The Evidence at Hand

The Indiana Genealogical Society has a new lineage society that goes by the name of the “Territorial Guard Society of Indiana” which was formed in honor of the bicentennial of the War of 1812. To qualify you must be an Indiana Genealogical Society member who is a direct descendant of someone who lived within the boundaries of present-day Indiana on or before December 11, 1816 (the date of Indiana statehood).



In this previous post I stated that I have one possible ancestral candidate who could be considered - John Bray of Switzerland County - but the information I currently have that says he was here in 1816 is hearsay...



John Bray, my 4th Great-Grandfather, was born April 28, 1761 (251 years and 2 days ago - perhaps it is a “good omen” that I learned of the Territorial Guard Society on the 251st anniversary of his birth!). John Bray is a proven Revolutionary War Patriot who, thankfully, lived long enough to file for and receive a soldiers pension (filed June 20, 1818 in Switzerland County, Indiana). John enlisted in September 1777 in Romney, Hampshire County, Virginia as a Private in the company of Capt. William Voss - he was 16 years and 5 months old at the time of his enlistment. His pension application states that he participated in the battles of Brandywine (where he was wounded), Dela, Monmouth, in N. J. and in the taking of Stoney Point and in several small skirmishes. He was honorably discharged at York town in Pennsylvania in 1780 after having served three years, the length of his enlistment. John is buried at McKay Cemetery in Craig Township, Switzerland County, Indiana.



After the Revolutionary War, John Bray, along with his parents Henry & Cathryn Bray, and six of his adult siblings, some of whom had families of their own, left their home in Hampshire County, Virginia (now West Virginia) and moved into the wilderness of western Virginia, to the area that would become Nelson County, Kentucky.



Henry Bray begins appearing in tax lists for the area in 1790 with a deed dated December 15, 1792 showing him purchasing 550 acres of land on Pottinger's Creek (south of Bardstown). However, John Bray and several of his brothers begin appearing on the tax lists in 1785 when John is taxed on 2 whites, 1 white tith. “Somewhere on the southern waters of Rolling and Beech Forks, westwardly of the waters of Hardings Creek." It is thought that John and several of his brothers entered the area first while his parents and other siblings followed later.



In fact, John may have been the first of his family to go into the area that would become Kentucky. In February 1781, a John Bray was one of five men examined and found to be qualified for the office of Deputy Surveyor for Lincoln County (Virginia) “whereupon they took the oath of allegiance and the oath of office.” I don't know for certain that this is my John Bray - he would have only been 19 years old at the time. He would turn 20 on April 28th. (Lincoln County was one of three counties created in 1780 from Kentucky County, Virginia. The other two were Jefferson and Fayette. On November 29, 1784 Nelson County was created from Jefferson.)



Tax lists from 1785 through 1796 show that John Bray resided in Nelson County. He was listed as having 50 acres of land in only one year, 1793. I have not (yet) done land record research on him. A John Bray appears in the Hardin County tax lists for 1799, 1800, and 1805. It could be the same man - Hardin County borders Nelson county on the west and was formed in 1792 from part of Nelson county. It has been a few years since doing this research so other tax lists as well as other resources may have become available, but John seems to have “disappeared” for a while. In 1807, John is mentioned in a deed record along with his brothers and sisters, all of whom are listed as being “of Nelson County” Kentucky. However, it is known for certain that several of those siblings were definitely not living in Nelson County at that time.







Nelson and Hardin counties in Kentucky are circled in red. The blue circle is where Switzerland County, Indiana is located.



So where was John Bray after 1797 (or 1805 if he was the John Bray in Hardin County) and until June 20, 1818 when his pension claim was filed in Switzerland County, Indiana? At this time all I can say for sure is “I don't know.”



A few years ago my cousin Caroline found an article written March 20, 1949 by Carrie Bray of Vevay, Switzerland County, Indiana. Carrie was a great-granddaughter of John Bray through his son Daniel. I don't know if this is the full article, it is what I was given.

“The first blacksmith was Nathan Morgan and son Willis. Nathan Morgan and Nancy Morgan Bray are brother and sister. The braytown Christian church was built in 1850. Our father David Bray, helped haul the brick on Ox carts.



“Great grandfather Bray, revolutionist, enlisted Sept. 1777 in Romney, Va. His wife Nancy Morgan Bray, who died before coming to Indiana, so grandfather and four sons and two daughters - Nancy, Betsy, John, James, and Samuel, and Daniel - my grandpa, his wife, Catherine Wallace Bray and their 2 children, Susan who married Meshac Lanchmen and Benjamin, never married. These are the ones Braytown was named for. The state was created 4 days after their arrival, March 5, 1816. Mr. George Craig was one of the first settlers. Mr. James Shaw named the Post Office Craig after him. The first mail carrier was in 1870.”

