Except one.

Getting injured. Again, if you know anything about my past, I should have THAT figured out, too. In 2002, I was accidentally dropped 100 feet onto talus, shattering my feet, back, neck and a long list of things that plague me to this day.

Three weeks ago, while bouldering with a new amputee, I popped off a rock about a foot above the ground. Of course I didn’t have a pad under me; I was, after all, just sussing the opening moves on a problem I had done years before. But off I went to the very pointed rocks below my foot, which in a grand offering of thanks, broke upon impact on those rocks. I heard a branch break, only to find no branch …

Now three weeks later and very bored, I think I may be getting a grip that is somewhat helpful.

I will never be “pain free” as long as I walk this planet. I don’t mean that in a weird way, just that I’ve figured out that in the line of sports I do for both fun and work, things break. All my friends who don’t climb ask me, Is that enough? Like I can turn this on and off like a light and move onto the next big thing in my life. If only it were that simple. Climbing is something that God has hardwired me for; it’s like breathing and eating, and to not be doing it drives me crazy. I don’t think of the things it has taken from me — my right leg, feeling in my legs, given a nerve disorder in my leg and hips, and chronic pain. I look to the things it gives me every time I tie in or boulder. The feeling of leaving the flat earth and moving up through small problems and escaping the regular, sometimes trivial world I am a part of. I cannot find anther pursuit that gets me to the plain of focus climbing does. I ski and mountain bike, both worthy pursuits, but on the best days they are fulfilling but never to the level that climbing gets me to.

A week before I crunched my foot, I succeeded on a route in the canyon near my home. Cyn, my wife, belayed me on the 90-foot pitch that worked its way up and through a roof. I had worked it twice before and knew I could do it; it was a matter of trying hard and the balance of speed and footwork. Keep in mind, I said 23 years before, and I still love to find that path I need to go down to succeed on a route that’s hard for me. That thrill never gets old, and I still obsess over routes like I did when I was six months into this lifelong journey of climbing I embarked on so long ago.

Regrets?

Sure, I have a few, but only that I have to spend time in a walking boot again and miss out on the climbing I could be doing. In truth, it cements my bond back to climbing because I do the things normal people do to have fun. I go to the gym and lift weights (yuck), I ride a stationary bike (did you know you never move and there is no wind?!), and it makes me realize how blessed I am to have found climbing. I know for sure that had I not found it, I would have turned into a 250-pound couch potato who never really excelled at anything. But that’s me.

So then yes, in some respects the price is high, but I will continue to gladly pay to play because the alternative is way too high a price.

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

As a parent I struggle with what I should and shouldn’t let my kids do.

In the past, I tried to look at each incident as it happened. For example, can they ski that line safely or am I asking for trouble by letting them? Can they climb that route without falling and swinging into a wall or dihedral and getting hurt?

First and foremost, my wife and I are climbers. We’ve been at it for a long time, and I like to think I have a pretty good handle on it. Even after an accident claimed a lot of my body, a climbing accident I might add, I still feel like it’s a good pursuit and one that really fills a void in my life.

Last season, though, was a tough one to figure out and a tougher one to look forward from. Three climbing friends died in China. I didn’t know them well, and I felt really off when it all happened. They had a lot of experience like me, yet when the time came, they were gone.

Toward the end of summer, I got a call in a hotel room that I never thought I would get. My close friend Craig was killed while climbing in the Northwest. Craig was one of the first people I met and climbed with when I moved to Colorado 16 years ago. He was a kind and gentle guy who could climb almost anything. He taught me a lot and was a great friend. Recently, he had a new girl in his life, his daughter Guila, who he and his wife adored. Craig was a guide and made his living being safe; in fact when he died, he was training for a safety test he needed to take to keep some of his guiding credentials up to date. Again, when it’s time, you get slapped pretty hard and there is nothing you can do about it.

