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.

Megasplitter Reboot Coming 2019

Blogs are dead. Which is why I'm rebooting the artist formerly known as #dirtbagswag, more recently known as "megasplitter." Posting to an audience of none. In 2019, I'm taking a step back from instagram and instead I'll focus on occasionally writing about what I'm up to. Big things are afoot in the next year: namely, getting married. But I've also got some trips and projects I'm hoping to get sendy on. So, dear cosmic void, load this webpage into that dusty old RSS feed of yours and stay tuned. 

Summer Summary 2017 pt.II: Eastbound and Down

In July, my dad said goodbye to his mother. The whole Butterworth tribe returned to the family farm in Lynn Grove, Kentucky; we sang hymns and shared some stories. I was reminded of this Robert Capon quote from his lovely cookbook Supper of the Lamb: 

"Why can't the vast technological resources of America bring us up to at least the level of our grandmothers?" 

In the South, when people are good, we say he or she or they "are good people." Linda Butterworth "was good people" and she knew how to host company and throw a party. I hadn't hung out with my cousins in years, but in the hotel lobby we drank Cinerator, played checkers, and laughed a whole lot. "Mama B." would've loved it.

Butterworth Farm, Lynn Grove, Calloway County, KY

After the funeral Josh and I drove over to the Red River Gorge. It was the least I could do for Josh being a good sport for cutting his Colorado trip short and attending the funeral of an old lady he never met.

There are few things I love more than waking up in the cool, dark morning air for an alpine start. It's hard to convince southern climbers to partake in this mountain practice UNLESS they're planning to climb 28 routes for their 28th birthday. And I was psyched to belay Josh for another year on another birthday challenge.

Miguel's Pizza, Slade, Powell County, KY

Here's how it went down: 

• 28 pitches (5.1-5.10b)
• 20 sport routes
• 8 trad routes
• 13.08 miles hiked
• 1 Miguel's Pizza with chorizo, avocados, and extra cheese

This is the only picture (and incidentally, the only route I climbed that day) I got of Josh in the process: #yolofreesolo on "Kate's First Trad Lead." Don't ask what grade it is, it doesn't matter. Okay, it's 5.1. 

"Kate's First Trad Lead," Muir Valley, Wolfe County, KY

After Kentucky, it was to Nashville to attend my girlfriend's brother's wedding. There were free margaritas and there was this girl. It was awesome. 

Nashville, TN

After the wedding, I stayed in Nashville for a bit for some very solid date-days. Becca and I looked at some fancy aboriginal art, ate some super delicious tacos, and climbed some chossy limestone. Kings Bluff is where I did my first lead-climb and Becca did her's while we were there!  

Kings Bluff, TN

July started off the same way it did last summer: at the Obed. This time, with Eli and Julia and their friends. It rained... a lot. But we squeezed in some climbing and a lot of laughs. Climbing with Eli is a rare treasure since he went back into the military. Apparently learning how to fly helicopters in Florida keeps him from climbing very much. He still on-sighted 5.10 in the rain though. Here, Julia charges up a soggy and steep warm-up at Little Clear. 

Little Clear Creek, TN

The rest of July was spent chasing shade at Pep Boys, Sunset, and Deep Creek. And I convinced Andrew to drive up to the Obed back to Little Clear for some good ol' clips and whips on steep jugs. I day-flashed some things I on-sighted years ago and I hung on some things I on-sighted years ago. That swimming hole though...

Little Clear Creek, TN

At the end of it all, I took Becca way down south to see my homeland. My folks made fish tacos, grilled shrimp and clams from the Gulf; locally raised sausage; corn on the cob, potatoes, and fried okra from the garden. I took Becca to one of my favorite places -- the Wacissa River.

I spent a lot of weekends canoeing and camping along this beautiful spring-fed river and it was so fun to hear her coo about alligators and  how clear the water is.
 

Wacissa River, FL

She didn't hate it...

Big Blue Spring on the Wacissa River, FL

*fin.

Summer Summary 2017 pt.I: Westward Bound

My trip west was under peculiar circumstances this year. Three days before my month-long adventure I found out my grandmother had a severe brain hemorrhage. Because of an unexpected rally, my father gave me his blessings to go ahead and go -- with the foreknowledge that I could be coming back home at any point. So after my last day of work I hopped in my Tacoma and headed west.

I stopped for a kush bivouac in Boonville, Missouri before pounding it out across Kansas and on to Salida, Colorado. Dirtbag road trip pro tip: Pilot Stations > Wal Mart parking lots. 

Pilot Travel Center and Convenience Store, Boonville, MO

Not all campsites are created equal....

Banks Gulch Trailhead, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

After a couple days bouldering and milling around Salida and BV I headed up to Denver to meet up with my friend Barrett. We soloed the Second Flatiron in the AM and then drove up to Torreys Peak that evening. We ascended Torreys via the Kelso Ridge and it was a rad day in the mountains! (Read about it here.) 

"Kelso Ridge," Torreys Peak, Clear Creek County, CO

Kelso whipped me into shape for a week working back at Wilderness Expeditions. It was a blast -- albeit eventful week -- taking these kids from Alabama up one of Colorado's tallest mountains. We saw a mama bear and cub, had two moose wonder through camp, and a glissade "rescue" for a kid who slipped and slid down a snow slope. It wasn't bad, but to a 17 year-old kid from Alabama... he must've been scared. Anyway, Shavano is beautiful and the students were cool.