I have very little information on Nathan Morgan - he is on my to do list and I consider him to be one of the members of the John Bray FAN Club. Nathan may be Family, if he is indeed a brother of the wife of John Bray. (As far as I can determine, the above article is the only “documentation” available that John's wife was Nancy Morgan. Of course, her name has been posted in numerous online trees as well, sans sources.) Nathan could also be an Associate as well as a Neighbor. What I do know is that he applied for a pension based on his service during the Revolutionary War. When he filed his application on June 7, 1832 he was 80 years old and a resident of Switzerland County.



Nathan Morgan stated that he entered service in 1777 or 1778 as a volunteer and served as a private in the Virginia Militia under Captain William Love. He marched to North Carolina, and was stationed part of the time in Chirels [?] Head Mine in Montgomery County, Virginia. He did not receive discharge papers and no one that he knows of that is living can verify his service. Nathan was born in the state of Delaware on the 22nd of October 1752 and he has evidence of birth at home in his father's records. Nathan lived in Virginia prior to enlisting and resided in Virginia two years after service. He then removed to Georgia and lived there 8 years, then to South Carolina for 3 years. He lived in Kentucky about 27 years and has lived in Indiana 20 years. [Abstract from Switzerland County Probate Record Book A, page 326] If he had been a resident of Indiana for 20 years in 1832, that means he came here about 1812.



According to published cemetery transcriptions,Nathan Morgan is buried in McKay Cemetery, the same cemetery as John Bray. Also according to the published transcriptions, Find A Grave, and several online trees as well as information from another researcher (way back in 1999 and ..), Nathan Morgan died on September 4, 1839. However, when I was in Salt Lake City last October, I happened across a record for Nathan in Switzerland County Probate Order Book 1 (page 328) dated the 17th day of October 1835 in which Lewis H. Morgan was named Administrator of the estate of Nathan Morgan based on the report of Robert McKay the 3d that “fifteen days had fully Elapsed Since the death of the Said Nathan Morgan.” An online tree shows that Nathan had a son born October 24, 1809 named Lewis Howell Morgan. That tree lists 15 children born to Nathan, from 1776-1813 by two wives, both named Elizabeth!







Administration of the Estate of Nathan Morgan, granted to Lewis H. Morgan. Switzerland County Probate Order Book 1 (page 328) dated the 17th day of October 1835.



I don't know if pursuing additional information on Nathan Morgan will provide any clues as to when John Bray arrived in Switzerland County but it may well help with the identification of his wife, reported in the above article by Carrie Bray to be Nancy Morgan, sister of Nathan.



Reviewing the article by Carrie Bray a little further, she names the children of John Bray at the time he came to Indiana as “Nancy, Betsy, John, James, and Samuel, and Daniel” but she left out one daughter, Jane. Named in his will (dated June 26, 1832) were sons John, Daniel, and Samuel and daughters Jane Ray, Elizabeth Cotton, and Nancy Culver. Also named were his second wife Elizabeth, whom he married in 1820, and their three children George, Amelia, and Sophia.



In her article, Carrie says “The state was created 4 days after their arrival, March 5, 1816.” This is either an error on her part or a transcription error on the part of my cousin. I'm hopeful, but skeptical, that the date of March 5, 1816 is actually the date John Bray and family arrived in Indiana, which was admitted on December 11, 1816 as the 19th state of these United States. Do you think the evaluation committee for the Territorial Guard Society would allow John Bray to be admitted based on Carrie's story? Not likely...



I have three versions of the pension application of John Bray! Portions of the file were printed from microfilm in the late 1990s at the Allen County Public Library (those are stuck away in storage). Twelve pages (all that were available at the time) were downloaded in .. from Heritage Quest. Then in .. I downloaded 78 pages from Footnote (now Fold3). A few pages have been transcribed but nothing that gives any clues as to when he came to Indiana. I'll be reviewing those documents as well as the few land records that were obtained at Salt Lake City in October of last year. Maybe I'll get lucky and find something of use in his pension file!

Where I Was

May 1979. I can still feel the freezing cold of the water as I walked through the stream to the dunes. The warmth of the sun and the chill of the morning breeze. The quietness broken only by the occasional laughter and voices of other visitors. It was a time of change. One stage of life ending and another beginning. A return to civilian life after 9 1/2 years in the Navy.