It’s with these thoughts I trudge into the mountains again on Saturday. My wife and kids are ahead of me, and all the parental stuff rolls around my head like a storm front. The pain in my leg and back are all-too-real reminders of what can go wrong, and they also remind me that I have no control of this life. It’s that thought that allows me to hand my 11-year-old the sharp end of the rope at the base of our first climb. The sharp end refers to the fact she will be leading up this climb first, so if she falls, she will FALL to her last bolt. The bolts are spaced at about 10- to 15-foot intervals, making the falls roughly double if she were to fall at the blots. She is nervous, and I am more so. I tell her she can do this, and that she has all the skills to hike right up this thing. With that, she casts off into a sea of granite rising above her like a wave frozen in time.

Once she makes the first clip, I feel better. This means she shouldn’t hit the ground if she were to fall, but she is still a long way from the top. She climbs quietly. Her focus is sharp, and she cruises bolt to bolt with little or no hesitation. It’s over in less than 10 minutes. She clips the anchors and lowers back to the ground, where her mom and I high-five her. I have a weird mix of fear, joy and pride that swims inside me as I look at her untying. Could she have gotten hurt?

Yes.

Would I do it again?

Yes, in a heartbeat.

Why? Because in life, I figure we really don’t have any control, that the things that are going to happen, either good or bad, are going to happen. And if I can give my kids some skills to cope with life and stress in the form of climbing, well, that’s a good thing.

The day passes fast, and before I know it we are walking out to the car. They both have climbed today, and well. Will didn’t want to lead yet, and that’s OK; I think he will be ready next year. Mayah felt great, she climbed a few more routes on top rope, and then read a book in the sun.

Now all I have to worry about is the boys she’ll meet in school. And I know I’ll struggle with that way more than her climbing.

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

Cloudveil ambassador and former Mountain Murmur contributor Chuck Fryberger has made a climbing film he says goes “to the heart of the sport.”

Shot in high-definition 35mm, “Core” follows a cast of some of the sport’s most dedicated athletes from around the world as they reach for first ascents. Fryberger also touts the film as an exploration of “the contrast in landscape and lifestyle that defines the sport.”

“Core” is on tour around the United States and Europe. Tonight there will be a screening at Enclosure Rock Gym in Jackson beginning at 7:30 p.m. A $10 donation is requested at the door, and proceeds will benefit Teton Boulder Project.

How we celebrate Mother’s Day is as different for us as our moms are.

My wife is a great mom to our two kids. They adore her, which is how it should be. One of the things I know they lie about her is that she isn’t the typical mom. Yes, she is there every night for homework and dinner, and the plays and sporting events. But it’s the fact that she also loves to get dirty that makes her really stand out.

She’s a climber.

It’s what drew me to her in the beginning and one of the things that bonds us together as we move through life. So on Mother’s Day this year, all she wanted to do was go climb in the Rez and play with the kids.

We hit up a local favorite and worked on problems in the sun. It was hot enough to climb shirtless and in tank tops, so she was very much in her element. We’ve climbed together for 16 years now, and I never tire of pebble wrestling with her (that’s what we call bouldering). She is always happy when she is climbing even if she is getting worked. The kids ran around and had pine cone wars, a game I had never seen before but still thought was funny. Her mom was visiting us, and we hauled a chair up to the boulders so she could read her book in the shade while we climbed. It was nice to have two generations of women who love the outdoors.

The hours slipped by, and we joined in with some younger climbers, showing them the problems we knew and helping them work on moves they were trying to learn.

Having bouldered in this area for so long, it’s always fun to show the climbers who are either learning or visiting the problems and areas they may not know yet.

Once the pine cone wars ended the kids joined in for some very relaxed climbing, so relaxed it looked a lot like they were sitting down on the rocks. They have a way of letting us know when they are ready to head out. Cyn was done, too, as her tips were raw and hands tired. I also think that because Cold Stone was giving moms free ice cream, leaving was not all that bad of an idea!

It was a great way to celebrate her, the different kind of mom she is, and thank her for all she does for us every day.

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

The ABS Nationals were held last weekend in Washington, D.C. I know what you’re asking yourself … What are the ABS Nationals and why would I care?

I’ve actually asked myself those same questions, and until now I had a hard time understanding how climbing plastic mountains really pertained to or made our sport any better.

I’m not a comp climber; I don’t travel the comp circuit and even avoid the local comps in my area. I pretty much rock climb.

