#i do want some not plastic shuttles. maybe ones with hooks on them instead of just points

[starswallowingsea]

idk where my other tatting shuttle went...

[galionne-speeding]

Wait body horror? Hurt/Comfort? Yes please explain 👀

Alright so I'll preface this by saying the idea came from this post (and the reactiosn to it).

I have a bad track record of starting projects and never finishing them so I'll just dump the semi-detailled summary under the cut ; maybe someday I'll write the story. Maybe (probably) I won't.

Content warning for robot 'gore'/torture and robot body horror (in a sense, I guess?). Also topics of trauma and depression.

The story was meant to be told in three chapters: Carcass, Limbo and Recovery.

- - -

Carcass begins with Bocoe, alone in a dark room somewhere deep in Eggman's lair, held up by chains hanging from the ceiling. Everything below his chest is gone. Cables and bits of plastic and metal hang loosely out of his torso. He's still conscious as two pairs of robotic arms are slowly and meticulously taking him apart piece by piece.

At some point he, Decoe and Bokkun tried to escape from Eggman's lair- but their boss' Badniks were quick to catch up to them. Realizing they wouldn't be able to flee much longer, Bocoe allowed himself to be captured to buy Deco and Bokkun some time so they could take an escape shuttle. Now as punishment for his act of mutiny (and, Bocoe assumes, to make an example out of him) Eggman is having him dismantled while still powered on, slowly- from the feet up. (This Eggman is uncharacteristically cruel, but I'm not really interested in being canon-compliant here). Bocoe has no idea how long he's been down there- his sense of time is completely gone. Most of his other senses too, actually. His sight is still there but the room is so dark all he can see are occasional sparks and not much else.

Bocoe and Decoe always wanted to run away together and take Bokkun with them, live somewhere peaceful... But as Bo feels something snap in his neck and his head drop backwards, lolling limply as it's only held up by a few thin cables, he knows this life is no longer for him.

- - -

Limbo begins with Bocoe "waking up". He doesn't remember losing consciousness but somehow, he realizes instantly that something is very wrong with his body. He can't hear. Can't see. Cannot feel anything ; as though floating in a complete void. He tries to move but even something as simple as blinking suddenly seems impossible. Then a single word echoes directly into his head:

"Hello."

He doesn't recognize the voice- because there is nothing to recognize. It's flat. Emotionless. It has no tone or anything that could make it distinct in any way.

"Bocoe."

Bocoe tries to respond and manages to awkwardly string a few letters together, before finally uttering a "hello" in a voice that isn't his- instead it is the exact same one that has been talking to him. There is a long pause and Bocoe briefly wonders if this is some kind of dying hallucination. Then suddenly:

"It's me. It's Decoe."

Bocoe is in shock, but as Decoe continues talking he realizes that he's telling the truth. De goes on to explain that Bocoe was trapped in Eggman's lair for nearly two months, until Sonic and his friends attacked the Eggbase (for reasons unrelated to Bo's predicament). Decoe was allowed to tag along and searched the entire base for Bocoe until he finally found him in the scrap storage room. Or at least, he found what was left of him: a broken motherboard, two processors and a hard disk drive. His entire body, every little piece of him had been stripped and destroyed. For nearly a month now Decoe had been trying to bring his consciousness back and only managed to do so today ; by hooking the surviving parts to a specially modified computer. It's a temporary solution, he promises. He's working on building a new body for Bocoe, just like his old one. For now, Decoe and Bokkun can talk to him by typing...

Bocoe is happy to be back. But being stuck in a simple computer is hell.

Aside from not having any senses of touch, sight, hearing, etc... Even his own feelings are reduced to basically nothing. Unlike his former body that was made specifically so he could be as close to possible as a living being, this machinery is horrifyingly simple. Feelings of joy, sadness, and anger are too complex for binary coding. It cannot process any of it, so even though Bocoe desperately wants to feel those things again he physically cannot experience them and is stuck as an unfeeling block of circuitry. His thoughts, too, are stunted- anything too complex overwhelms his systems immediately. He can only speak in short, basic sentences.

It's hell, but he's pushing through for the sake of Decoe and Bokkun...

- - -

Recovery starts on a beach. Bokkun is drawing in the sand with a large stick. Decoe is sat on a blanket, watching him. Next to him, Bocoe sits quietly. He's been in his new body for two weeks now and, slowly, is re-learning everything it has forgotten over the past year.

Walking. Speaking. Balance. Touch. Hearing. Emotions. He has to learn how to process everything again.

Bright colors make him dizzy ; strong smells and bright lights overwhelm him easily. He still needs Decoe's help to get up and walk. He still has nightmares about being disassembled and being stuck in a computer again. Then there's the unshakeable feeling of loss- a year of his life he will never get back. A year of watching Bokkun grow up that he missed ; a year of Decoe being forced to take his place as the little imp's caretaker. There are days where he can barely get out of bed.

Today, thankfully, is not one of those days.

Today he gets to watch Bokkun play in the sand, enjoy the sun on his face, the sound of the waves, the smell of salty air and Decoe's fingers entangled with his.

After an hour or so, Decoe asks him if he'd like to go home for lunch. Bocoe nods and as he tries to get up, he hears Bokkun drop his stick and immediately run to him to try to help. He slowly stands up and leans on Decoe for support, while taking Bokkun's hand. The three of them set off, talking about what to have for lunch.

[jj-lynn21]

The calling chapter 2

Warnings/notes: some horror movie elements. Light flirting. This is turning out to be way more tame from what I have been writing so far. I am part way through writing Ch 3 which will be with Tom Holland in a 60s theme scene. Special quick appearance by Tom and Sebastian in this Chapter but mostly Bill.

ch 1 ch  3 ch 4

You load into a transport van and head to set. When you get out you look around to see all the equipment setup. Then your eyes see Bill Skarsgard dabbing at what looks like his bloody hands. You quickly look away as your heart does a conga in your chest.

“Who’s not afraid or squeamish around blood?” The P.A. asked.