I purchased a postcard at the gift shop that I still have posted on the bulletin board next to my computer. It included a few words written by Ann Zwinger ". . . even in winter there is the promise of spring. . . The white of snow becomes the white of summer clouds. . . part of each season is contained in every other."

Anyone care to venture a guess as to where this picture was taken? A little hint, western United States ;-)

Update May 21, .. 11:00 a.m

Craig Manson of Geneablogie fame has correctly identified the above scene as the Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve. Located in the southwest corner of Colorado, it is an amazing area. It's on my list of places to visit, again. Someday.

Some incredibly nice photographs:
http://www.nps.gov/archive/grsa/resources/photos_dunes.htm

Children's artwork inspired by the dunes:
http://www.nps.gov/archive/grsa/artwork.htm

Links to more photographs:
http://www.nps.gov/archive/grsa/resources/photos.htm

There are a lot of other nice websites, just do a search for Great Sand Dunes...

Verdant Cascade

Verdant Cascade, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

I came across this small waterfall while hiking in the Las Trampas Regional Wilderness. I was amazed at how green and vivid the boulders were.

All of Las Trampas is filled with interesting sights and habitats. There are hot, dusty, chaparral-covered ridges, dark, fern-filled forests, and wildflower-dotted grasslands.

These waterfalls, however, are the park's crown jewels. Hidden away in the forest, they are visited by few and known by even fewer.

Snoopy in the moonlight

After spending the last hour of daylight exploring the Devil's Garden we walked back to our campsite and waited for our friend Roger to arrive. We sat at our camp table and chatted for only a few minutes when we heard a vehicle approaching on the dirt road. Sure enough, it was Roger. He had been driving all day and hadn't eaten yet so after a quick meal and some visiting, since it was such a beautifully calm moonlit night, we decided to head back down to the garden to do some moonlight photography amongst the hoodoos. For the next hour and a half Roger and I wandered through the towering sandstone formations looking for interesting compositions. The image shown here was my favorite of the evening. I call it "Snoopy in the moonlight". See if you can tell why I gave the image this name :-)

Trip to the Jemez

We took a trip to the Jemez Mountains last week. There are two ways to get into the forest area where we prefer to go but this time we went in by way of the Gillman Tunnels. Gillman is a little town that is near the tunnel area. During the early 1900's a railroad was built up through the forest to bring out the logs. Two tunnels were blasted through an area that was solid rock with a small rocky canyon below them with a creek going through it. Eventually the railroad line was taken out and a narrow dirt road still allows cars to make the same trip. The tunnels are still there. This is a photo going into the first tunnel.

Cars - A Necessary Evil

When Jasia announced the topic of this edition of the COG, I'll have to admit that I cringed a bit. Cars have never been a "big" thing in my family. They were pretty much seen as a necessary evil, a utilitarian object required to get from one place to another. So much so, that I don't think that I have even one photograph of any of our cars. Well, that is, except for the one below, and several others of cars that were involved in accidents in which the cars were totaled. Those pictures aren't pretty and my brother and I were fortunate to walk away from the accidents uninjured with only a few bruises and scratches. I had a love-hate relationship with many of my cars. However, several other, more favorable, incidents involving cars and my family came crawling out of the recesses of my mind.


One of the earliest cars that I remember my family owning was the Nash Rambler. And, of course, we all absolutely adored the song "Beep Beep" when it came out in 1958. I wonder if that guy ever got his car out of second gear? It was a nice car though a bit small for a growing family. It was a bit crowded when we were all riding in it at the same time.

We lived out in the country, about 10 miles from the largest town (Warsaw) and nearest movie theatre. All of us (Mom, Dad, and 4 kids) would drive into Warsaw every Saturday to get groceries and once in a great while we would be treated to a movie. The Saturday Matinee at the Lake Theatre was a special event. We'd get a big bag of popcorn and a large pop to share. On this particular day it was "101 Dalmatians" that was showing, the original animated version, so it would have been 1961. Don't know why but that has stuck with me through the years. It is really irrelevant to the story. Anyway, the movie was over and we left the theatre. It was early evening and the street lights had just come on, shedding an eerie green light over everything which changed colors so they didn't look like they usually did. We were all excited and talking about the movie as we piled into our car. Dad put the key in the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. The car wouldn't start. It was then that we started noticing that something wasn't quite right. We had gotten into the wrong car! We quickly got out and strolled down the block a little ways where we found our car, right where we had left it.