Don’t mistake what I’m saying; I use plastic to train and stay fit for climbing, but it’s a means to an end for me. The comp scene, on the other hand, is the end for some. They love it.

I got my first taste about four years ago competing in the Extremity Games. It’s the X Games for disabled folks. With the crowd watching, we sent route after route in a hot, humid Florida gym. I sweated off about 15 gallons and went through 50 blocks of chalk.

But, man, it was fun!

I ended up winning gold medals in both routes and bouldering that year, and really got into the cheering crowd, loud music, rock star kinda feeling.

In our sport, we don’t have real celebrities. Comp climbers are pretty close, with the cool gyms, prize money, and the swag. You start to think that there could really be a future in climbing. Then you find out they’re all like 12, and they live at home or in their car, and it seems like less of a good idea.

I compete in two comps a year, the Teva Mountain Games and the Extremity Games. I always compete against able-bodied athletes; why wouldn’t I? And I really do love the whole game that it makes climbing into.

This comp was different because I was there to raise awareness of disabled climbers and research a way to add an Adaptive Climber category to the competitions happening around the country. I got the chance to meet with the head of USA Climbing, and in the months ahead we hope to lay the groundwork for disabled climbers to compete on a local and national level.

The comp was great. I even won the division I entered, which is always a surprise, but the two I climbed with — both missing a large part of their legs — were awe inspiring.

McKayla is missing her leg from the hip down, which means to even get to the climb, she has to crawl or hop. She usually crawls, and then pulls herself up onto the start holds. There is no good foot beta for a person missing that much leg. I use a modified prosthetic foot when I climb, and it does really well for me. I can climb pretty much where I was before I lost my leg; it just has to be done differently. For her, though, there is no leg to play with, or to balance on while she adjusts her real leg. There is only air, and she is still able to climb.

Though she gets frustrated by the problems, all I can say is how much she inspires me to try that much harder. Even when she is down, she never complains. She just rests and tries again. By the end of the day she is tired, but her smile is huge, and she really impresses anyone who sees her climb.

In the end, I get what these comps can do for people. Yes, it’s fun and a challenge, but it also shows us that sometimes it’s not the means to an end, it’s just a place climbers can get together and play. Legs or no, it’s a place to get better, support each other, and learn a new way to climb.

In the end, it’s exactly what I love about climbing.

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

“This is serious …” I’m trying to get Will’s attention as he plays with his fork in the Silver Nugget restaurant in Ouray, Colo. We’ve just come from getting him some boots and crampons so we can ice climb tomorrow in the Box Canyon.

Ouray has the only ice park of its kind, consisting of some 200 ice climbs easily accessible in the canyon at the end of town. My wife and I are trying to get our 9-year-old to understand the importance of how slippery ice is when in contact with Gore-Tex, but he is more interested in the table cloth and how the fork can shoot sugar packets: “Like a catapult!”

This is yet the latest chapter in bad parenting (read: put your kids in harm’s way in hopes of creating memories that last a lifetime) for Cyn and me. We’ve just come from Crested Butte, where Cyn used to live, and skiing some amazing steeps with the kids. It was their first introduction to really steep stuff, and both handled it well.

Time to step it up a notch, right?

Ice climbing was something we put on hold for a while since the objective hazards and approaches don’t mix with small children very well. Ouray takes the approach out and lets the dangers be controlled. To some degree …

As we hike in the next morning, the pillars of blue and white blow the kids away. Cyn and I had hiked in the night before to get our bearings, so we bring them to the beginner’s area. As I slog around the back to rig a toprope, Cyn helps them into their crampons and ice axes. Once back on the ground, we talk through the many details of swinging and kicking sharp tools while on a rope. Mayah is first with her go-for-it attitude, and is soon halfway up the wall. It’s at that point she meets the “freezing screaming barfies.”

Anyone who has ice climbed for a small amount of time can tell you how much your hands hurt after you have them above your head, in the cold, swinging tools for a while. The pain you feel is something like a hot, smashing feeling in the ends of your hands as the blood screams back into the fingers. Mayah feels this and decides to rest on the rope while it passes and we shout encouragement. Once back to normal, she begins back up with a renewed speed, I think to try to avoid the barfies again, and is soon on top waving and very proud.