You try not to sound as excited as some others, “I’m good with it. I’ve been covered with fake dirt before so fake blood shouldn’t be much worse.”

Others are jumping up and down saying, “I would do anything.” And “I love blood.” “pick me.”

The P.A.’s walkie goes off. He looks to you, “The director wants you to see Rick over in the green tent. He will get you ready to film and show you where to go and what to do. As for the rest of you back to holding for a bit longer. They are not ready to shoot outside the set yet.”

You go to the green tent. There are about seven people inside. You look around before you said, “I’m looking for Rick?”

A tall dark-haired man, maybe about 6ft 2in., with a beer belly and beard walks over to you. “I’m Rick. You’re our victim today?”

“I guess I am,” You laugh.

“Alright then.” He smiled. “Just sit right down in here.” He showed you to a seat in front of what looked like a make-up chair. “What I am going to do is dabble a bit of blood type mixture on your hair and face. Not too much because we need to wash it off after this scene to shoot the scene before it. Then I will take you over to where the scene will be. Do you have any acrobatic training?”

“No, I don’t,” You said nervously. “Don’t be nervous. They are just going to tie you up and make it look like you are hanging from a meat hook.”

“Sounds like loads of fun,” You smile as he starts putting the blood on you.

He keeps talking to everyone as he is working, “This actor is one of the best I’ve seen in a while. He is in it when he is filming. Mean and evil as fuck...Oh sorry Miss.”

“I’m fine,” You said keeping a polite smile. “so, I will probably really be scared of him?”

“Only why he is filming,” Rick said. “Between takes his personality completely changes. The nicest guy you could ever get to talk to. It’s like he can switch it on and off. It was a pleasure putting his look together. You will be fine Miss.” He looks at how you look. “I think this will work. Now I’ll take you inside the set.”

You get inside the building. Its colder and you assume fake racks of meat hang in a row. One empty hanger in the middle. Two guys and a woman walk over to you and Rick.

“Hello, my name is Liz,” The woman said. “This is Charlie and Sasha. We will be hooking you up to a pully system to hold you on the hook. We will make you as comfortable as possible. A gag will be around you that can be taken out between takes. You just react in the first take and we will go from there.”

“Sure,” you said in a high-pitched way meaning, I have no clue what I got myself into now and I’m not sure at all I will be able to do this.

They attach straps around your waist, under your arms and between your legs. Then attached pullies on the straps. Then put a green slip over everything so they can add some kind of CGI later.

“You ready to fly?” Sasha said.

Again, you said, “sure.”

They hoist you up and put the real looking plastic hook through the green material. The gag was placed in your mouth.  Hands tied behind your back.

“When the director says action just be scared however you see fit for the first take.,” Charlie said. “Just when you feel something slide up your body your dead.”

You nod. Bill steps in the room. Your heart pounds ready to give this all you got. You bite down on the cloth gag. Several people surround Bill talking to him and touching up his look. He glances at you. Eyes scanning you. No emotion on his face. You hear someone say, “fresh meat.” Bill chuckles and glances at the papers he is holding.  He hands them off. Cracks his neck. His back towards you.

“Quiet on set,” the A.D. calls.

“Action,” You hear from farther away.

You start to struggle with your hands. As Bill as his character walks into your eye frame you scream, eyes wide a wicked sexy smirk on his. His eyes narrow on yours. You feel his warm breath.

“I’m going to make things right.” He growls.

Tears slink down your face from the lights beating down on the scene. Your heart beats out of your chest. It’s exhilarating. You feel the point of something pushing on your sternum pulling downward. You struggle a second more and stop hanging your head down, eyes wide in horror.

The director yells, “CUT!”

Bill takes the gag out of your mouth when you look up, “You alright?”

“Hell, that was insane.” You took a deep breath, let it out quickly. “I’m sorry, are you alright?”

He chuckles, “Always, ready to do it again?”

You nod yes and he puts the gag back on you seconds before the A.D. said, “Places.”

You started to sweat more with each take with the heat of the lights and the menacing heat coming off Bill when he came up to carve you. Once you laughed as he hit a ticklish spot. When you could talk you apologized to him.

“Sorry about that.” You said. “You hit a ticklish spot.”

“I’ll be more fucking careful,” Bill snapped as he paced back and forth in front of you. He stopped, looked at you and blinked. “Uh what did you say exactly?”

“Not important Bill,” You smiled. “Your doing great. Scary as Hell.”

He blushes, “Thanks um sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

You tell him your name. The scene is shot about a dozen more times with different camera angles before they call lunch. With your stomach gurgling you are glad. A transport takes you back to holding. You and the others wait until the crew gets their food before its your turn at the pasta bar. Fettuccini, spiral or spaghetti pastas with alfredo, meat sauce or marinara with salad and bread sticks were served buffet style.

You sit back with your friends. Chat about what you got to do a little without sounding to excited about it which is nearly impossible. You really wanted to say, you always dreamed of Bill having you tied up in a similar way but not to kill you, but you kept that your dirty little secret.

When you checked your phone there was information about tomorrows call time and what to wear. Bell bottom jeans if you had them. Or long flowy skirt. Peasant top, t-shirt or tank top. Some photos of 60s styles were attached to look at along with address and where to park.

After lunch the whole group went to set in two shuttles. When you were separated into several groups to be walking in different directions through town. You and your friend Katie were put together for the scene.

“We need you two girls to cross here when Action is called,” The P.A. told you both. “When you see Bill’s Character just giggle because you think he is the handsomest man in town.”

“Because he is,” Katie said. You both giggled for real.

“Just like that girls,” He said.

Well, this was going to be easy.

You took your places. When action was called you walked. Bill winked at you. That started the giggles rolling good. No acting needed. They were satisfied after just five takes of this. The sun was disappearing. You and Katie were chatting and laughing about how easy and fun this was to shoot. Then she leaned in close.

“We will switch places in just one moment so you can confirm what I am seeing.” She whispered. “A few feet behind you off camera Tom Holland and Sebastian Stan are watching us film.”