When my brother got out of the Navy in the spring of 1968, he bought a Chevrolet Corvair convertible. I don't remember the details but one day, for some reason, he wanted to go into North Webster, probably to hang out with some friends, and didn't want to leave his car in town. So he wanted me to take him in. Mom was at work so his was the only car available since I didn't have my own car at that time. Problem was, the Corvair was a stick shift, and I had only driven cars with an automatic transmission. No problem, he said, he'd teach me! And so he drove the car to the field out back of the house, I slid into the driver's seat and we chugged and jerked our way around that field until I could smoothly get the car out of one gear and into the next. And that is how I learned to drive a car with a manual transmission.

The first new car that I owned, and subsequently fell in love with, was an American Motors Hornet Hatchback. I spent the year 1973 in Iceland, at the Keflavik Naval Air Station, and one of the "perks" that I took advantage of at the end of my tour of duty was a discount on the purchase of a new car. I remember spending hours going over the various brochures that were provided. Sure, I wanted a car that looked nice, performed well, was dependable, etc. But most of all I wanted something that I could travel well with. Something that would even allow me to sleep in the car, if necessary. Billed as "a sports car with room to travel in" the AMC Hornet Hatchback seemed to fit my needs and also happened to fall within my budget!

The car was delivered to a dealership in Elkhart where I picked it up while I was on leave in January 1974. It was metallic blue, and beautiful. Over the next three years that car, dubbed "Old Blue," and I criss-crossed the United States several times. From northern Indiana to Florida, then to California, then to Rochester, New York, back to Indiana, back to California, and various places in-between. I just couldn't bear to part with the car in 1977 when I was transferred to Japan so it was put in storage for two years. The car was paid for. It had a lot of miles put on it but had been taken care of quite well and was in good shape. I figured it would be cheaper to pay for storage than to have to buy a new car when I returned.

A friend stationed at Point Mugu retrieved the car from storage and prepared it for my return. When I picked up the car in May 1979 it was as good as new, better even, since I didn't have car payments to make! That summer was, without a doubt, the best summer of my life and a journey I'll always remember. After a quick trip to San Diego to visit friends I headed north, along the coast highway, taking plenty of time before finally reaching friends in the Seattle, Washington area. To say that I took advantage of the fold-down back seats for sleeping would be an understatement. I lived in "Old Blue" that summer. Eventually, I made my way back to Indiana in time to start the fall semester at Indiana State University in Terre Haute.

Old Blue got me through school and held up well for a few more years. But during the winter of 1984 the heater quit working, which meant the windows couldn't be defrosted. And with winters in northern Indiana being what they are, I really needed a heater and defroster. When I took it in to get it checked out I was told that it would cost more to repair than the car was worth. So, it was with great sadness that I traded in Old Blue and purchased my next car. When the dealer looked at the odometer and saw that it said a bit over 80,000 miles he was impressed. "Wow, a ten year old car with only 80,000+ miles, and in great shape." For a moment the thought went through my mind, maybe I shouldn't tell him the actual mileage. But then, honesty, or perhaps some thoughts of bragging rights, came over me and he was astounded when I told him it actually had 180,000+ miles. Needless to say, the trade-in value plummeted, and I got next to nothing for Old Blue. Nothing except a lot of very good memories. And those are priceless.

I tend to hang on to cars until the very end. I'm on my third vehicle since Old Blue, a Chevy Cavalier, also a hatchback style, but without a name, that I've had for eight years now and it's getting close to 140,000 miles. It too has been a good, faithful car but the miles that have been put on it haven't been nearly as much fun as those with Old Blue.

Somewhere in my boxes of pictures I would like to think that I have a photo of Old Blue, but I haven't found it yet, and a picture isn't really needed for me to remember. But this picture shows what she looked like.

While trying to locate a picture on the 'net I discovered that in the 1974 movie "The Man with the Golden Gun" James Bond drove a red AMC Hornet hatchback special coupe. And, if you are a collector, for $39.99 you can actually purchase a 1/43 scale die cast model of the car. Cool, yes, but not really something that I want. The memories are sufficient.

Tangled Roots :: Time for a Change

Saturday, September 29th - - The sign at Beverly Beach State Park in Oregon states that this is an Ancient Stump that goes...

“Back to the dawn of the bronze age! This root mass was one of many buried beneath the beaches along the Oregon Coast between Newport and Neskowin. It once supported a spruce tree, which was buried when the land suddenly dropped into the sea. It remained preserved beneath the sand for 4,100 years before surfacing and breaking free in 1998. Violent winter storms washed it into the mouth of Spencer Creek in 1999.”

The root mass was quite large, perhaps 25-30 feet in diameter and appeared to be of one piece. An amazing thing, regardless of its age, with roots going off in all directions and twisting and curving around each other.



Monday, October 3rd - - The few days I had here on the coast of Oregon were incredibly nice. The weather forecast was as nice as was predicted, and as predicted the clouds and rain returned. It's time for a change...



After a great deal of thought, and realizing (among other things) that I'm just plain tired after being "on the road" for most of the last two years, I've decided to take a break from the travels for a while. I'm not saying the journey is at an end, in some regards it may just be beginning! Yes, that's rather cryptic. Sort of follows the mood I'm in at the moment.



I've been heading east for the last two days, but not back to Indiana, at least not just yet. I'll be making a stop in Salt Lake City to do some research (for an undetermined, indefinite period of time). The ancestors have been calling me and I think the time has come that more of them will reveal themselves to me! That's what I'm hoping for... The answers are out there, somewhere, the very least I can do is go and look for them. Perhaps I can make my way through the maze of tangled roots in my family tree and expose them for their descendants to see...

Zebra Longwings

Zebra Longwings, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Zebra longwing butterflies at the Golden Gate Park Conservatory of Flowers in San Francisco.

They're hosting a live butterfly exhibit right now...

Storm Shadow

Stormy is our Miniture Horse and Shetland cross.

Dynafit Speed Skins? Help!?

I'm a little desperate here. I just bought a pair of Se7ev Summit Dynafit skis and figured getting the Dynafit skins would be easy. Seems there are none to be had in the US through normal channels. Anyone know where I can get a pair?Do they ever go on sell in Chamonix? I'm looking for a pair in163cm.



Huge "THANK YOU!"to everyone that offered sources and advice on the skin search. With everyone's help I was able to find a pair of Speed Skins for my new boards this morning! Seemingly the last pair still available in the US ;-) Truely pure chance but both skis and skinscame from REI

Me and Wiley

Coming soon

Virginia Bluebells (Mertensia virginica)


Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis)


Trillium cuneatum

Up, but not yet open... coming soon!

-----

Visit the Friday Ark for lovely critter pictures!

Ski of Dreams

After spending 36 solid hours stuck in our tent at high camp, we were treated to fresh turns all the way back to Paradise.

Gunks Routes: Falled on Account of Strain (Pitch 1 5.9), Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow (Pitch 2 5.8)

(Photo: Pointing where I think the route goes on Falled on Account of Strain, pitch two (5.10b).)



Another late-season climbing day, another chance to push the limits.



I had big ideas as Adrian and I headed to the Gunks. I knew Adrian wanted to lead WASP (5.9), which I led earlier this year. WASP sits down at the Slime Wall, near the far end of the Trapps. I've spent very little time down there, so there were a bunch of climbs I was interested in checking out. One of the top climbs on my list was Falled on Account of Strain. The first pitch, which ends at a set of bolts, is rated 5.9. The second pitch goes at 5.10b through an incredible set of gigantic, tiered roofs.



As insane as it might sound, I was thinking I would lead the second pitch. I'd seen pictures of the route; the roofs pulled at me like a magnet. The thought of climbing them had me slobbering with Pavlovian anticipation.



But first we did WASP, and I have to say I wasn't exactly feeling super strong. Following pitch one I found the early moves surprisingly difficult. I caught myself thinking I wasn't sure how I'd feel leading the route, and then remembered that I'd led it a few months ago! I had thought I might try to lead the 5.9 variation climb Stubai to You as our second pitch, but when we got up to the GT Ledge I decided, given that I felt a little tentative, to check out Sticky Gate Direct (5.7) instead. (It was good! A very nice pitch, better than pitch two of WASP.)



Back on the ground, we walked over to Falled on Account of Strain and had a look. I thought we should go for it. Adrian was totally up for the first pitch, and since it ends at bolts we could easily bail from there. I figured I could venture out to look at the roofs and come back if it seemed too hairy. Also Dick Williams suggests as an alternative the second pitch of Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, which goes through the roofs at an easier 5.8 grade. Dick gives Tomorrow x 3 no stars, but I guessed it would still be an interesting alternative, and maybe from the shared rap station we could lower ourselves over Falled and try the crux if it was too scary on lead.





(Photo: Early in the 5.9 pitch one of Falled on Account of Strain.)



We got set up beneath Falled and before getting started I wandered into the woods to take a quick leak. As I stood there amongst the trees I jokingly called over to Adrian "you're on belay, climb when ready!"



"Are you going to belay me," he replied, "or are you just going to stand there with your dick in your hand?"



Maybe you just had to be there, but this became a source of much hilarity for us. "Or are you just going to stand there with your dick in your hand" can be usefully adapted to fit into just about any climbing conversation.



For example:



"So go ahead and give me the rack, whenever you're done standing there with your dick in your hand."



Or:



"I just took this amazing photo of you, while I was holding the rope AND standing here with my dick in my hand."



And so on.



I guess you had to be there.



Anyway, pitch one of Falled on Acoount of Strain turned out to be a very worthwhile climb in its own right. Dick rates it at 5.9 but Swain calls it a 5.9+ and I think Swain has it right. The first moves are 5.6-ish but unprotected, up the face to the left of a thin seam. Once you get some pro in, about 15 feet up, you move to the right and into the crux, thin moves between spaced horizontals. The first of these moves puts your feet even with your last protective gear. Your next pro comes in a blind placement over your head at the next horizontal. Adrian is much taller than me and he had to do a pull up to examine the gear and fix it before making the next moves. Following him, I found that I had to step up fully into the move to examine the gear and get it out. I had to struggle a bit with the piece and I almost popped off while trying to remove it.



Dealing with this one difficult placement is my only real concern about eventually leading this pitch. Afterwards the climbing and the gear get easier to handle.





(Photo: Almost done with pitch one of Falled on Account of Strain. The tiered roofs await, overhead. The pitch one crux comes between the two horizontals visible in the lower right corner of the photograph.)



When I joined Adrian at the belay he asked me if I was really up for leading pitch two. Looking out at the roofs I thought it seemed simple enough to wander over and check them out. I was sure I could get gear in the first tier of the roof system. So long as I could get pro at each tier, I figured, I could keep moving up. There would be no shame in taking a hang, as long as the gear was good and the falls were clean.



And so I ventured forth, promising not to make any moves I couldn't reverse until I was sure about continuing.





(Photo: The point of no return. To continue, or not?)



I traversed easily to the first overhang. There was good gear. I believed I was at the right spot at which to pull up and over to the next tier. There was a lot of chalk even further right, but it seemed to me this was errant chalk, sucker chalk.



I pulled up enough to see if I could get gear at the next tier. I couldn't see any potential placements. This was a major bummer.



What about further right? I ventured over to the sucker chalk and looked up there. But I didn't see any gear over there either.



I wandered back to where I thought the route really went and kept looking it over. I felt a rush of emotions and excitement. I had a decision to make.



Option A: I could commit to the next tier, knowing I would have to move up AGAIN to the final tier before finding any pro. There had to be gear up there, or this thing wouldn't be rated PG, right? But if I committed to this course I doubted I could climb back down and if I popped off it would be a real fall.



Option B: I could give up and traverse back to the anchor.



I hope this doesn't sound too grandiose, but I felt I stood at a sort of crossroads.



I was straddling a line dividing my climbing past and my hoped-for climbing future. A past mired in moderates, and a future involving the real deal. A past of mucking about on ledges, and a future filled with improbable environments and thrilling situations. A past of standing around with my dick in my hand, and a future of bold action.



The atmosphere beneath the overhang was incredible. I wanted to go for it, but I wasn't quite sure I was ready. It had been a great year. Maybe this climb was meant for next year?



Adrian called over to give his opinion.



"You want me to support you, right?"



"No, dude, tell me what you really think."



"It looks crazy to me."



That was all I needed to hear. I decided to traverse back to the anchor and climb Tomorrow x 3 instead.





(Photo: Getting into the 5.8 roof on Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow.)



I'm glad we went ahead and did Tomorrow x 3, because the roof was fun. It is not a cakewalk by any means. The holds are very good, but once you are in the roof you traverse out to the left (with good pro) and it is very strenuous, a little burly, I think, for 5.8.



I later learned that Swain calls this a 5.10 roof, so I could claim this as my second 5.10 Gunks lead... but let's get real. There's no way this is a 5.10. Maybe 5.8+ or 5.9-.



Once you get above the roof, the remaining climbing up and right to the Falled anchor is very dirty/bushy, and not very pleasant. And the fixed station for Falled as of this writing is crap. There is a big old angle piton (rusty but probably fine), three nested rusty pitons (impossible to evaluate), and two equalized nuts in a horizontal, at least one of which has a cable that is almost rusted out. All of it is tied together with ancient, faded, stiff cord and webbing.