Will, not to be outdone by his sister, starts up and quickly reaches a resting spot at mid-height. He really seems to enjoy the tools, and thanks to our new friend Chris, who is helping a fellow gimp, Heidi, ice climb next to us, is using a pair of axes cut down for kids to use in Chris’ college ice climbing classes.

Methodically picking his way around the bulges and pillars, Will, too, is soon on top waving.

We then move up the canyon to the New Frontier area, where we set up a bit harder climb to play on. Both kids and parents have a blast doing some laps on the perfect water ice and even the bare rock to the left of our climb. Around 3:30, the wetness begins to sink in and they both start to get cold; only the praise from a guide in the canyon, telling them how he had never seen kids climb so well, keeps them warm for the hike out.

That night over dinner we reflected on how fun the day had been, and Mayah and Will said how much they enjoyed the ice and the canyon, even going as far as to say they can’t wait to do it again. For me, all the running around, going up and down to rig the ropes and belay was totally worth it at that point.

The next morning Cyn and I snuck out to climb a pillar right near the hotel. I was enjoying the perfect sunrise in the canyon as Cyn came up to me, and just really thankful for the life we live in the outdoors.

As I lowered in and made my way back up the pillar, I knocked off a piece the size of my leg. As I watched it crash to the creek bed about 75 feet below me with a huge explosion of ice, I realized:

Man, ice climbing is dangerous …

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

This video has been making the rounds, shot by two climbers last fall in canyon country.

Talk about a gnarly downclimb. We’ve all had misadventures like this where we suddenly get way more adventure than intended.

Such moments make us feel really small. And choose an easier approach next time.

(via The Mountain World)

(Ice climbing at Caribou Creek helps pass the blackout.)

The snow started lightly falling Thursday afternoon. By Saturday night, our cabin had received somewhere between a foot and two feet of heavy, wet snow. Not an excessive amount, to be sure, but given the weight of this snow, it wasn’t too surprising when we woke up Sunday morning to no power. As all of Bird Creek was blacked out, we didn’t think it would take that long for it to be restored. After a day of skiing and Christmas tree cutting, we headed back home, sure that the power would be back.

But despite the obvious electricity at the gas station down the road and at the houses on the streets around ours, our street was still without power. When we awoke to darkness again Monday morning, ice climbing at Caribou Creek, a couple of hours north, seemed like a great idea. A lap on Kid Around the Corner made for a fun afternoon, even if it was a bit wet. Okay, very wet. But fun nevertheless.

(Christmas tree wrangling on Turnagain Pass.)

Heading home, we approached Anchorage, contemplating stopping for more candles and propane. We had run out the night before and were relying on headlamps during the 18 hours of darkness south-central Alaska experiences in December. We were also running low on water — our well has an electric pump — but had enough to last another day or so with the help of some melted snow. It had been two days; surely the power would be back.

Bad decision. We hit Turnagain Arm and more heavy, wet snow, now accompanied by 60-mph winds gusting to 80 mph. But there were lights on at our neighbors’ houses, so we were hopeful. Hope disappeared as we turned up the driveway and saw the darkness that awaited us at the end. After getting yet another fire going in the woodstove — electricity is also needed for the furnace’s fan — we began melting more snow.

(It’s useful to have an outhouse when you lose power.)

Tuesday morning dawned dark again. The snow had turned to rain overnight, and the winds were still howling. On the way home from work, we stocked up: more than 20 candles, six canisters of propane, and refilled water containers.  Figuring that we were prepared, we assumed the power would be back. No such luck. But with the woodstove cranking and about 16 candles burning in various beer and wine bottles we scavenged from the recycling bin, it was a cozy evening.

By Wednesday, it had been four days since we last had electricity, a working furnace and running water. Everyone else in the vicinity had power; the Christmas lights twinkling at us through the woods seemed to mock us every time we looked out from our dark house. Much of my morning at work was spent on the phone with the power company trying to get answers.

The forecast was for a cold front to come through with temperatures in the lower teens the next few days. Without power for the heater tape for our pipes, we were worried they would freeze. We were told that the power company was on its way to the house, but workers had been out twice before with no results.