“Are you serious?” You said quietly. She nodded yes. “I bet they are here to support Bill’s scenes. How nice.”

You both laugh as you switch positions. You see what she was seeing and nod to her she was correct.

The P.A. comes over to the two of you, “Alright ladies, we have one more scene for you both. It’s getting late so hopefully this doesn’t take to long. We just need you to part ways at the corner. Bill’s character will grab his victim covering her mouth with a chloroform-soaked rag, so she doesn’t fight long. It will bleed into the scene we shot earlier. Sound good?

You said, “Sure.”

Katie said, “No, problem.”

The stunt coordinator, Ken, works with you and Bill on how he will be grabbing you as Katie watches from the sidelines. The first time Bill grabs you from behind to check for balance you start laughing. He chuckles to.

“Ok you two.” Ken said, “This is not going to be a romantic comedy.”

You blush. “I guess I should scream instead of laughing.”

Bill grins wickedly, “Oh I won’t give you time to scream before I cover that pretty pout of yours. I wouldn’t want your friend to hear you at all.”  

His look is menacing as you just stare a moment.

“Let’s try a walk through with you coving her mouth Bill,” Ken said. “Who has the rag?”

Someone hands him the rag, He hands it to Bill.

“Take ten steps and grab her,” Ken looks to you. “Try not to tense before he grabs you. That will show on camera that you knew he was there. You have no clue anyone is following you.”

You nod ok. Shake your body out a bit to get any tension out looking away from everyone. Bill cracks his neck. Licks his lips. Makeup person rushes over to touch you up. You go to your mark with Katie.

Katie said, “You are having entirely to much fun.”

“I know, right,” You grin.

“And action,” The A.D. yells.

You walk to the corner and Katie walks off out of frame. You take ten more steps. Bill grabs you rougher than practiced. You gasp right before his hand with the cloth goes over your mouth. You try to let your body go limp in his arms trusting he can hold you completely. He swoops you up, tosses you over his shoulder and walks until cut is called.

Bill sets you back on your feet, “Told you, you wouldn’t have time to scream.”

“I barely had time to breath when you grabbed me,” You told him. “I was almost as surprised as my character should have been.”

“Good,” He turned away to go back to his mark as reset was called.

Bill grabbed you a bit different each take to keep an element of surprise going and your reaction perfectly stunned. A few times it was less than the ten steps you took before he had you. You really had to calm yourself before each take because you couldn’t go into it with such a quick heartbeat. It was kind of exhilarating. By the end you were exhausted.

When the day was wrapped Bill gave you a little hug, “Good job today. You made my job easier.”

“Thanks, you were amazing,” Your eyes fluttered as you smiled at him.

He walked off. Was shaking his head a little. Maybe just trying to shake off the character or something else. You and Katie were the last extras to sign out for the evening. When you got home you took a quick shower. Got some cloths together you thought would work, set you alarm for 4am and crashed out.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “The Race.”

Thanks for reading, :) Feel free to leave a comment critique, question, prompt idea, or message me with any questions that you might have!

They had landed on Omega 9 a couple hours ago upon request of those planeside.

They disembarked at the designated landing zone Catpain Vir at their head Sunny and Krill at his right and left with a chosen group of the crew following behind. Upon seeing sunny, the massive crowd parted and scurried out of the way whispering and fidgeting. Sunny either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Captain Vir glanced around the crowd of assembled species, “What do you think this is all about?” He wondered at Krill.

“Couldn’t tell you Captain, looks kind of like a fair.”

The man nodded absently.

Sunny craned her neck over the crowd, as tall as she was, it wasn’t hard, and she pointed with an outstretched claw, “There, sir.”

Just then the crowd parted and a pudgy little Anthraky trundled forward, stopping to stare up in awe at the human, and the towering Drev standing behind him. He took a step back towards the crowd.

“Captain Vir, of the USPC and adjunct of the Galactic Assembly, what can I do for you?”

The small creature swallowed hard glancing at Sunny before continuing, “Well, we had hoped to call in your services for extra security. The Omega 9 race tends to become a little rowdy, and…..” He glanced at Sunny, “We thought that a crew of humans would be a lot of help.”

“Race you say, what kind of race.” The human’s interest was piqued. Krill did not like the sound of that, he had that sound of a human that was about to do something stupid.

“Oh, well, it is a perilous all terrane team race that-“ Krill groaned internally, knowing the human had been hooked at the word ‘perilous’ “Goes for hundreds of miles, each leg of the race is timed and at the end all the times are compounded to find the fastest team.”

The captain had an odd grin on his face, “What are the rules?”

“You will have a five-member team of a single species, no motorized equipment is allowed for use, otherwise, you can get from point A to point B in any way you like. The entire team is expected to preform each leg of the race. If someone is injured, you either find a replacement or drop out.”

The man grinned, “So, are you still accepting teams, or has that closed?’

The creature blinked in surprised and looked the human up and down, “I uh, if you can get ready that fast, than I suppose.”

The Captain Grinned, “Awesome. The rest of the crew would be happy to help with security.”

He left the small creature dumbfounded turning towards his ship with the biggest grin.

***

Captain Vir patted Sunny on one of her large arms as the Drev sulked by the starting line, “Maybe Next time Sunny.” Krill did not understand in the slightest why she would want to join these humans in this stupid venture, looking down the sheer face of the cliff, he really didn’t understand how they planned on getting down without dying. All of the other teams were lined up there too using their intervening time to make tight harnesses of rope and elaborate pulley systems, but the humans were standing there in nothing but helmets and jumpsuits as if they planned to toss themselves to off the cliff.

As the starting horn was readied, the humans moved back a bit forming up a tight line. Sunny took a glance over the cliff and down towards the distant red flag that was there target, marking the next checkpoint, and the start of the next race. She turned her head back to the humans, and then looked down at Krill, “Where is their rope?”

Krill gave a deep sigh, “Knowing them they have some OTHER insane way of getting down.”

She lifted her head and watched as they pulled their goggles down over their faces.

“Ready!”

“Set!”

“GO!”

