Couple kids from Iowa out for a walk in the desert.

Steph in (I think) Big Spring Canyon, Needles District, Canyonlands.

This shot reminds me a lot of the northeast Iowa landscape where I grew up.

Awww.

Heading into Squaw Canyon.

Ben, Jayson and Tommy waiting for Thanksgiving dinner to be finished, and catching the last rays of sun.

Tommy takes a turn on the slackline with a little help from Nick. Check out the old Breckenridge employee jacket, circa 2003.

We really roughed it this year, thanks to Mitsu's cooking on Thanksgiving. Not pictured is the incredible pumpkin pie Ben made in Des Moines and flew out with him. We cut it into seven pieces and made it disappear.

This happened a lot. Mid-afternoon nap in the chair.

What's funny is Mitsu was sleeping right next to the slackline, where we were flying in all directions falling off it.

Ben mans the fire. The day after Thanksgiving was equally excessive, and most of us ate ourselves into a coma with Ben and Jayson's burritos, with tortillas warmed on a tumbleweed fire.

Camera fight!

This is my favorite sequence of photos from the whole trip. Jayson, when was the last time you washed your hair?

Look at that bounce and shine!

The Pro-vitamin formula in Pantene Pro-V Full and Thick helps protect hair against damage.

It helps prevent hair loss from breakage, and maintains a thick look from root to tip.

And then, of course, I follow with Pantene Full & Thick conditioner.

The conditioning formula helps fragile hair to be more resistant to damage, and leaves it thick and full-looking.

This daily shampoo/conditioner regimen helps thin, fragile hair to look full, moisturized and thick.

This is a photo of a guy taking a photo of a guy taking a photo.

Hey Steph, smile.

There you go.

Mitsu, check out this ancient petroglyph! Mmmm.

I believe we are on our way to Chesler Park here, hoping it doesn't rain on us.

Tommy, you can shower tomorrow when we get back to Denver. But I wouldn't.

This is a photo of a guy taking a photo of a guy taking a photo of himself. Those are some of the Needles behind Ben. They look just like needles, don't they?

Voila, that's Chesler Park.

Ben takes a photo of some of the needles.

Time for a little squeeze. This is the Joint Trail. If you have a waist larger than 60 inches, it can be a problem getting through here.

After walking all morning and not seeing another soul, we ran into about 20 people right at the end of the Joint Trail. They had driven back on Jeep roads to get within about a half-mile of the trail.

Mitsu in Jeep heaven. He was so excited. Imagine, Mitsu, if that harem of Jeeps was yours!

Time for a sand angel!

Gangsta.

The sun coming up just before we packed up and drove into Moab to eat breakfast at Jax. No one knows if the food was good, but we know we ate all of it. And then home to Denver (and Chicago, and Des Moines).

"Wanna go on a road trip in the desert?" "Sure, wanna take my motorhome? We call it 'The Warrior.'" "Yes."

Day 1 of our trip was driving from Larkspur, Colo., to Great Sand Dunes National Park, where we woke up to clouds, ruining any sort of photos. There are two deer in the left foreground here, if that gives you any sense to how high those dunes are.

That's just the steam coming from a tourist train up the valley below Mick, near the New Mexico-Colorado border. I'm not sure if it's good for the environment.

Check out this great informational sign about Cumbres Pass!

Farmington, N.M.: Apparently, Jesus lives in the hotel behind the adult video store and watches people buy porn?

Four Corners: Mick does a headstand in four states.

Near Bluff, Utah: Business has been better at the old trading post.

North of Monument Valley, Utah: My co-pilot and navigator.

Looking south into Monument Valley, which looks like a bunch of rocks a kid drew.

Monument Valley: I rolled over in my sleeping bag and opened my eyes to this in the morning.

Monument Valley: Best campsite ever.

I feel like this is some of my best work as an amateur photographer ...

I mean, I really don't know anyone who could capture the essence of the side of a CruiseAmerica RV better than this.

Navajo Bridge, Arizona.

Navajo Bridge. Don't throw anything off, you little shits. I know you heard me.

North Rim, Grand Canyon National Park.

North Rim: Note the forest fire smoke 100 miles away, above Mick's ass and to the right.

This was pretty much the big objective of the whole trip: Climbing Mount Hayden. It looks like a piece in a museum from the overlook at Point Imperial.

7:45 a.m., our adventure begins.

First directions on the approach to Mount Hayden: "Jump the fence."