I refused to use this anchor. If you go up there, bring some cord/webbing and maybe some nuts to shore up the station. We ended up bushwhacking through filthy territory to the GT Ledge and then we rapped off the Sticky Gate tree, which will get you down with a single 70 meter or with 60 meter doubles.



Adrian later asked me why I am so attracted to these roof problems. I gave him the cold, logical reason: I'm looking for good holds and clean falls. Face climbs of the same grade tend to involve more difficult sequences and more fiddly gear. He responded quite reasonably that he prefers the face climbs because you can stop and think before the crux, whereas with the roofs you know the clock is always ticking. He felt more secure on the 5.9+ face of Falled, for example, than he did in the 5.8 roof on Tomorrow x 3, because on Falled he knew he could chew over the moves as long as he liked before making the commitment.



This is of course a matter of personal preference, with no right answer. What I failed to add to my side of the argument, but what still tips the balance for me, is that the roofs are awesome. To me there's no thrill like getting over a big roof. I guess that's just what makes me a Gunks guy. Looking at the roof photos above, I find it hard to imagine feeling any other way.

Large Rock Avalanches on the Nisqually

OK, folks, there're some major rock avalanches happening on the Nisqually Glacier. Anyone venturing near the Nisqually or even traversing across it lower down to get across to the Fan should read this post. We're not talking about a bunch of rocks, but many thousands of tons of debris in a 50' wall of snow, ice, water, dust, and rock coming down the glacier that would outrun anything in its path.


Rangers, climbers, and guides at Camp Muir first were aware when these series of slides started on the 24th of June. Rangers reported feeling the earth shake and hearing a very loud rumble. Indeed, you can tell from extent of airborne dust in the picture above that it must have been loud. Shortly after the slide occurred, the geologists at the Cascades Volcano Observatory called us and asked us what was up. Below is the seismograph reading during the event.Here's a quote from one of the original emails between the NPS and USGS. - "FYI about 10 minutes ago the climbing rangers at Camp Muir saw what they all described as the biggest icefall they've ever seen come off the Nisqually. A guide party at 8,000 ft on the Wilson glacier reported that it had multiple fingers & traveled down to about 7,800 ft. They also described it as the biggest icefall they've ever seen anywhere.
The rangers at Muir described the debris as a mix of rock & ice and being about 50 feet thick but couldn't judge the acreage covered as it is hard to see the entire run-out zone from Muir. " from Ranger Ben Guttridge.

After I heard about the slide, and saw it from my house in Packwood, I decided to hop in my airplane and take a ride towards the mountain to get some pictures as close as I could.


All in all, there have been three slides of this size in the last two days. Right now, we don't recommend crossing the Nisqually Glacier at all - although at this time, the park has not declared a "closure" of the area. If you are intent on doing the Kautz Glacier route, think about accessing the base of the route by Comet Falls trailhead. Click on this link for a Google Earth KMZ file of the approximate extent of the series of avalanches. Also, here is the screenshot of this file from Google Earth.

Lost Lake, Found Courage

Yesterday I went on a stunningly beautiful ride - a woodsy countryside loop with the fabled Lost Lake as its midpoint attraction. I'd been hearing about Lost Lake for some time, but could not quite picture what was being described. They said the road around the lake consists of dramatic "rollers" (short, steep hills) that keep coming at you until you don't know which way is up and which way is down. "There is a section where you will be braking uphill, you'll see!" explained theBlayleys gleefully.




After that sort of description, I did not imagine my first ride to the lake taking place on a day with more snow than we'd experienced all winter prior. But that is exactly what transpired.






You know how sometimes you try so hard to avoid something you're scared of, only to end up doing that exact thing? That more or less describes my weekend. On Saturday morning I awoke to a downpour washing away the snow from previous days. The weather report said that the rain would end by mid-day, and that the temperature would rise to mid-50s. I believed it, and set out for a quick ride to Lexington at noon even though it was still drizzling. A few miles in, the drizzle became a downpour again. Then the temperature started to drop instead of rising. And as I proceeded North on the Minuteman Trail, I began to encounter stretches of snow and ice. It was supposed to all have been gone by now, and it was supposed to be warm! But, well, it wasn't. And since I was already en route and soaked, I kept going.