(Old school: Woodstove and candles make for pretty light, and survival.)

We headed home after work, resigned to another dark night. But as we turned up the driveway, we saw our Christmas lights glowing in the distance. The only thing missing was a note from the power company with that traditional Bird Creek phrase, “Sorry for everything.”

Renee McFarland is an Inspired Mountain Ambassador who lives outside Anchorage, Alaska. A public defender by day, she spends her days off climbing, hiking and thinking about learning to ski.

Pioneer Peak is rather typical of the easily accessible mountains in south-central Alaska. Although its summit is only 6,398 feet, those unfamiliar with the front-range Chugach – and used to bagging fourteeners – may not realize what Pioneer has in store for those who hike or climb it: All routes up the mountain begin at around 200 feet.

While the north summit is a popular winter attempt when snow and ice conditions are good, we opted for the non-technical ridge route up to the south summit this fall. The ridge route starts on the back side of the peak, traveling 4.5 miles over 5,100 feet to Pioneer Ridge. From there, another 1,100 feet and 1.5 miles takes you to the south summit, which lies a few feet short of the 6,398-foot north summit.

(Beginning the hike up the back side of the peak.)

We began the hike in typical fall conditions: gray skies, the threat of rain, and muddy trails. The trail climbs over several knolls, and as we passed each one, the weather kept getting worse. We began hiking in soft shell pants and trail runners, but the hard shells and hats came out around 3,000 feet. The wind picked up and a light snow started falling, with the clouds obscuring any view of the Chugach behind Pioneer or the Talkneeta Mountains across from it.

The snow continued to accumulate, and a stop for a snack at around 4,200 feet led to the swinging of arms more commonly seen at the base of ice climbs than a day hike in the Mat-Su Valley in late September. We gained the ridge in near whiteout conditions, our trail runners ruining any hope of continuing on to the south summit.

(Shadow of Pioneer Peak over the Mat-Su Valley from an attempt up the North Face.)

We reluctantly turned around, our footprints in the snow already blown away by the wind that continued to howl until we dropped back down to around 3,000 feet. There, another challenge confronted us – the slickest, muddiest trails either of us had encountered in a long time.

The trip down took nearly as long as the trip up, with both of us and the dog having several near misses and me taking one good slide down the mud-covered trail. We emerged at the trailhead covered in mud, soaking wet, and sharing the same prerequisite for any future attempt at the hike – bluebird conditions.

(On the ridge, heading toward the south summit prior to turning around.)

Renee McFarland is an Inspired Mountain Ambassador who lives outside Anchorage, Alaska. A public defender by day, she spends her days off climbing, hiking and thinking about learning to ski.

But everyone knows how that goes – mountain local moves to new mountain locale and the talk is always big. Or as a friend recently joked, “How do you know someone lives in Jackson? It’s easy, they’ll tell you.”

But I regress. My wife, Kir, and I went to the Dolomites. Our goal was to climb, hike, explore and check out some via ferratas. Sure, we’d grab some culture along the way, drink some fine espressos, and dine on hand-cut minestrone or handmade pasta around a rifigio hearth.

Here’s the deal. You can climb long moderate routes forever in the Dolomites. A minor day would be the equivalent of the Exum on the Grand Teton. Want a 20-pitch-plus .10B line on the Marmolada? Go Don Quixote. Want to follow Cassin or Messner lines? Take your pick on the Tre Cime or anywhere, really. Desire a three-big-tower-link-up at a moderate grade? Go to Sella Pass and look left.

The Italian approach to weather forecasting leaves a bit to interpretation, but they make up for it with their sophisticated approach to everything else. When the forecast looks unsettled you can sport climb at an area such as the Citta Dei Sassi, or the City of Stones. Kinda like City of Rocks in Idaho, only instead of Almo as your cultural hang, Sella Pass has full leather guys in mirrored shades on Ducatis and bronzed women in tight white jeans sipping lattes.

So, is Dan right about how great it is over in the Dolomitis?

Well, probably best for you to go check it out yourself …

(Roll cursor over photos for captions.)