The rest of the teams began quickly setting up their descent systems.

And the humans, they began racing towards the cliff’s edge. Sunny yelped in panic, and jumped forward and catch them, but they had gone past her. Captain Vir, hurled himself from the Cliff. Onlookers screamed as four other humans followed.

Sunny and the others raced to the edge glancing over expecting to find the human plastered on the rock face below.

To her relief, and mild annoyance though, she found the humans gliding in a tight formation towards the distant flag. Canvas flaps connected their legs together and their outstretched arms buoying themselves up on currents of air. Sunny watched in wide eyed awe, she didn’t know humans could fly.

Sunny turned her head to look at Krill who sat, unperturbed back at the starting line. Eyes narrowing she marched over, “You knew that was going to happen.”

Krill looked up at her with his wide hexagonal eyes, “No, I didn’t, but humans don’t often hurl themselves from cliffs without a reason.”

Over to their side, Sunny heard two of the race proctors listening to each other, “Is that legal?”

“It wasn’t motorized.” The other said, trailing off, “This will skew the scores for sure.”

They sighed, “I guess that’s what we were asking for when we let humans enter.”

***

They took a shuttle down to the base passing the two other teams, on their way down. Sunny stared out the window with wonder staring up at the sheer cliff-face Humans weren’t afraid of falling.

They landed at the red Zone to find the humans unzipped from their suits and lounging around. Still slightly worried, Sunny ran over to the captain and began feverishly examining him. He seemed surprised, “Sunny, what the hell are you doing?”

She stepped back sheepishly. She wouldn’t know what to look for anyway, she wasn’t a doctor.

“Are you ok?” She wondered

“Yes, Sunny, of course I am.”

***

The race was very exciting for Sunny, the next part of the Race was mountain terrane, and she watched in admiration as the humans mounted their wheeled steeds and raced through the trees frantically peddling their legs. Even handicapped by ten minutes, they outstripped their opponents, bursting through the trees, catching air over the competition before vanishing into the trees with a soft rustle. The way they maneuvered at such high speeds was miraculous dodging trees and cutting along thin forest tracks, balancing lightly atop the metal frames. The race proctors could do nothing seeing as the contraptions were completely manpowered, though a set of gears increased the speed tenfold.

They traded their ‘bikes’ for a couple sets of skis on the next leg of the race, one was used to move across stretches of flat snow, while the other pair were used for racing down mountains! Sunny watched in anxiety and excitement, as the humans raced down the sheer icy face sending waves of powder up behind them as they went. Their inhuman counterparts glared from where they trudged through the snow. Sunny wondered if they would ever let her try.

Moving from there, they stopped at a miles stretch of forest. Sunny vaguely wondered if the humans were going to use their ‘bikes’ again, and, as the race started, she watched as the humans, instead of moving towards the next checkpoint dragged themselves over to the river. She didn’t think that was likely to help them much, but was pleasantly surprised when, they forced themselves into metal tubes, and began paddling themselves down the river. Despite the rapids and the raging water, they were making good time allowing most of the work to be done by the rushing water. Sunny herself was very afraid of water, she didn’t know how to swim. None of the Drev knew how to swim. There were many streams on her planet, but no bodies of water large enough for a Drev to ever have needed to learn.

The dessert terrain brought things down to a more equal level. The humans had no real clever ways of getting across this terrain, and so, they began the race on foot like the others. The Rundi outstripped them quickly, and so did at least two other teams. Was this the human’s weakness? Heat? But as she watched, the humans broke into a steady jog stripping down to their lightest clothing. This steady jog took them through the heat and past teams trying desperately to cool off in in the shadow of sand dunes. The humans seemed to have no need to stop, and with quick sips of water here and there, they began to catch up to their Rundi counterparts. Struggling to the top of a sand dune, they met the Rundi at the top just beginning their descent. The Rundi were moving faster when one of the humans motion for the other’s attention.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, but she gave off a short roar of delight as the humans began speeding down the sand, like it was snow, sitting on what appeared to be plastic bags of some sort. Whatever it was, it reduced the friction between the human and the sand, and gravity did the rest. They reached the bottom a few meters before the Rundi and the two battled for first place in the intervening minutes. The humans might have won this leg of the race too if it were longer, and even so, they only lost by a few seconds.

At every turn the humans had a new trick up their sleeve. The upcoming freshwater lake had them paddling across In a single boat using coordinated calls to stroke at the same time as the other creatures swam or floated after, some choosing to instead race around the lake to avoid the water.

Terrain met roadway, and the humans strapped tiny wheels to their feet speeding past even the Rundi on the flat surfaces laughing in that odd way that humans had.

Sunny watched with wide eyes and bated breath turning to look at Krill. Instead of finding him as enthralled as she was, she found him looking disapprovingly over the side of the transport pod arms crossed. The little creature seemed almost exasperated by the humans when he should definitely be in awe.

Sunny frowned.

Krill looked up at her, “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,”

He sighed, “Do you know just how dangerous all of this is. I mean If jumping off a cliff weren’t bad enough, they have to expose themselves to crashing into trees face first, or drowning, or burning to death or something else, and not only that but they have to do it at the highest speeds possible. Ever noticed that Sunny, humans hate being slow, so they make things specifically to make them faster at absolutely everything, and when they don’t want to be fast at something, they make a machine that can be fast for them.”

Sunny turned away from Krill with the shake of her head and thoughtfully looked down at the humans, who, had dominated the race by about three hours, on their time sheets. Captain Vir graciously declined first place proclaiming that it was hardly fair for the other teams and that the humans were just there to have fun, presenting the prize to the second place team who were just as shocked as Sunny.

She had figured it out.

One of the things about humans that the Drev never took into account. The humans were innovative, if they couldn’t do something well, they would design things to make them do it better weather it be machines exo-skeletons or mechanical limbs. The Drev had never through of that, it was all about how warlike a species was, how much armor you could breed into the population, how long can you ake their claws, but no…. what was the point of doing either of those things when you could just MAKE armor, and MAKE claws…..

