathed.