5 Classic Southern V0s

"Yosemite Slab"

V0 -- the shudras of the bouldering caste system. It's the grade you warm up on or the grade you aspire to move on from. They are the boulders you walk past to get to your project or your well-rehearsed circuit. Nobody's spraying about V0 on Instagram or Mountain Project or 8a but there are some really great problems at the grade. Boulders that stand on their own as absolute classics despite their diminutive difficulty.

Perhaps V0 is your warm up or your cool down grade. Maybe V0 is your limit or your project as you begin climbing outside. Or maybe, if you're like me, you have been training for a 50K and you have neglected your forearms and lat muscles and fingers for so long V0 is all you can manage to send when you finally make it back out to the boulders with your buds. Whatever V0 is for you, below are some southern classics that should not be missed regardless of your climbing ability. Boulders that are megasplitter uberclassics but don't get the love they deserve because of their low end v-scale.

Cheesecake Arete

HM: Cheesecake Arete -- Zahnd, GA

Honorable mention is due to Zahnd's "Cheesecake Arete." This tall line up a picture perfect bloc in Zahnd's aptly named zone, "Land of Arete's" is unmistakable; walk around long enough and you'll see it. A perfect slice of tasty southern sandstone. The crux is standing up at the top without falling off either side. It falls just outside the Top 5 only because it's over too quick!

5. Easy Crack -- Boat Rock, GA
Boat Rock's de facto warm up is so good it has its own t-shirt designed after it. Just a short walk from the entrance, it allows one to sink one's paws into the area's sharp and abrasive granite before padding up precarious slabs all day. Despite its earned reputation as a slab mecca, Boat Rock has a lovely crack circuit to get gobie'd up on. You'll wish "Easy Crack" went on for a full pitch... or four.

4. El Classico -- Rocktown, GA
Slabs generally lend themselves well to the V0 grade because their low angle makes otherwise diminutive holds seem like bucket jugs in the gym. This one should be done every trip down to Rocktown.

3. Donkey Show -- Horse Shoe Canyon Ranch, AR
Low angle cracks and slabs don't do it for you? Travel to the Ozarks and try Horse Shoe Canyon Ranch's "Donkey Show." Follow the line of steep hero jugs to ≈ twenty-feet. Sally up for the crux and continue to the top. If it were any longer it would be 14c at the Red.

2. Jaws -- Sand Rock, AL
Is it a trad lead, a top-rope, or a boulder? "Jaws" toys with the grey area between bouldering, soloing, and third class mountaineering. Whichever way you do it -- and for the purposes of this blog, you should boulder it -- you'll enjoy the in-cuts and horns on this butt puckering arete. Don't blow it at the top! Just remember it's V0 (or that dreaded, archaic, sandbagged 5.9+) so it's all there.

1. Yosemite Slab -- Jackson Falls, IL
For this one, we must, as reluctant we may be, venture north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Illinois may not be geographically Southern but southern Illinois, with it's Kentucky and Missouri neighbors, gets an honorary position. And "Yosemite Slab" is worthy of its honor: a mammoth, beautiful, and seemingly blank piece of stone smack in the middle of the Prairie State's grandest canyon. It is perhaps the most iconic and classic V0 this side of the Mississippi River. It is tall, daunting, and plain ol' fun.

On a weekend solo adventure a few winters ago, I went out to the Falls and ran laps on this rig in between chapters of Brian Panowich's Bull Mountain. It is the only thing I have climbed at Jackson Falls and I could easily be persuaded to return and do the same again. It's just that good.

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What did I miss? Tell me in the comments.
Forth coming: 5 Classic Southern Party Trick Boulders... 

100 Favorite Things

Saw this on Semi-Rad and thought I'd take a stab at it.  So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving and in no particular order whatsoever...

1. “You Never Even Call Me By My Name” — David Allan Coe 
Steve Goodman wrote the most perfect country western song.

2. Lunch Special at Moonlight Pizza
Six bucks for a dang good slice of pizza and a cream ale.

3. Central Scrutinizer at Red River Gorge 
In the land of steep sport climbs, don't miss this killer trad slab. Cojunga.

4. Aeropress Coffee Maker 
My preferred coffee making method. 
 
5. Lookout Mountain, Tennessee 
The trails I run, the rocks I climb, the view from my commute -- one of my favorite places on earth.

6. Cormac McCarthy's Southern Appalachian Novels
The Orchard Keeper, Outer Dark, Child of God, Suttree, The Road(?) 

7. THIS Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie recipe
 Nice take on a Southern classic and my favorite thing to bake. 

8. Big Daddy Loop
1/3 of the Chattanooga trail running trifecta. 
 
9. Dale’s Pale Ale 
My go to craft brew. 

10. Outdoor Research Ferosi Hoodie
 The most versatile soft good in my gear kit: alpine climbs, trail runs, parking lot duty at school. 

The Birthday Challenge: THE ULTRA DADDY

This year was "Chet's Fourth Semi-Annual Birthday Challenge Bonanza" -- a number corresponding endurance objective to celebrate another trip around the sun. This year I ran my first ultramarathon, a 50K, or 31 miles for 31 years. No race. No medal. No t-shirt. Not even a bib number. Just a dumb idea I had about running circles in the woods. My good friend, climbing partner, and sufferfest connoisseur Josh ran Lookout Mountain's Big Daddy Loop three times with me -- THE ULTRA DADDY! 

Sidenote: I kind of burnt out on training and though I ran 13 trail miles pretty consistently, I never ran any more than that at a time. So everything I would experience after mile 13 was a mystery. Neat!

The first loop was legit fun. My wife Becca ran with us and it went by fast. I enjoyed listening to her and Josh talk about their nursing professions. We all felt really good, we ran at pretty good clip, and we had a really good time. Despite running in shorts I wore all throughout my training, I was experiencing some pretty bad chafing. Other than that, it was "Type 1 Fun."

My truck served as our "aid station" where Josh and I said goodbye to Becca then shoved some mini turkey wraps down our gullets, split a small can of Red Bull, refilled our water, dealt with our chafing issues and hit the trail again.

The second loop started off fun. Just the two of us, Josh and I talked about life and the meaning of life and social constructs and deconstruction and the appeal of Buddhism and so on and so forth. But somewhere around mile 17 or 18 we started talking more and more about what body parts were hurting the most. We made it back to the truck with stiff knees and high spirits and my sister-in-law Laura, her husband Max, and my sweet baby niece Ruby were in the parking lot.

Max joined us for the third loop, which was hell. It was tough to leave the comfort of my truck's tailgate and my right knee was really starting to yell at me but Max kept our spirits high. We were now running a little over a 14 minute mile which would devolve into a 15 minute mile and everything was a dull pain. At the marathon distance, however, Josh and I hit a wall. My right knee and my left foot were excruciating and my muscles were starting to really fatigue. The chafing that started in the first loop was starting to hurt again.

As we made the approach down toward the John Smartt trail ( a ≈ 1.7 mile uphill that gains ≈ 1,700 ft in elevation from the valley to the bluff) I was looking forward to my knees getting a "rest" going up. At Skyuka Spring we slammed some goo and made the now-ever-so-slow "speed hike" up the mountain. Of course, the rest was only a redistributing of pain from my knees to my quads.

At the crest of the bluff line, I was only 2 miles away from my Birthday Challenge goal and I was determined to "run" the rest of the way to 31. Those may be the hardest two miles of my life. Unfortunately, when we reached 31, we still had another two and a half miles to go before making the last turn downhill to the truck.

Somewhere, I remember Brendan Leonard (semi-rad.com) saying something about his goals for his next ultramarathon and wanting to "run most of the downhills." I remember thinking "the downhill? that's the easy part!" But that last 11 mile loop, I understood.

Each step downhill, no matter how small, felt like an actual endeavor in and of itself. We were passed by other runners and I wanted so desperately to protect my pride and tell them "this is our third loop!" or "we're on mile 28!" One pair of runners must have taken us for a trio of n00bs, asking us just a mile or so from the parking lot if we had headlamps because surely there was no way these two grandpas and one tall redhead would make it to their cars before dark!

Well, we didn't. But we did have headlamps. And when we got there, several friends were waiting, cheering us on and making a tunnel with their arms to run through. Josh and I cheers'd and exchanged hugs with folks before heading to Max and Laura's for pizza and ice cream. It was perfect. 

So very very very thankful for Rebecca who ran with us and planned the finish line and after party; Max who ran with us; Laura who drove up the mountain TWICE with baby Ruby (MVP!); Reid and Leah and Paul who showed up at the finish line to wish me a happy birthday; and to Josh who is always down to do hard things in the mountains with me. Next year, I think I'll go bouldering.

The ultra-daddy:

Is bouldering dumb?: A Photographic Essay

"The Brain," Chattanooga, TN

yes. yes it is.

the author.

The Birthday Challenge: 3,000 for 30

The birthday challenge is a number corresponding endurance objective. I've attempted a birthday climbing challenge three times before and have come up short that many times. When I turned 25 I attempted to climb 25 routes at the Obed but I got rained out. For my 27th birthday I attempted to climb 2,700 ft in a day but ran out of daylight. When I turned 30 last November I tried to climb 3,000 ft in a weekend -- my "El Cap birthday" -- but arrived at a cliff encased in ice and gushing with water. I felt cursed, dejected, and disappointed. As we hiked back to the truck Russ and I agreed to come back to Table Rock in March after his 30th birthday but I was not hopeful.

Table Rock hosts a slew of low grade multipitch which makes it a perfect candidate for high mileage objectives. Accessible grades can make for crowded Saturdays but the road to Table Rock was still gated off for the winter so we figured we could avoid some of the circus-like conditions by backpacking in via the Table Rock Gap Trail. This was my first climbing trip that required hiking in the tent, sleeping bags, food, water, and the rope and rack. We packed light and smart but it was still heavier than anything I ever carried as a backpacking guide.

late night start

We arrived at the Table Rock Gap trailhead at 12:30 AM and decided to hike up to the base of the cliff and camp that night. The TRG trail is steep, indeed very steep in places, but -- in my opinion -- beat the heck out of hiking up the paved road to Table Rock.

We woke up around 7:30 AM to powerful windy conditions that forced us to cook under the vestibule. A couple pouches of oatmeal and a shared cup of coffee later we hiked to the base of our first route -- Jim Dandy (5.4). Though we were alone at the campground we arrived at the route to find several climbers roping up ahead of us -- an Outward Bound guide training course. They promised a crowded cliff for the day and just like that, I perceived our goal already slipping away from us. However, they let us climb through and we managed to dodge them for the rest of the day. Huzzah!

Russ on the "Block Route"

Before lunch, and without any simul-climbing, we climbed 1, 500 ft. in sixteen-ish pitches using the three pitch Jim Dandy as our access point.

Jim Dandy + p3 of Cave Route AKA Block Route + Lightning Ledge Scramble (LLS)
Jim Dandy + K-Mart Special + LLS
Jim Dandy + My Route

My Route was exceptional. P1 takes off from the Lunch Ledge for 150 ft to a cozy belay. Small enough to feel the exposure, big enough to sit and dangle your legs over the abyss, with views of the rolling hills of western North Carolina --  if I were to create a Top 10 list of things that make me happy, belay ledges like this would be on there. Russ took p2 which holds the mental and possibly physical crux of the 5.6 route -- an airy move out from the roof of the dihedral to a slab. It's so good! Finally, p3 (the sixth pitch at that point) takes you to the summit proper for a fun ride.

a little tribute to Kyle Dempster

We escaped back to the tent for lunch -- tuna packets and tortillas and some instant "iced" coffee. Russ was feeling a bit disappointed that our objective felt so easy. I, on the other hand, who had hardly slept the night before, felt good but the sleepiness was creeping in.

The weather report gave us windy emojis and windy it was. Powerful and consistent gusts made the trees bend and move like those used car dealership inflatable tube men. (The nearest town recorded 27 mph winds.) But the eastern face of Table Rock had, thus far, guarded us from the gales. That is, until we climbed the North Ridge.

Russ coming up "My Route"

The North Ridge (5.5) sits on the northern nose of Table Rock and catches a lot of wind even on a non-windy day. The friendly wind emojis of the apple weather app felt like fierce hurricane like gusts at the base of the route. In all my years of climbing, though admittedly very little in the alpine, this was the windiest I have ever climbed in. It was wild. The rope blowing beneath me. My fingers entirely numb. Completely incapable of verbal communication with my partner. A few gusts felt like they might actually blow me off the wall. It was as full value as 5.5 gets and we were worked.