The first couple of times I encountered snow on the path, I got off the bike and walked. But as the stretches kept coming and I got increasingly wet and cold, annoyance took over and I began riding through them - first cautiously, then more brazenly. My narrow tires cut through the slush and cracked the weak ice. The thicker snow was trickier, but I didn't panic and got through it. Before I knew it, I was riding through the very conditions I'd been avoiding all winter. Only toward the very end did the path become completely impassable, and I walked ankle deep in wet snow as freezing rain poured relentlessly.





Soaking wet head to toe, I finally limped inside the Ride Studio Cafe. They took one look at me and brought out space heaters and towels. I removed as much of what I was wearing as was acceptable and sat there shivering and drying my clothes, swearing at the weather.



After some coffee and quality time with the space heaters, my mood improved. Later that afternoon the weather indeed cleared up, and the sun even came out. When I was finally dry enough to ride home, most of the snow on the trail had melted - which made it logical to conclude that I'd be fine doing the Sunday ride the next morning, since surely the roads would be entirely clear by then.






What I failed to account for, is that the Sunday ride to Lost Lake would take us north. And in the North it's, you know, colder and consequently the snow takes longer to melt. Had I realised this in advance, I probably would not have gone. But then I would have missed out on some truly magical scenery and an extremely fun ride. The roads were not bad, but there was occasional slush and ice, and quite a bit of sand. Had I not gone on that hellish short ride alone the previous day, these road conditions at group-ride speed would have been out of my comfort zone. But because I did, I was now (just barely) okay with it. Very cautious on downhills, but otherwise fine.







There were four of us (Pamela, Dena, Emily and myself).We rode at a comfortable pace, the temperature was not too bad, and the scenery was just unreal - endless winding roads through snow-covered fields and pine trees, almost like a staged scene from some winter sporting good catalogue. Except of course it was March, and we were not cross-country skiing but riding bikes.






By the time we got to Lost Lake, I was so full of the day's impressions that I'd forgotten all about its roller-coaster reputation and did not remember until I was already doing the loop around the lake. I have to say it wasn't scary at all, just really exciting. The hills are so steep and short, that after you climb the first one there is really no need to do any work - you just steer the bike and hang on. The first downhill is so fast that you end up coasting all the way up the next hill and then it's downhill again, repeated maybe half a dozen times. And yes it's true that there is one particular section where you have to go leftish on an uphill - but you're flying up that hill so fast that you have to brake in order to make the turn.Fascinating.




I think this ride will stand out in my memory for a long time, not only because of how beautiful it was, but because I was less focused than usual on the aspects I found challenging or scary. I just kind of went with it, relaxed and enjoyed it. I am grateful to have experienced a winter landscape this perfect, and glad that fear did not stand in the way.

Saddlebags as Camera Bags?

For the past two years, I have been using either my Carradice Barley or Zimbale 7L saddlebags, with the padded Zimbale insert shown here, as camera bags. This setup is convenient, secure and fits up to three full sized (SLR or medium format) cameras. The side pockets are great for storing film, a flash unit or other accessories.



But I am also ever on the lookout for a much smaller bag that will accommodate a single camera equally well without the extra bulk. The ideal bag for this would be just large enough to swallow a DSLR with a zoom lens attached, but no larger - so that it's tucked in behind the saddle without the sides sticking out. It would be fantastic if the bag had a padded insert, but not a dealbreaker if it does not; I can make my own. Finally, I would like for the bag to have the look and feel of a classic saddlebag: earth-tone canvas, that sort of thing.






A bag such at the Velo Orange Croissant, or the Berthoud it is based on, would be perfect for the job if just a tad larger. Unfortunately they do not quite fit my camera comfortably. It looks like the similarly shaped Acorn and Zimbale bags are slightly bigger, but I am not certain they are sufficient either.






After seeing the dimensions of the Carradice Zipped Roll, I thought that it would be large enough. But while the bag is large enough in itself, the opening is quite narrow and I cannot get my camera through. The Zipped Roll has now become the Co-Habitant's handlebar bag.






This United Pedal saddlebag I spotted at the New Amsterdam bike show had the same issue - the bag itself being the perfect size, but the opening too small to fit a full-sized camera through.






It occurs to me that a traditional Roadster saddlebag design could work as well - only made of lighter fabric, so as to make sense on a roadbike.




In this era of small-scale bicycle bag manufacturers, I think it would be a great idea for someone to design the perfect single-camera saddlebag. So many cyclists are also photographers and would love to carry an SLR on their roadbikes without having to mount an expedition-sized saddlebag every time.




If you carry a full sized camera in your saddlebag, what is your setup?