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COLUMN: To Utah and back again

A retreat from bustling normal life and a tip of the hat to Â鶹Éç¹ú²úslab climbing
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A merry band it is. Part of the Crew in Indian Creek, Utah this spring.

  It's been a bit of a hiatus from the rickety soapbox that is the Â鶹Éç¹ú²ú climbing column. Why? Well for one, it was spring break a while back and I went away to a wild and dusty corner of Utah for some solace and family time.
It seems so simple — too perfect to be believed, like a Hallmark card about the best moments of our lives.

Basically, I say the same thing in different iterations with every column I write. It's about just going and meeting people, interacting and sharing stories and pushing yourself. It's about the work put into training for the climbing on the trip; the work is what you remember. While on the trip it's the time climbing and the people you meet that create the context for you to climb well and apply that hard work and preparation. We had a stupendous time. I climbed a crack in the desert you'll never know about or find but it was meaningful because of its history, to me.

   My family and I rode horses for the first time and I was nervous — scared that this powerful beast was going to dislike its Canadian load and bounce me off.
Another Â鶹Éç¹ú²úfamily came with us and we introduced them to the desert life and desert climbing. We met new friends from far off corners of the world and also near corners that seemed very far off.
My daughter played with mountains of sand and sticks, shards of ancient pottery and feathers, friends six times her age from other countries and kids almost the same age from Squamish. It was awesome fun.

   The second notable thing since returning home from Utah was a return to some proper slab climbing on the Apron of the Chief, what with this beautiful weather moving in, in burps and sighs, and the smell of cherry blossoms and skunk cabbage in the air. I thought I'd take a moment here to explain this type of climbing because, while hanging at a belay one Wednesday morning at 7a.m., it struck me how ridiculous it is.
A slab is a face of rock under 90 degrees in steepness. If you consider that a wall in a house is at 90 degrees, then a slab is any wall less than that. We have a lot of slabs in Â鶹Éç¹ú²úbecause of how granodiorite weathers through physical and chemical factors and these slabs are pretty climbable owing to their crystalline nature and how much friction that affords the climber.

   Using the fantastic qualities that climbing shoes and their special rubber lend the climber, we are able to tiptoe, to dance, to fall upwards through a miniature labyrinth of crystal features. It's incredibly tenuous, like strenuously walking across a thin layer of ice over frigid waters, praying that the way you distribute your weight, the angle of your feet, the quality of your shoes and the calmness of your head coalesce.
Feet cramp up, toes get sore, calves quiver and body tension ebbs away, but it's unlike other styles of rock climbing in that it's relatively unphysical. That Wednesday morning we climbed Dancing In The Light, a classic Â鶹Éç¹ú²úslab route, and it has made all the difference. 

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