The last route of the day was a repeat of Jim Dandy to Block Route to the Lightning Ledge scramble and at this point, with all the miles of running and/or hiking in between routes, each high step on the slabs felt like the last set of lunges in the gym. I was wiped but by the end of the day we had climbed 2,270 of our 3,000 ft. objective.

bed time at Table Rock

Thursday night I probably slept a collective 2 hours. But Friday night, I crawled into my tent at 7:30 PM and didn't wake up until after 8:00 AM. We were less than 1,000 ft away from our goal and the next whole day ahead of us. But my body was feeling it. My quads were sore from the hiking and running. My calves were tight from the thousands of feet of slabbing. My back was wrecked by pulling and belaying hundreds and hundreds of meters of rope all day. The remaining routes would be no cake walk.

And they were not.

We started at Peek-a-Boo. Despite its mega-fun namesake move, the route had left a mysterious and bad taste in my mouth. The last time I climbed Peek-a-Boo was for my 27th birthday challenge. It was the route in which  the increased risk of simul-climbing registered in my mind and I also had gotten off route at some point and I didn't remember where.

It's worth mentioning at this point, and probably worth a separate post, that for the last year my lead head has been wonky. Sometimes some things just freak me out. I get inexplicably scared and problem solving and decision making take longer than usual. All this sounds rather silly when discussing a one-move-wonder 5.5 route, but it happened. And it happened worse than ever before. Elvis leg almost pushed me off the p2 traverse. The crux "peek-a-boo" move crippled me. At anchors I even forgot how to tie my clove hitch. At summit, unroped, I freaked out when Russ stepped closer to the edge than I would have liked him to. He snapped a loving but emphatic, "dude! what is wrong with you?" I had, and still have, an idea what was wrong with me but I didn't want to discuss it there nor do I want to write about it here.

Upon further inspection, Russ and I had done the 5.9 variation of the second pitch, which might have eased the embarrassment of my freak out but that had begun at the base of the route

Despite my uncharacteristic panic attack, pitches 1-2 of Peek-a-Boo is a wonderful climb. The third pitch however,  is a wandering, rope-draggy, licheny, forest fire scorched, vegetated horror-fest. If I could do it again, I would rap from the p2 anchors of Peek-a-Boo and swing over to the p2 anchors of Jim Dandy and run over to the Lunch Ledge to link up with My Route for a perfect day of classic and exciting 5.fun climbing.

Instead, we split p3 into two insufferable pitches which included a belay built -- as I found out -- in an ant bed. The thing tops out just to the right of the lightning ledge scramble and we made our way back down to our stash of water. We ditched the cams, packed a PBR, and more our way back to the east face.

Russ on p2 of "Jim Dandy" for 3756th time

This was it. One more trip up the mountain. We wanted to finish with My Route and lead the pitches we followed last time but a party was on it with a party behind them. And since another party was on Block Route as well, we decided to finish with K-Mart Special despite its high first bolt through a sea of crunchy and slippery lichen. "Whatever gets us to beer quicker," Russ said.

And we were off -- the last pitch of the day.

The mental exhaustion started to get even to Russ who seemingly just realized how much space was between the slab bolt and the fixed pin in the roof above. He placed a red C3 that walked out as soon as he moved above it. The objective he thought would be too easy was decidedly more difficult than he expected. The physical fatigue had really set in for both of us. Huffing and puffing each 5.6 move like it was a 5.12. I scarce remember a time of being so worn out.

And that's exactly it. We weren't pumped, we were exhausted from hiking with heavy loads; from not sleeping great; from running and hiking 1.5 miles between every route; from slabbing up Jim Dandy a trillion times; from pulling rope after every pitch; from belaying every pitch; from thinking through route finding and dehydration, and wind, and a panic attack. It was the exhaustion of collective of variables.  

As we coiled the rope at the Lightning Ledge and prepared to make our final scramble to the summit, I asked Russ if he thought finishing our goal would be anti-climatic. I don't really remember what he said but I think it amounted to "no."

I expected to crest the summit hooting and hollering, giving a resound "skee-yee!" as I often do when I clip the anchors of a proud send but there was no hooting and no hollering. There was only a solid high five, followed by a fist bump, and lastly a hug. We were done and it felt good. It was not an ecstatic finish as I expected but it was not the anti-climatic end I had wondered about a hundred feet below. Instead, it was the quiet contentment of accomplishing a long held goal with your best friend since second grade. And it doesn't really get any better than that. We shared the best tasting PBR I've ever had, asked a couple of hikers for a photo, and began our descent to our tent and finally to my truck. It really doesn't get much better than that. 