This entire thing was beginning to change the way sunny saw humans.

Humans were innovators. 

[hynohtz]

11 RANDOM FACTS ABOUT MY ASS

Okay ffffffffine. I was tagged by a couple of Roomfriends to complete one and I feel nothing but incredibly loved right now. I don't usually do these things but - this has been a fun one to get to know my buddies with so WHY NOT?! Honestly, this is not hard bc .... well, I'm weird. Bwahahaah!! I'm also not shy, especially when it comes to difficult conversations of confrontation. Buckle your seat belts. I'll try not to make it hardcore but all things are what make us , us , right?? I have enjoyed getting to know the fandom and feel like sharing, if it's with the right intentions, can only ever do good. Right? We'll see... Yeesh 😬 1) I'm a proud Lefty. It's cool functioning on the right side of our brains, in creativity and problem solving. It's not cool however when you have to dine at a large table or try to cut ... well, anything with a pair of scissors. I had a permanent pencil/ pen stain on my side palm for my entire school life. lol I assure you I am not from the devil. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard and I'm not particularly kind to those who have changed their children from left to right for these reasons. You'd be surprised how many, and how many ppl are AMAZED that you're a lefty. I swear it's about the equivalent of telling them you were a virgin. The wide eyes and gaps .. lol 2) I was an opera major in my undergrad. I say that as if I went on to get more degrees but I didn't hahaahaha. ( wait I can't stop laughing ) ..... Yes. I hold a Bachelors of Music in Vocal performance from Peabody Conservatory of Music of Johns Hopkins University @tuxedos-are-not-suits yup. No, I don't do it now. Funny thing about opera... you kind of have to like the city or traveling and if ur in just the chorus, it doesn't pay the bills. Insurance is also with the Union ... hrumph. I sing where I can, weddings, funerals, stage, and hold the occasional theater podcast or YouTube lessons (bwahaha, Roomfriends.) 3) I can't dive. I never learned. I found out the hard way had an eighth grade pool party with all the cool kids in my new hot two piece bikini, that placing both hands on your head in the manner of a shark fin and squatting to only then fall in the water ... is not diving. Feet first. Always. 4) I got to be the "surprise" witness in court to a man who was a notorious date-raper around campus and was counter suing his own victim for defamation of character. You should've seen the asshole's face when I showed up that day. Proud to tell the whole court and judge that I would've been one of his victims if I hadn't gotten away from him and called the campus shuttle to pick me up. I said "your honor, there is no counter sue needed as I was happy to tell everyone male and female months before this poor victim that he was dangerous, possibly mental, and to stay away from him." God that was an awesome day. I didn't tell my parents till 5 years later , for fear that my father would hunt him down and kill him 😂 5) I can talk through my nose. I don't think it's amazing but apparently everyone and their mother at a party does... lol I can say the ABCs and sing with my mouth closed. It's my stupid human trick. People love that shit for some reason... 6) I once lived with 3 guys in an apartment just like Jess. They weren't as cute , ( nor was I ) and ruined my furniture and left dishes rotting in the sink, ....but I look back on that experience and smile for the couple of mos it was a reality. Guys will do anything to protect and support the chick they live with. It's almost like a brother/sister thing. Maybe that is where my love for 4D comes from? 7) one night "my boys" went out drinking and left me at home alone. A man got into our apartment and then into my bedroom. He fired a gun behind my head to scare me and tied me up. He didn't hurt me but said he would if I screamed again. He took all my family heirloom jewelry ... and my trust in strangers. He made me lay on the bed on my stomach and left me to ransack the apartment. I made the decision to go over to my bedroom door close it and lock it in hopes that maybe if he came back to get me ...he would give up. The plastic phone that was on my bed was easy to get off the hook and I dialed 911 with my tongue. I subconsciously continued to recite the Lord's Prayer , even though I was not "saved" at the time. By the time the police had gotten there in about six of the longest minutes of my life, he was gone. The sound of the police radio was like heaven's choir singing to me. They then untied me and I dropped to my knees crying and the woman policeman told me to my face "we expected to find you dead." It's not pretty, and it took while to get over... but it makes me, me. 8) my two front teeth are veneers. yes. fake. I was born with the "Madonna" gap my mama had as well and I hated it. Almost every day I would try to place my white gum behind my two front teeth so I can make it look like they were too large teeth that went together seamlessly. When I was 15 and my mom was 40 something, we both got veneers, together. I will not disclose how many times I have cracked or chipped them, and on what foods. Let's just say I have the "teeth falling out dreams" all the time, and I don't have a great time in black lighted bars and clubs 😬 9) I was in an abusive marriage before I was reunited with my wonderful hubby. I didn't listen to the warning signs or tell myself the truth and went ahead with it, even though the first time he laid hands on me was 3 mos before the wedding. I was in a loveless and disrespectful marriage for 1.5 yrs. At the third time ( too many) I grabbed the dog and got the hell outta dodge ( or GA ). I keep some of the photos in a box in my closet, so I can tell my daughter about what every woman deserves and that we should always be honest with ourselves. She will always know and understand the true reasons you marry someone. Life isn't perfect, but it's makes me, me. 10) I say "reunited with my hubby" because kids, the fact is, my husband dated my best friend in college. I always thought he was the cutest and funniest and most caring boyfriend that she had ever dated, and when she broke his heart I thought she was friggin nuts. But God has a bigger plan. Nikki's suite mate in college asked her the first day why she had a picture of "Molly" on her desk and she said that's my best friend and the suitemate replied my mom works for her moms preschool. We were friends together for a long time. Fast forward to 10 years later when Nikki has 3 kids, Steph has two and I'm divorced and crying myself to sleep in the bathtub because all of my guy friends are married or short and bald, ....and my future hubbys mom moves ACROSS THE STREET from said Suitemate. She called me. I sped over and ... history was made. He's just as adorable today as he was when we were 19, and I adore him every day. We have two beautiful children ( a boy 3 and a girl 7 ) who are my world, and I thank God every day that fate revealed itself to me. 11) I was/AM a fierce daddy's girl. My father passed away when I was eight and a half months pregnant with my son. He had been sick with stage 4 lung cancer for 6 mos and in and out of the ICU. I watched him die on 9/29 and it was the most difficult and most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life. I was able to tell him everything I loved about him and that I will miss him every day of my life. It's been 3 years and I still cry almost once a day. My son is named after him and I will take great pride in teaching him about the man that never got to hold him. I occasionally see him in dreams... but let's be honest, it's never enough. Hug your daddies if u have them on earth still... for me, pls. If you see me preaching about the dangers of smoking, get mad. I don't care. No one else needs to die this way. Especially not those I love. F it. Shit. That's all? I could go on and on ... lol mmkay 11 random facts. Done. Please still be my friend, k? I hope instead of tagging everyone again, some followers will just do it... yasssss do it. You know u want to, and you know you can't be as fucked up as me, right?!? so just go for it!!! Hahaaha PS I love my Roomfriends Love and Life, Molls

[olivereliott]

Hitting A Wall In Zion

   [all photos by Matty Van Biene]

[NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the fifth in the series. The other stories in the series are here.]

The Zion Canyon Shuttle bus driver slowed in the middle of the road on our way back down canyon, the headlights illuminating three guys in their late 20s or early 30s standing on the side of the road in the dark. The driver opened the door and they stepped onto the bus, looking dirty in climbing harnesses, helmets, even knee pads, and some other gear. My then-girlfriend and I, riding the bus back to town after an evening stroll on the Riverside Walk, looked toward the front.

“What route were you on?” the driver asked the three guys.

“Spaceshot,” one of the guys said. “We just fixed the first couple pitches, so we can come back and fire it in the morning.”

It was my second time ever visiting Zion National Park, and I was aware that people climbed the steep red-and-black sandstone walls. I had started trying to learn to climb myself, outdoors, in Phoenix, with mixed results: I was terrified of it, didn’t trust my feet, overgripped everything, and enjoyed it maybe 40 percent of the time, maintaining a state of near-panic the rest of the time. I understood a little bit about how the rope and climbing gear worked, in my five or so times going climbing so far. But on the bus in Zion, I had no idea what these guys were talking about. Or why they were wearing knee pads. And I must have been staring.

“Do you want to ask them for their autograph?” my then-girlfriend asked me. I laughed. She had less than zero interest in rock climbing, and I was just starting to become very excited about it, the beginning of a fixation that would last almost a decade, and would outlast our relationship. If I looked very interested in what those guys were doing, it’s because I was interested. Clueless, but intrigued, I wondered if I’d ever see Zion Canyon from up on one of those walls someday. I would come back to Zion a half-dozen times over the next eight years before it actually happened.

—

In early 2013, a Prescott College student named Ethan Newman wrote to me, explaining that he had picked up a minor in nonfiction writing in hopes of finishing his degree—a process that had a little hiccup in it since he’d left Prescott to live in Springdale, Utah, just outside Zion National Park. He wanted to know if I could provide a little insight into the world of outdoor writing? I said sure, I could tell him what I knew, but I wasn’t convinced I knew very much.

We chatted on the phone a few times, emailed back and forth, and eventually I became an official long-distance mentor for Ethan in an independent study he would title “writing for magazines.” He said the college would pay me a small stipend, and I replied “Maybe instead of payment, you can winch me up Moonlight Buttress sometime this spring.”

I was living in a van at the time, and came through Springdale quite often, having fallen in love with the canyon, and also having befriended Scott and Heidi, the owners of Deep Creek Coffee, who didn’t seem to mind when Hilary and I bought coffees and breakfast sandwiches and then loitered in the coffee shop for another hour or two trying to catch up on emails and write stories. Ethan was a Deep Creek regular (and friend of Scott and Heidi), and it wasn’t long before we met in person. He had a big smile, red hair and a beard, was personable (he worked as a canyoneering guide) and thoughtful in conversation.

A year and a half later, Ethan had gotten some writing published by a few climbing websites, had recorded a Dirtbag Diaries podcast about the time he lived in a cave outside Bishop. We pitched a story about Zion climbing to Climbing magazine, with the idea we’d co-write it—my half from learning to aid climb from Ethan, and Ethan’s half about teaching me, as well as some of the history of aid climbing in Zion. October 2014 found Ethan teaching me to jug a rope in the garage of the house he rented at the western edge of Springdale.

The morning of our first climb, we popped our shoes off, rolled up our pant legs, and waded across an icy-cold but only ankle-deep Virgin River toward the shaded west face of Angels Landing toward the base of the route, Prodigal Sun. I’d walked across the top of the formation many times before on Zion’s most famous hiking route, hanging onto the chains for support. I had wondered where the climbing routes topped out in relation to the Angels Landing hike, and with some luck, now I’d find out. Our plan was: Ethan would lead the hard pitches, I’d lead as many of the easy ones as possible.

On my first lead, I tried to remember everything Ethan had said while I fell into the rhythm of the sequence: eyeball the crack above me, look down at the 30 cams and 25 nuts on the gear sling, pick one, place it in the crack. Yank on it a little bit to make sure it’s solid. Clip one of the two daisy chains attached to my harness to the cam, gently weight it, then transfer all my body weight to it. Bounce up and down to make sure it stays in place, but don’t look at it in case it pops out (much better to have it snap into the top of your helmet than into your eye), bounce, bounce, bounce harder. Clip an etrier—a ladder made of fabric webbing—to the cam, and then step into the first step, then up to the next step, then the next step. When the cam you placed is even with your waist, grab the fifi hook attached to your harness and hook it into the cam so you can lean back and inspect the crack above for your next placement. Repeat process.

If I had told most rock climbers I was headed to Zion to learn to aid climb, I think most of them would say, “Why?” Aid climbing is slow, a lot of work, and definitely isn’t the sexy rock climbing most people think of (shirtless, balletic, athletic, graceful). Aid climbing is more like shoveling gravel for a whole day, an hour or so at a time, with breaks while your partner is leading. Ethan told me not to bring climbing shoes, because we wouldn’t be doing much free climbing, and not to wear new shoes either, because they’d get destroyed when I jugged up the rope behind him. I explained it to my mom as “the way most people climb El Capitan—you climb pulling on the gear, not on handholds.”