Colorado Trail, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

mountaineering is sexy, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

After eating my body weight in Moonlight Pizza at least twice, I headed to Boulder to meet Paul. We hiked up the East Face North Side of Seal Rock before I picked up Josh from DIA. The Seal is classic! The fourth pitch finger crack is the epitome of 5.fun.

"North Face East Side," Seal Rock, Flatirons, CO

Josh showed up and we had a few days to squeeze in as many classic easy pitches as we could before I had to head back for my grandmothers funeral. We played in Boulder Canyon and the Flatirons before heading to Colorado Springs and then on to Kentucky. 

"North Face Center," Cob Rock, Boulder Canyon, CO

Climbing in the Springs was... interesting. Fanny packs, wide brim hats, obese RV campers everywhere. We were even asked to explain our gear to a group of Asian tourists. Josh was peeved but I embraced it as a part of the Garden's experience. Our roles interestingly reversed. That's the price you pay for desert towers in city limits. 

a sea of fanny packs and wide brim hats, Garden of the Gods, CO 

"North Ridge," Montezuma's Tower, Garden of the Gods, CO

Oh, and I got a mullet. 

An Introspective Trip Report from Kelso Ridge

photo by Barrett

Kelso Ridge of Torreys Peak (14,267 ft) is a neophyte mountaineer's dream route. In May and early June the friendly third class rock scramble provides a moderately-challenging-for-mere-mortals rock and snow ascent that can either help you hone your alpine skills or prove how miserably out of mountain-shape you are. When I contacted my buddy Barrett about climbing Kelso, I had planned for the former but was more successful at the latter. 

I met Barrett in 2013 working at a backpacking guiding outfitter in Salida, CO. He is a Texas flatlander who relocated to Colorado last year after college and has made a life for himself playing in the mountains, learning the ways of the backcountry, and making ski descents of some pretty cool lines. I am a mediocre rock climber from Tennessee who -- despite working three summers backpacking in the Colorado high country -- greatly underestimated my lung and leg muscle capacities. 

The adventure began as we drove to the trailhead the night before. Caught in the grey area between winter and summer, Barrett's truck got stuck trying to make a way through the snow on Forest Road 189 somewhere between the two seasonal trailheads. By the time we dug it out, we accepted our longer hike, and fell asleep in the back for a 4:00AM courtesy call a la Aesop Rock's "Rickety Rackety." 

almost there...

We hiked the remainder of 189 in the dark and caught the morning's alpine glow as we entered the valley. For this southern boy, the crunching of snow under my boots was romantic. It hearkened of the documentaries I watched as a kid about mountaineers on Everest. My inner child felt like I was walking in their footsteps. I did not yet know that hours later the firm snow I felt so fondly of would turn to mooshy mash potato quicksand that I would hurl curses at as I sank to my knees and sometimes my waist.

it's early...

At the saddle between Kelso Mountain (13,164 ft) and Torreys Peak, the entire route can be seen: a dragon's back of snow and rock that passes two towers between 12,800 and 13,200 and finishes on a knife-edge just below a final steep push to the summit. And it was at the saddle that I realized my Black Diamond Cyborg crampons did not fit my La Sportiva Trango boots (I'm from Tennessee!). Thankfully, they fit Barrett's boots and Barrett's crampons fit mine. 

The knife's edge is the technical crux of the route in summer but in snowy conditions it was quite congenial. Instead, the exposed traverses below the two rock towers on wet, crumbly rock proved most difficult. But I've also never climbed rock in crampons before so maybe its not so bad. 

the first of two steep snow traverses

Barrett surveys the knife edge

The actual crux, of course, was my general lack of acclimatization and physical preparation. I had no idea walking in snow would be so tiring. Barrett blazed in front of me while I huffed and puffed my way to every nearest flat spot I could find. Leaning on my ice ax to catch my breath, I wondered what happened to the dorky, try-hard, first-year backpacking guide Barrett I remembered and I realized he'd actually tried hard enough to become a bonafide mountain man. I would've been proud but every ounce of energy I had was used in trying not to keel over in the fetal position, tears frozen to my face, wondering why I never went to the beach in the summer.

kick stepping is hard

at the top

After enjoying some summit Tecates and swapping summer objectives with some other climbers we postholed our way to the saddle between Grays and Torreys to begin our glissade back to the valley where more postholing would eventually lead us to our car. I'm not proud of how I handled this descent. I think I may have even attacked the snow with my ax at some point. I cursed the gods, the snow, myself, and even Barrett (for being "better" at postholing than me). It's probably a good thing Barrett was so far ahead of me; I was an angry pilgrim walking back down that valley and it wasn't becoming. 

and it was at this moment that I began to think bouldering wasn't so dumb after all

Climbing -- whether we're bouldering, trad cragging, or mountaineering -- reveals a lot about us. If we don't learn from our experiences, what are we even doing? Here's what I learned about myself on Kelso Ridge: I don't handle sucky situations well when I'm not in charge. 

I've been in plenty of planned sufferfests and unintentional epics -- situations that sucked or were scary or both -- but I'm usually the person who planned the trip, or chose the route, or got us off the route. In these scenarios, I have to have a positive attitude. "I got us into this mess. I'll get us out and it'll be okay." 

But the uncertainty of not being in charge, not being the planner, not really knowing what I'm doing... I didn't handle that very well. Which is crazy because when in life are you ever fully in charge? When in life is there ever absolute certainty about almost anything? I've got a lot of growing to do.