*fin

TL;DR

We used mountain project as our source for route lengths and figured the the Lightning Ledge Scramble to be about 100 feet. Ipso facto, Peek-a-Boo (400 ft.) + LLS (100 ft.) = 500 ft. If I could do it over again I would use another access route to the Lunch Ledge, like Cave Route besides Jim Dandy. I would rappel from p2 of Peek-a-Boo to Jim Dandy and link-up with My Route. And the MP forums have also informed me of a water source at Table Rock that would have eliminated hiking in so much water weight. Otherwise, it ruled.

In Defense of Butt Shots

A lot has changed in climbing. There's plenty of crusty and dusty old dudes on mountain project giving you a million variations of that same lament. Now, I'd like to embrace my inner curmudgeon and add to that growing and futile cacophony -- except instead of bemoaning the proliferation of bolts, the pilfering of land access, and the exploding population growth of gym rats, I want to talk about "butt shots."

Russ on "Cashmere" at Palisades Park

 

 

Remember the glory days of overly edited and poorly enhanced butt shot climbing photos? When your (hopefully non-belaying) friend would snag a phone camera photo from the ground of you on your route? It was an equalized, democratic, even Jeffersonian ideal of climbing photography. We were all the same out there, and online.

myself on "Sacbrood Virus" at the RRG

But now it seems like every recreational climber has a personal photographer jugging up an adjacent line snagging radical top-down action shots with fancy cameras and professional editing programs to bless their followers' feeds. Every instagram post looks like a curated photo from Rock and Ice instead of, you know, you and your friends just out having a good time in the woods.

Julia at the Small Wall at the Obed

Climbing photography has gotten bougie, elitist, and exclusive.

Media outlets like REI make it very clear, they want NO MORE BUTT SHOTS. Climbing Magazine wants you to go "Beyond the Butt Shot." And Mountain Project even asks you, before even uploading a photo, to reconsider uploading a posterior picture to their data base.

Andrew pulling through the roof of "Wild Pink" at T-Wall

Well, I'm sick of action shots from the top and side. I'm tired of having an elitist aesthetic forced down my throat by the burgeoning bourgeois of drone operated climbing photographers. The vast majority of us will never know what it's like to climb with an Andrew Burr or a ladylockoff but we still have memories to share. We are climbing photography's proletariat and we will not be ashamed of our posts.

Camera-phone-butt-shot climbing photographers of the world, unite. You have nothing to lose but your "likes!"

/rant

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

9.1.18

Rebecca and I had been discussing a trip to the Linville River Gorge for half a year but logistics, nursing school, and a summer apart had thus far prohibited it. Now, a rainy week all over the Southeast looked to thwart a planned Labor Day trip. Becca's fourth semester of nursing school was already in full swing and coaxing her into potentially festering in a tent for a rainy weekend in the woods was not looking promising.

I was uncharacteristically adamant, however, because I had a ring I was eager to put on her finger.

Table Rock is a gentle giant on the eastern ridge of the gorge with moderate slabs and spectacular views of the rolling hills of western North Carolina. My plan was to wake up and climb a relaxing link-up of routes up Table Rock, hike down, and spend the day relaxing at the base before climbing back up via the North Ridge route to propose just before sunset.

A mountaintop engagement. Fool proof. Romantic.

Table Rock at dusk

So I pushed and I pushed for us to go on this trip. I knew if it wasn't this weekend, I'd have to propose soon (we were well into the wedding planning process) and I'd have to propose somewhere around Chattanooga -- not "lame" per say, but not what I wanted. Becca reluctantly agreed and the trip was on.

It started poorly. The rigors of nursing school made unexpected demands of Becca that made leaving town hard. Labor Day weekend traffic combined with folks headed to Knoxville for the University of Tennessee's first football game against the West Virginia Mountaineers made the northbound journey up I-75 fairly hellacious and incredibly frustrating.

In the cab of my Toyota Tacoma, there were long periods of silence as we each got caught in our own heads. She, thinking about how much school work she could be getting done. Me, questioning whether I should propose under such stressful circumstances. We, both feeling frustrated stopped and got some Chick-Fil-A and everything seemed to be on the up and up. In good alpine style, the only way out was to keep moving up.

The drive to Linville from Chattanooga requires long stretches on backcountry mountain highways and finishes with a long, windy, poorly maintained forest service road to the top of the Table Rock formation high above the river gorge. Our five hour drive took more than seven, it was well after midnight, and we were both tired and setting up the tent in the dark was a harsh and unwelcomed reality.