A few hundred feet up the wall, looking down at the Virgin River and the road snaking along the floor of the canyon, though, I was pretty convinced it was more rewarding than shoveling gravel. When Ethan led pitches, I sat suspended at belays, my harness digging into my legs and hips. I stared at the deep burnt red sandstone in front of me, looked up to see how much progress Ethan had made, looked over my left shoulder down canyon, up canyon the other way, thousand-foot-high walls in every direction, just hanging out with some birds, noting the occasional gentle breeze.

When it was my turn to lead, I tried to be efficient in my movements, placing each cam or nut as high as I could above my head, then climbing my etriers up to it, stepping as high as I could before placing the next piece. When I stood in the etriers and jugged up the ropes following Ethan, the toes of my shoes scraped the wall. At the hanging belays, my weight was split between my harness and my feet splayed out on the wall. Occasionally I’d pull my feet away and rest with my knees pushing against the wall, just for a few seconds—I could see why the guys I had seen doing Spaceshot back in 2006 had worn knee pads.

Ethan and I switched places a couple times, and the sun made its way across the sky, lighting the canyon walls in deep morning hues, then harsh blown-out midday tones, and then the soft, warm glow of the golden hour. We had hoped to finish the route before sundown, but it was dark when we entered the last pitch, a low-angle chimney full of sand and loose rock to the top of the formation. We found the now-deserted Angels Landing trail and descended, our headlamps lighting the dark path all the way down to the river.

—

We wanted to do one more route, with an additional, probably unnecessary objective: spend the night halfway up on a portaledge. In a few years of climbing, I had done almost everything I’d wanted to: sport climbs, trad climbs, alpine rock routes, ice climbing, snow climbs, and a bit of ski mountaineering. But I had never spent the night on a big wall—and from all my times riding the Zion shuttle bus, I had heard more than one bus driver tell passengers, “Some climbers say they sleep better up there than they do at home.” We picked Lunar Ecstasy, an 1100-foot route on the Moonlight Buttress formation, just to the left of Zion’s most famous climb, for which the buttress is named.

We packed gear into a couple haul bags, ordered a pizza from the Zion Pizza & Noodle Co., and carefully put it into plastic bags, hoping it would survive the first four or five pitches of climbing mostly intact.

It was late morning when we finally got to the base of the route, again crossing the river. Our friend Matt was to join us for the first few pitches to take photos, and then he’d rappel off and come back in the morning to hike to the top, rappel in and shoot photos of us on the route’s upper pitches. I racked up and led the first two pitches, mostly free climbing and then some easy aid climbing to the top of the second pitch. I handed the gear over to Ethan for him to get us to the top of pitch four or five, wherever we’d set up the portaledge for the night. I could rest sort of easy, except I had to lead the final two pitches of the route sometime the next day. And I had found out that the final moves of the route were now missing a bolt, which would make it a little more adventurous for me.

We stopped after pitch 4, setting up the portaledge and eating cold pizza that had retained some of its original shape and most of the original flavor as well. Matt decided he’d go ahead and just stay with us on the portaledge, which was designed to hold two people fairly comfortably, and I guess three people less comfortably. We wedged ourselves in head-to-foot, 500 feet above the canyon floor, and I’ve certainly had better nights of sleep, but I’ve also had worse nights of sleep.

We woke shortly after the sun popped over the eastern rim of the canyon, ate cold breakfast burritos, chugged cans of coffee, and started packing up. Matt rappelled down so he’d have time to run over to the Angels Landing trail, hike up, and rappel down again to shoot photos, and Ethan started up the fifth pitch. I settled in for a long day of belaying, watching the buses putter up and down the road below.

Every once in a while, a bus would slow down in the middle of the road, sometimes even stop, and I was sure the bus driver was pointing out climbers up on the walls above. Probably us, a climber in a blue shirt and orange helmet, and a climber in a red shirt and white helmet. Crawling up the wall. Probably almost none of the passengers knew what route we were on, maybe none of them knew anything about rock climbing, but in Zion, climbers are part of the wildlife, like the elk and bison of Yellowstone. I thought about that bus ride back in 2006, when I was a passenger who didn’t know what Spaceshot was, or what fixing ropes meant, or why one might wear knee pads up here. I just thought it looked cool. And, eight years later, it was cool. It was better than I imagined, sitting at a belay with a few hundred feet of air under me, Ethan methodically snaking his way up a finger-wide crack in a thousand-foot-high wall above me.

We inched our way up, the first three pitches taking longer than I’d hoped, as I kept checking my watch, doing the math of how many hours and minutes of daylight I’d have to lead the final two pitches to the top. Ideally, I’d have four hours, which would be plenty of time. Sometime in the afternoon, it became clear there was a really good chance I’d be doing at least part of it in the dark. Still, I hung onto some hope.

I had found my way into rock climbing through sport climbing in 2005, arguably the climbing discipline with the lowest barrier to entry—aside from bouldering, which only requires shoes, chalk, and a crash pad. All I needed was a pair of climbing shoes, a harness, a belay device and a locking carabiner, some quickdraws, and a rope (or a friend who had some quickdraws and a rope). I learned the mechanics of the safety protocols, then rushed into climbing as hard as I could, without bothering to train or get better before I tackled harder routes. Then I met a friend, Lee, who taught me how to place trad gear, and before long, I had cobbled together a set of cams and nuts, and was finding routes that scared the crap out of me, and even made my way to a few dozen technical routes in the mountains in Colorado, Wyoming, and Arizona, and eventually the Alps. I put together a decent-sized life list of routes I’d climbed, but never got to the point where I was confident and could get through a challenging route without debilitating fear.

