Three hours of sleep later and the first person I see is Srin, a badass motherfucker from Austin. Drowsily I dropped the gate to my truck, fired up my stove, brewed some black, heated up powered eggs, black-eyed peas, and brewed some more black. I got the low down on a fresh route from Jeff Jackson, who had just put up the route the day before. He pointed it all out to me, and told me how to get to the path. Just like in school, I had a hard time following directions. Let me do it my own way. Well we did not find the path; my legs looked like bloody pincushions after these evil looking yuccas with serrated knife-edges shredded our calves and shins. On the way down we found the clearly marked path, and went back to Homero’s for some lunch. But this first time experiencing some decent exposure left my nerves a little unsettled and I was experiencing my first case of Vaginaconstableeda. We met Tammy when we got back. Homero owns the place; Tammy is like the concierge. And has all of the beta on anything you might be wondering about. "One pitch Tammy was her self ascribed moniker". I found myself talking to this woman like I had known her for years and would rely on her sound judgement regarding damn near any subject; from a good place to eat to getting a dog through the border. I am not saying that she is the Dear Abby of Hidalgo, but she has a good head on her shoulders. Tammy is right on. Edouardo, her husband, is the ying to her yang, the other side of the same coin; with a quiet solitude and pensive expression, this badass had suffered a heart attack while shooting the roof some over hang climb I forget the name of. Undaunted by temporary paralysis of his arm, he finished up the climb, belayed his partner, and rapped down. He has since been busy putting up other climbs. Tammy says that he is thankful that he suffered a heart attack and not a stroke because it is hard to climb 5.11's right after a stroke. Dave crashed in the bed of my pickup and I in my tent. Around 7:30 Dave would call out: "hey Paul, are you awake?" and even if his words had just wakened me, I would reply, "yeah" as if I had been awake for hours. "Let’s go!" Dave and I developed this ritual in the three days that we climbed where we would hand off the toilet paper like tag team wrestlers taking turns assaulting the primitive Mexican shitter into submission. Meanwhile, we would alternately watch the camping espresso unit kick out some black goodness. Minutes later we were trekking to the crag of the day. Jungle Mountaineering Friday morning. It is called jungle mountaineering because the yucca covers the walls like zits on my senior picture. And although the hearty vegetation can tear at your skin, it covers the valley and surrounding mountains with a healthy vibrant green blanket which has you stopping at the belay ledge or the walk back to Homero’s to take in the beauty of the rugged landscape. And yet, the intensity of the climbing and exposure and wild terrain is perfectly complemented by the incredibly laid back attitude inherent to the residents of Hidalgo, and all the visitors quickly emulating them. ... Potrero cont.
 assholes | the blessed event | contact toprope | hallucinations | interviews links | lettrés | sojurns | what's hot |