The night was uncharacteristically warm for the North Carolina mountains. I think I slept 2 hours --  the egg crate dimples on my yellow Therma-Rest filled with puddles of sweat as I tossed and turned thinking and overthinking the proposal. I hadn't been this nervous since my first multi-pitch climb, somewhere in the high desert forests of New Mexico.

After an eternity of the hot dark, morning finally came. We ate breakfast. I hid the ring in the pack. We racked up and hiked in to the classic starter route, "Jim Dandy" (5.4). The first pitch is a short bolted slab to a comfy ledge. Quick and easy. The second launches up into the blue Carolina sky and traverses up and, for the uninitiated, into the unknown.

Becca turns the corner on pitch 2 of Jim Dandy

I suppose this is a good time to say that this was Rebecca's first multi-pitch. Together we've climbed plenty on the 60-80 ft sandstone walls around Chattanooga but this was our first extended foray into the vertical world. At the second belay, the exposure began to settle in. I could see it in her eyes: we were high, the trees were small, and there was substantial air under our feet and a lot more stone above our heads. Luckily, the aptly named Lunch Ledge was one quick pitch away.

At the ledge, I knew things were bad when I asked Becca if she wanted to stop and eat and she came back with a stern and emphatic, "No. Let's just keep going." This is coming from the same girl who brings two grocery bags of snacks whilst climbing at the Obed! Fear filled her voice.  Doubt filled my mind. How did I think that this obviously scary thing would obviously not be scary? Why, in my planning, did I not ever consider this possibility? I accounted for alternative routes, escape plans, emergency rappels, even dropped engagement rings (God forbid). But I failed to think about this. Do I dare ask her to marry me now?

entering the Lunch Ledge

What do I do? Do we try another route? Do I propose or not?! My head was foggy and preoccupied as I led off into "K-Mart Special" (5.6), a link-up pitch between the Lunch and Lightning Ledges. "K-Mart" moves through intimidating looking roofs that give way to joyously large jugs to keep the grade easy. But protection is scant and the ancient piton that reveals the path of least resistance was camouflaged in the lichen. I knew I wasn't going to fall but Becca, down at the belay, only saw her boyfriend -- twenty feet above his last piece and a near factor 2 fall past the anchor -- looking impossibly lost high on a wall with no other way down. More reason for her to fear.

After the roofs, "K-Mart" ascends slopers to a particularly sandbagged bulge. Well protected by a bolt, the crux guards the Lightning Ledge and the escape scramble to the summit. When Becca arrived at the belay, a single tear was running down her cheek. My decision was made: it had to be at the top of this route. All or nothing.

We stayed tied in and pitched out the traverse across the Lightning Ledge and the 3rd class scramble to the summit. All in all, Becca's first multi-pitch climb was six pitches total, from the bottom of Table Rock to the top. In my over zealous foolishness, I failed to adequately prepare her for the reality of exposed climbing in the mountains -- even if they are the eroded Appalachians. I was reminded that everything in climbing is relative: height, difficulty, fear, and fun. I took that for granted and I learned my lesson.

But I had a more pressing task before me: asking the love of my life, my best friend, and an amazing woman to spend the rest of her life with me. I had planned on proposing at the top of Table Rock's "North Ridge" because of its exposed northern point with expansive views of the Linville Gorge and the Blue Ridge Mountains. I had to devise a plan to get her over there. 

It took some coaxing -- why wander further down the mountain when we just topped the damned thing out? -- but we made our way past some photo-taking tourists to the top of the North Ridge. I set my phone on video against a rock and fidgeted to get the ring out of the pack while Becca had her back turned. As she asked the very reasonable question, "Hey, how do we get back down from here?" I clumsily fell to one knee.

In the moment, I forgot every planned statement I rehearsed in the mirror and I fumbled out the words, "Rebecca... King... will you... marry me?"

This moment is video'd. It is hard for me to watch. I sound like an absolute doofus. A goober. An oaf. It is not anywhere as romantic as I planned or expected. It is, however, a fitting end to the day. A day that did not go as planned or expected but ended very well all the same. There's probably some deeper meaning here about relationships, about marriage, and about life.

We laughed and we cried and we looked out upon the rolling hills of the Appalachians and the horizon of our lives.