Of course, after that, it got way worse: Steep slope, no trail, deadfall from a forest fire 6 years ago, and thick stands of thorny New Mexico locust trees. I wore double-front Carhartts, gloves, my helmet and sunglasses, and still managed to get hacked up and poked. At the point I took this photo, I had just done the worst climbing approach of my entire life. Only thing missing was a little kid kicking me in the balls every 10 steps.

And then, let the climbing begin. Had I stayed on route, this might have been a pretty easy climb, at 5.8. But, alas. Turned out to be pretty epic, and mentally exhausting. We were climbing the back side of the rock, which is invisible from Point Imperial, and after making a 2-hour bushwhack approach, I realized how bad a place it would have been for me to fall and get any sort of injury. Hey Mick, having fun?

I was so nervous, I took two photos of the whole climb. Here's Mick about to make the last move onto the summit, at the end of the fourth pitch. Not a bad place to have a seat and kick your shoes off.

That's the whole summit, no bigger than your living room, or my apartment.

Halfway to the car, fellas.

Mick signs the summit register.

After three double-rope rappels, during which we got the ropes stuck approximately 8 times, I wanted to sit down at the base of the climb and weep. But, it was starting to get dark, so we started hiking out as fast as we could.

One hour and fifteen minutes left to hike back up to the car, 20 minutes of sunlight left. I thought I was pretty much out of adrenaline at this point, but sure enough, as soon as I started yarding my way up the fixed line up the gully about an hour from the parking lot, I heard a bowling-ball size rock come careening down and ducked as it bounced and rolled right over the top of my head. Then, I thought I was really out of adrenaline.

11 1/2 hours after we started, I was out of adrenaline. But not B.O.! Mick did a nice job of making this shot come out.

Jacob Lake Fire Tower, Arizona: Mick's up there on the first set of steps.

Colorado City, Arizona: We actually spent a few minutes hanging out in the polygamist religious fundamentalist community of Colorado City. All I noticed was that the houses were huge (you got 3 wives and 10 kids, you need a lot of rooms) and all the women in the town seemed to be wearing the same dress and the same hairstyle.

Echo Canyon, Zion National Park.

Observation Point trail, Zion.

Observation Point. Photo by Mick.

Echo Canyon -- that's Mick at the bottom of the photo.

Down by the Virgin River in Zion.

Time for the Angel's Landing trail!

Mick, about to start the dangerous part.

This is a photo I took of a lady taking a photo of me taking a photo of her ...

View from the top.

So, on the narrow part of the trail, there's this gully filled with bushes, and apparently people think that's a pretty good spot to throw their water bottles. I decided to do my good deed for the day and climb down there and pick up some trash. I stuffed my jacket with 10 old water bottles, and then ... I yelled up to Mick: "There's a pair of underwear down here." Silence. "Let me tell you what I think happened." In the underwear-tosser's defense, it is a pretty scary experience your first time. I didn't pick them up.

Angels Landing trail.

Starting the long journey home. This place was in Hatch, Utah, kind of in the middle of nowhere.

Capitol Reef National Park.

Cohab Canyon, Capitol Reef Naitonal Park.

I took this to mean that us vegetarian freaks of nature are special. I'm not sure that's what the guy meant.

Back in Colorado: Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Cold.

Of course, he had to discuss all the methods of how to shit in the woods, including the "partner shit," demonstrated here with Drew.

I don't like to brag, but my pack was so huge this year that I outfitted it with its own kickstand.

Here's our crew, ready for four days of crapping in holes, sleeping on the ground, eating dirt and talking about our feelings. Left to right: Carlos, Jack, Ivan, Miguel, Tatton, me, and Drew.

Off we go, into the Eagle Cap Wilderness in the Wallowa Mountains in eastern Oregon, where the sun always shines and it never rains.

Carlos jumps the creek. The only incident of someone falling in the creek was an hour before this, and is immortalized on video.

Our first night's camp was under this view of the ridgeline above Echo Lake.

One of this crew's many talents (besides talking smack, reciting hip hop lyrics, using Tapatio like ketchup and cracking jokes): Building stout campfires.

Our second day was an attempt at finding a route up the mountain in the middle of this photo. (photo by Drew Sauser)

OK, on the map it looked like we might have a shot.

The geographic high point of the trip, at which everyone acted like a tough guy besides Brendan and Jack. Left to right: Jack, Miguel, me, Drew, Carlos, Tatton and Ivan.

This is how we skip rocks in the Midwest, fellas.

Drew and Tatton cook dinner.

Drew Sauser, master of cooking backcountry pancakes.

"Does that one have butterscotch chips in it? Mine!"

Solid.

The start of an epic game of Tanks and Commanders, a game focusing partly on communication skills, and partly on throwing dirty socks at people while blindfolded.

Time for portraits: Tatton, who wants to be a paramedic.

Drew, who's getting married ... next summer?

Carlos, who wants to be a mechanic.

Ivan, who wants to own his own business.

Alpha Dirtbag Jack, whose father once introduced him at a party by saying, "This is my son Jack. He lives in his car."

Brendan, still up in the air.

Miguel, who wants to start a landscaping business, and be a producer/MC.

Sun goes down on Day #3, no casualties, no injuries, and only a little puking.

One last day in the woods. Time for some pinecone baseball.

When you're camping in a place that has downed trees this big, you hope no more of them fall while you're sleeping.

Carlos walking around near the creek.

Time for some light painting -- if my camera battery hadn't been dying, we would have gotten a shot of everyone writing their name. Instead, we ended up with Drew's smiley face ...

... and in a first, a light painting graffiti tag by Miguel ...

... and Ivan representing his hometown, Long Beach. So much drama in the LBC.

Survived. Back at the trailhead, ready for showers.

Kathy starts up the trail, about 7 a.m. Only 3,000 vertical feet to go!

First injury: Gash on shin from slipping on a rock. "Well, shit, Mom, my first aid kit is basically duct tape, gauze and Krazy Glue." This is one nurse practitioner who endorses Krazy Glue when sutures are not a possibility. I actually did the Krazy Gluing, and then we posed this photo a few seconds later after it dried.

Looking back down the ridge, at about 13,000 feet.

Everyone behind us. I think they were faster, but they didn't wake up at 942 feet elevation in Marshalltown, Iowa, the previous day.

The final couple hundred feet to the summit. Spirits high. Don't worry about that cloud, Mom.

Kathy summits: 5'2" lady at 14,265 feet.

I am my mother's son, in at least one respect. Cheers on the summit.

Mom and son, on top of the world. Halfway to some ice cream.

Probably the first signature from Marshalltown on the summit register in a while ...

North Star Peak next door, on the way down.

Next day, the weather wasn't so hot in Rocky Mountain National Park. This started immediately as we drove up Trail Ridge Road.

Photo on the left is from Aug. 1985, when I was 6 and Joe was 33. Photo on the right is Sept. 12, 2009, and I'm almost as old as Joe was in the other photo. After careful examination, we think this is the same location the bench was in 1985, but may have to return next year in better weather just to make sure, when we can see the mountains behind.

July 31: Mitsu and (new Big City Mountaineers Executive Director!) Syd Jones on the second belay on the East Face of Seal Rock in the Flatirons. This is Syd's first time living west of New Jersey, although he has spent tons of time out west, and in the mountains.

July 31: Mitsu, after more than a year sitting in the office and working way too much, finally gets back climbing rock again! Okay, it's only a 5.4. But sick!

July 31: Syd tops out. Not a bad view we have here in the Flatirons.

July 31: Mike runs up to the top. A few minutes before this, Mike overheard the leader of another party of four saying, "See, everybody gave me shit about bringing a water filter up here, but if we had to spend the night up here, we'd have at least 3 liters of water from this pothole." It is possible that they spent the night up there.

July 31: Brie finishes.

July 31: Sometimes I feel like the only photos I have of my girlfriend are of her wearing a climbing helmet and sunglasses. Maybe she feels like that about me, too.

July 31: This is half of our office: Mitsu, me, Syd, and Brie. Good thing we all got down safely.

July 31: The rappel off Seal Rock is free-hanging for about 60 feet, and I hate it. Steph apparently has no problem with it, though.

July 31: And neither does Syd.

July 31: Brie and Syd watch Mike finish the rappel.

Aug. 16: We started out at the Fourth Of July Trailhead with the idea of climbing both South and North Arapahoe Peaks, a traverse that would take us most of the day. Here's Mike and Chris starting up the trail.

Aug. 16: Southern gentleman Brian Williams, in town for a couple weeks before matriculating at the University of Edinburgh, crosses a stream with his friend and former Breckenridge co-worker Nick Bohnenkamp.

Aug. 16: There's a series of photos here that would have really come out well, had Nick been a little more excited to be peeing on camera, and if I had kept everybody in focus and the mountains in the frame. Instead, this is the only really good shot. Brian lets it fly into oblivion.

Aug. 16: Not a bad day for a little walk in the hills, eh boys?

Aug. 16: South Arapaho Peak in front of Nick.

Aug. 16: Natalie and Steph: "We're having fun!"

Aug. 16: Mike reflects on how he could have stayed home and watched golf on TV all day.

Aug. 16: A couple other folks on the ridge below the summit.

Aug. 16: To my knowledge, no one took a summit photo. But Nick and Brian nailed this one.

Aug. 16: And, we're out of here.

Aug. 23: Last time we were at Vedauwoo, I watched a guy lead Mother 1, a 5.7+ offwidth. For a year and a half or so, I've also heard my pal Aaron talk about how he climbed it, and immediately never wanted to climb rocks again. Also, I read stuff like this on MountainProject.com: "I thought the rating was a little stiff for a 5.7 but I guess my technique lacked as I suffered, pulled gear and bled up this course mother of a crack. I have led up to 5.9 trad and I thought this was the hardest and scariest 5.7 trad route I have done to date. Even a small fall seemed to remind me of cheese in a grater. I can see why it's a classic ... if you are ready for an ego bruising throw yourself at this." "Way humbling. My friend and I took a trip here to work on our OW technique, and jumping straight onto this first thing is like learning to swim by jumping off a ship in the middle of a storm." "Hell." So of course we drove up there and I said I wanted to get on it. Here's me wishing I had stayed home, before the climbing even begins. (Photo by Mitsu Iwasaki)

Aug. 23: Let the crying, grunting, swearing and bleeding begin. (Photo by Mitsu Iwasaki)

Aug. 23: I am wishing for a handhold or a foothold here. This continues for another 40 feet.

Aug. 23: I think right about here I took a 15-foot cheese-grater whipper, sliding down the rock and exfoliating a lot of skin on my forearms. I feel like if you were watching this whole thing take place, you would never want to climb here. (Photo by Mitsu Iwasaki)

Aug. 23: I eventually got to the top and just about fell asleep belaying Chris. When Steph saw this later that night, she said, "Just so you know, I don't think that's cool."

Aug. 23: I don't even know how this part happened.

July 3: Our July 4th plans had to be adjusted because of pouring rain all around Fort Collins, so we ended up in Vedauwoo with no wide gear and no plan. Here's Steph hanging out during a rain delay.

July 3: We didn't actually climb much, but we did have fun. Here's Aaron showing how his training for Aconcagua is going.

July 3: A couple of climbers on top of a route on the Nautilus at sunset.

July 11: Steph was out of down at a wedding all weekend, so I got to go on a date with this guy: Chris. We decided the weather forecast was pretty good to try to climb the North Buttress of Pagoda Mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park, which is that little pyramid way at the back of the gorge in this photo. A few minutes after this, it started raining on us, and we waited it out, almost turned around and went home, and then continued up the trail.

July 11: The last bit of sun going down from our bivy spot, near the base of the peak at the back of Glacier Gorge. After this, the stove didn't work (user error), and we ate granola bars for dinner before going to (try to) sleep under a rock.

July 12: After seven hours of howling wind keeping us from sleeping, everything calmed down for the sunrise so we could get up and go climbing. Here's McHenry's Peak.

July 12: Looking towards Estes Park.

July 12: The Hilton.

July 12: Chiefs Head peak.

July 12: That's Green Lake, almost the last lake up in the gorge. There's one little half-frozen one just above it. Towering over it is Pagoda Mountain.

July 12: I don't think I actually fell asleep the entire night, because of the wind and an altitude sickness headache. "How you doin'?" "Good." "Really? You look like shit." "Thanks."

July 12: Chris busts up the approach. That's Pagoda right above his head. Even after our 6-mile hike the night before, it still took us an hour and a half to get to the base of the route. I only have photos of Chris's back because I am fat and old and he is a fearless and spry young man.

July 12: Our fearless spry young man leads the first pitch.

July 12: I took this shot from the greatest belay ledge ever, wedging myself in between the face and a slab of rock up to my waist, relaxing out of the wind, as Chris froze his ass off. Maybe that's why he's not smiling in this photo.

July 12: More of the same.

July 12: "Dude, check out that storm rolling in behind you. We should really get going." About five minutes after this photo, Chris started leading the next pitch, and the thunder started crackling every three minutes, then every two minutes ... I am getting really good at not shitting my pants, I'll say that.

July 12: Just don't fall right there -- it's kind of a big swing.

July 12: So then we speed-scrambled the last 500 feet to the summit, shook hands, took three quick photos each and got the hell out of there. And by "got the hell out of there," I mean "Took two hours to slide down all the loose talus back to the bivy, pick up all our shit, get rained on four separate times and barely make it back to the trailhead to catch the last shuttle bus out at 7 p.m." Good idea, Chris.

July 18: I'm writing a story about "easy" climbing routes put up by Layton Kor in the '50s and '60s, so I asked Lee if he wanted to climb two in Boulder Canyon. Why sleep in on a Saturday when you can get up way too early and spend the morning talking shit to your buddy and bleeding? That's what I said. I am not sure why Lee didn't offer to take my pack across this tyrolean at the base of Cob Rock.

July 18: Here's Lee on the second pitch of Empor, which I thought for some reason was put up by Layton Kor in the '50s and '60s. It was not. It was still fun and a real pain in the ass for 5.7+.

July 18: "Hey Lee, I sure am glad you came so you could lead all the hard pitches."

July 18: This is on top of the first pitch of The Owl, a climb that is old-school and requires a couple spacey/weird moves. Last time we were here, it was my first time climbing for a couple months after I screwed up my shoulder in a bike accident, and I had Lee lower me off the crux of the first pitch. This time I did fine. I'm sitting in a bunch of separate piles of pigeon shit in this photo.

July 18: Lee is at about 5800 feet in this photo and is obviously not to be trusted.

July 18: On top of The Dome. Lady to our right: "Does that woo-hoo sound come out in the photo?"

July 19: I lost about five pounds on the hike into Greyrock Mountain in 85-degree heat. Awesome idea. Nice mellow Sunday.

July 19: Steph seconds the first pitch of Theodore, the best climbing of the day.

July 19: View from the top of the second pitch. This pack is heavy. Who brought all this food? Oh, I did.

July 19: We ran into a guy named Bennett Stucky who took some photos of us on the route, and remembered his e-mail address all the way back to the car so he could e-mail us a couple shots. We are the red/orange and blue dots in this photo.

July 19: There, those dots.

July 19: Steph about 10 feet below the summit.

July 19: Guess who's been drinking fruit punch Gatorade all day?

July 19: Back on semi-flat ground.

The night before our climb, I attempted a Mountain of Nachos at the Lake Sis Grille and Brew. They were nothing short of five-star.

Jayson working on our "Thank You" sign at the Stage Door coffee shop in Mount Shasta City, just before we meet our guides to climb Mount Shasta. Each of us had to raise at least $3,600 for Big City Mountaineers to participate in the climb.

Summit For Someone Shasta 2 climbers at the Bunny Flat trailhead, from left: Me, Robb, Jessica, Steph, Jayson and Zach.

Inside the hut at Horse Camp, about 1.7 miles up the trail, where we spent our first night. It rained on us, snowed up high, and the summit of the mountain popped out of the clouds for only a few minutes the whole day.

Sign on the composting toilet at Horse Camp. Funny, I have that same one at home.

Our hike to our second night's camp, just below 10,000 feet. Not too scenic, since we were inside a cloud the entire time. Check out Zach's BCM flag.

Our 3-person tent turned into the "Iowa Tent," as Robb, Jayson and I stayed together in what was a way-too-small, way-too-unventilated structure.

Robb at camp, climbers in the background.

Guide Jason Champion (real name) and I built this sweet-ass bathroom with one shovel and a bunch of work. I hope the next people to use our campsite enjoy it as much as we did.

Here's what you take in the bathroom with you -- a bag to crap in. Once you get back to the trailhead, you're required to light your poop bag on fire and throw it on a cranky old man's doorstep.

Jayson with the poop target. I got a 10. I think my mom is very proud of me.

Zach, Steph and Jessica wait for Jason to finish cooking dinner. Split pea soup and couscous with ... lentils, which proved to be not so good for people sharing a small, stuffy tent.

After going to bed at about 6:30, we were up at 12:30 a.m. to start climbing. Robb is fresh as a daisy, having actually slept a few hours, unlike myself.

Somewhere, that's Jessica, Jayson, Zach and guide Natalie taking a break. This is our second rest stop, at about 3:45 a.m., I think just below 12,000 feet.

And a couple hours later, the sun came up, now that we're now above the clouds we hiked through the day before.

Feeling pretty chipper now that the sun's up.

After the misery of hacking our way up Misery Hill, here's all that was left -- about 300 vertical feet to the rocky summit.

Robb and I enjoying the view to the west from the top of Misery Hill.

Zach, about ten vertical feet from the summit, after 6 straight hours of crushing it.

Time for an ice-cold refreshing Shasta Cola.

The whole team on the 14,162-foot summit. Clockwise from left: Jason, Zach, Jayson, Jessica, Robb, Natalie, me, and Steph.

Awwww.

The team heads down, ahead of schedule.

Looking west from the top of Misery Hill on our way down.

Steph's new Facebook profile photo?

Pretty sweet souvenir.

The first really clear view we had of Shasta was the day after we climbed it. I think Jayson's at about 3,500 feet taking this photo, so the summit is more than 10,000 feet from where he's standing.

Most of our approach to the North Couloir was on a mining road, at the end of which were some buildings, in front of which was this sign. Almost exactly the same verbiage as the song.

That's the east ridge of Quandary Peak in front of Chris and Nick. Chris had some other idea, but I talked him into this: Climb the North Couloir on Quandary and ski down the east ridge. If I were Chris and/or Nick, I would have thrown a sack over my head and beaten the shit out of me for talking them into this idea.

Nick and Chris head up the last few feet of snow to the lake at the base of the couloir. Somehow, I didn't take a photo of the actual couloir. Dave Cooper's 'Colorado Snow Climbs' book says it "offers almost 2,000 vertical feet of snow," starting at about 12,000 feet and popping out at about 14,000 feet.

Unnamed lake beneath unnamed peak. Nice place to stop and eat breakfast No. 2.

Chris starts to kick steps up the couloir. The snow was very firm at this point.

Nick borrowed my camera and took this photo of me right before he started to climb up what was a scary 4th-class rock step. In crampons. And skis on his back. And an ice axe in one hand. For a guy who hadn't climbed rocks since last July, I thought he nailed it.

At some point, these guys made me lead and kick steps up the couloir, which was when I was able to snap this brilliant between-the-legs shot of them.

I think it was right about here that this climb became the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Of course, we're probably a little more than halfway up it at this point. Stages after this include me thinking a) it might be okay to just lay down and die here and b) wishing for an avalanche

Chris decided to take a break here and take a couple sips off the one bottle of water he brought for the climb. He figured it was a good time to do a little rehydrating, before he passed out. At this point, I was taking about 10 steps up, stopping and taking 10 breaths, sometimes postholing another foot every time I stepped in one of the steps Nick had kicked. I need to lose some weight.

We topped out with about 300 vertical feet to the summit, at which point I lost all motivation to continue, having developed a pretty migraine-esque altitude sickness headache. Here's Nick slogging up the final ridge to the summit, 14,285 feet.

Our heroes on the summit. I'm the only one actually screaming "Whoo!" as the photo was taken.

The last time Nick and I were on the summit of Quandary was in August 2005. We thought it was pretty funny to climb the peak in shirts and ties, until we got to the top and found this guy in a full Spider-Man costume. I'm still not sure why his girfriend got in the photo.

A guy named Colin was kind enough to snap photos of Chris with his iPhone and then e-mail them to him. What a badass Chris looks like here.

This is where it started to get really miserable. The snow was OK (in spots), but my legs weren't exactly working well on the way down, and I fell three times on the descent. I skied maybe 500 vertical feet before I bailed and started walking down in my ski boots. Nick got about 4 turns in and decided it was better for his long-term health if he just walked down the east ridge instead. Except the wind was gusting so hard it actually knocked him down twice while he was walking. I think for me, Quandary started feeling like a schoolyard bully at that point. And we still had more postholing to go, most of the time getting shoved around by 30-40 mph wind gusts. Yay, mountains! We made it back to the car in just over 10 hours, total.

That's the actual mountain on Nick's left -- we didn't ski the snowfield on this face because it looked like a huge pain in the ass getting down from it when the snow ran out. And we were scared it was too difficult. But it was a very manly, informed kind of scared.

It was apparently a pretty lean year for snow on Square Top -- we ended up just climbing the mountain and doing a partial ski descent down. Behind Nick are Mount Bierstadt and the very summit of Mount Evans, both 14ers. Square Top is 13,794 feet high, and according to my map-reading skills, we started bitching at about 12,400 feet, somewhere around where Nick is in this photo.

Nick on the final few steps to the summit.

Summit photo.

Holy shit, is it hard to jump with skis and a pack on when you're standing on flat ground. Nick did a pretty admirable job of snapping this photo when I was able to get some air under my feet.

Nick carrying his skis down partway. We did a lot of this -- ski down 200 feet, take skis off, walk, put skis back on, skid down 200 feet, take skis off, walk ...

Here's me crushing it as much as I am capable. Intermittently mushy snow + being a shitty skier = I'm happy we didn't go after something harder. Nick put together a few good tele turns, but I think for the most part we looked like The Golden Girls on skis. You know, if they had skied a couple times before.

Take skis off, walk ...

The longest run we put together. If you look about 8 turns above where I am in this photo, that's where I was whooping like a cowboy and hit some chunky snow and promptly cratered headfirst, probably vastly entertaining for the two hikers watching me.

Nick, almost down. After this, we still had about a mile and a half of hiking, with way too much postholing and mud.

My poles, donated to the cause by fifth-degree dirtbag Brian Williams as he was giving away or selling all his possessions before he left Denver to go teach English in China. I fear this might be their last outing, after I bent the right one falling. So long, old friend.

A couple walking in front of us on the way back to the car.

Here's Mark, a guide from San Juan Mountain Guides, about as close as I came to keeping up with him all day. I had told Steph I was going to buy myself a guided climb in The Black in 2009, but she beat me to it and got it for me for my birthday. The Black Canyon is notorious for long, hard routes, loose rock, poison ivy, weather you can't see rolling in on top of you, fire, brimstone, gargoyles, fire-breathing jungle cats, ugly women, and flat beer. Okay, not all of that stuff, but it's so notorious, I was scared enough to want a guide to take me there my first time. This is at about 5:45 a.m.

On the phone, I told Mark I'd like to climb a route that went as close from the river to the rim as possible. That's what I got. Well, what I got was an ass-kicking on the Russian Arete, a 5.9 or 5.9+ route. Here's the Gunnison River bombing past us at about 6:30 a.m. There's some quote everyone uses about the Black Canyon being deep, narrow and somber, but all I know is that it's so deep and narrow that satellite phones don't work in the bottom of it.

Sticks hand in river, 6:32 a.m.

I believe this is a shot I took from the bottom of the first pitch. We climbed so fast I didn't have any time to take photos, eat, or whine too much. Mark led all 6 of the pitches, which were 175-200 feet each, and I did my best to keep up. I flailed and flailed in a slightly overhanging hand crack on the second pitch for about 15 minutes, fell twice and was pretty sure we were going to have to rappel off and quit.

Mark at the second belay, I think. It got a little better from here, but stayed pretty sustained, steep, exposed and scary for me. The Black Canyon is infamous for bands of pegmatite, a friable rock that sometimes basically disintegrates as you pull on it or try to use it for a foothold. Awesome. I also pulled off two plate-sized handholds while climbing and got to listen to them shatter on the rock below.

Ha ha, I sure am glad I don't have to lead a single pitch of this climb. At the belay at the top of the fifth pitch, I was standing on a block about the size of a refrigerator, waiting for Mark to finish the lead so I could start climbing, and I heard a whizzzzzzzz and then SMACK as a golf-ball-sized rock landed about 18 inches away from my left foot. I figured out it came from about 150 feet above me as I climbed the pitch and saw the rope running through a small pile of loose rocks.

After six pitches, it's just "a scramble" to the rim of the canyon. Like 700 feet of scrambling. Shit like this, which Mark basically free soloed, and I was sticking my hands in my chalk bag for as I followed him.

On the rim, 12:30 p.m.

I took this shot from the Chasm View Overlook later in the afternoon. The wall way in the back is the Painted Wall, and is about 2200 feet tall. I was chatting with a couple from Kingston, N.Y. at the viewpoint, and the guy said there was no way you could take a photo that showed how deep the canyon was. The Russian Arete is on the far right.

The Russian Arete is a little to the left of the dark gully in the right center of the photo.

Here, check out this fancy diagram I made of all the fun I had on Saturday. River to rim, Mark said it was about 2000 feet.

Mark wiped our names off the board before I took a photo. This is back at the North Rim ranger station, about 1 p.m. The North Rim is remote enough that the ranger station doesn't even have a phone.