In 2012, while climbing on Utah’s Castleton Tower, a young man fell and decked, landing head-first right next to me on the belay ledge at the top of the first pitch, immediately twisting into a seizure before losing consciousness. My friend Chris and I spent the next six hours helping facilitate a rescue. The climber, Peter, made a full recovery, but the image and sickening sound of him hitting the ledge stuck with me. I never dealt with it psychologically. I kept climbing, not admitting that the fire in me had dimmed. I couldn’t imagine not climbing. Lee and I wrote a climbing guidebook, covering trad routes up to 5.8+ in Colorado’s Front Range, and it was fun, but after pulling the crux move while leading the hardest route in the book, I felt relief and exhaustion, not joy.

So Zion was either going to re-light my fire, or be my last big rock adventure for a while. I didn’t know which.

—

Ethan had convinced me to bring a little bluetooth speaker with us, to make the long hours at belays less tedious. The purist in me cringed, not wanting to take music into the cathedral of Zion Canyon. But eventually, I realized no one else above or below us would hear the music, so I played a chunk of The National’s High Violet.

At the top of Pitch 6, Matt yelled down from above us, hanging off his rappel rope and shooting photos. The top was only 400 feet away, but still several hours. Ethan started up Pitch 7, home of a giant flake called The Amoeba that is somehow still attached to the wall but strikes fear in the heart of everyone who climbs past it. Ethan led, having a private, very tense moment as he passed the Amoeba, wondering if he’d be the one to finally dislodge it (and/or the loose blocks of rock resting on top of it) and watch it fly down the wall directly onto me below. Thankfully, it stayed put. Still, when I looked up at the wall above, I found myself ready for it to be over, not jealous that I wasn’t leading the best pitches of the climb.

At the top of Pitch 7, I took the gear from Ethan as the daylight started to wane. I hurried through the next pitch as much as possible, hoping to minimize the amount of climbing I’d have to do by headlamp, knowing it was futile but trying anyway. I started up the final pitch by headlamp, dreading the missing bolt and the idea of trusting my body weight to an inch-long metal hook sitting on a nubbin of sandstone somewhere a hundred feet above me.

The buses had stopped driving up and down the canyon, and our two headlamps were the only visible lights in the canyon, a dark abyss below us. We were completely alone. I worked my way up the wall, up a curving crack and an overhanging arete, leaning backward and clinging to the wall with tired arms. The wall went back to vertical, and the crack petered out. I rounded a corner and couldn’t see Ethan anymore, but could hear voices coming from the bluetooth speaker. I was sweating, searching for gear, working through my fear in a little dome of headlamp light, an ant on the side of this huge wall, and Ethan was enjoying a podcast down there.

Ten feet from the anchor bolts at the top of the route, I found the section where the missing bolt would have vastly improved the safety of the climbing. Alas, it was still gone, just a rounded hole in the sandstone where it used to be. Someone online had said something about “one hook move.” I searched the rock above with my fingers, blindly hoping for a nice lip to hang a hook on. I found something decent, delicately placed the hook over it, clipped an etrier to the hook, and gingerly weighted it. It held. I carefully climbed the steps of the etrier, looking above for another spot for a gear placement. Nothing. I fished through our gear and found the other hook we’d brought, and found another lip, then repeated the process again. I could see the anchor bolts, but it was still at least one more move to them. Another hook placement.

I felt around again, thinking about how far my last cam was beneath me, what it might feel like if this hook placement popped free and I fell 20 feet into the dark before the rope caught me, how much of a bummer it’d be to have to re-climb this section again, and if the pizza place would still be open by the time we got down, and I found a decent crimp for the last hook. I clipped an etrier to it, stood up on it, reached high with my right hand, clipped a quickdraw to one of the anchor bolts at the top of the route, pinched the rope through it, and topped out. I called down to Ethan, he whooped back, and I started hauling our bags up, awash in relief.

We pulled off our harnesses and gear, re-packed the bags much less carefully , shouldered them, and started to hike down the paved trail, 1,400 feet to the canyon floor, back at Ethan’s truck in just over an hour.

Somewhere during that long afternoon of belaying Ethan while he led us up the steep pitches of Lunar Ecstasy, the wall towering over my head gave me pause, and put me in a spot to think a lot about climbing. I had been fortunate to do a lot of things, and climbed several hundred pitches all over the west and a few in Europe, and I had still never gotten that comfortable with it. I had been anxious about climbing since the day I started doing it, and over the past year I’d been having more anxiety than fun. Maybe it was time for a break. I told myself I’d take some time off after our Zion climbs, and I did. More than a year passed before I roped up outside again, and I still haven’t quite gotten back to it with the fire I had in the first years I was climbing. A year and a half later in Spring 2016, Ethan followed his first byline in Climbing by writing the Mountain Profile for Alpinist Issue 53, an extensive feature article that went far beyond anything I would have thought possible when a random college student with hardly any experience emailed me out of the blue three years prior. When I got the issue in the mail, I sat down with it and realized I was more proud of Ethan’s story than any magazine piece I had written myself. I still think I got the better end of the mentorship deal, with Ethan enabling my almost decade-long dream of climbing a big wall in Zion—even as white-knuckle as it had been.

The day after we walked off the top of Lunar Ecstasy and plodded down the trail with our heavy haul bags, I again found myself on the Zion Shuttle bus, taking an easy day in the park with my girlfriend and future wife. As we pulled up to the Big Bend shuttle stop, I looked through one of the roof vents, and spotted a pair of climbers headed up one of the walls. I snapped a quick photo with my phone, because I still thought it looked cool.

—Brendan

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The post Hitting A Wall In Zion appeared first on semi-rad.com.

[thejustinmarshall]

Hitting A Wall In Zion

   [all photos by Matty Van Biene]

[NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the fifth in the series. The other stories in the series are here.]

The Zion Canyon Shuttle bus driver slowed in the middle of the road on our way back down canyon, the headlights illuminating three guys in their late 20s or early 30s standing on the side of the road in the dark. The driver opened the door and they stepped onto the bus, looking dirty in climbing harnesses, helmets, even knee pads, and some other gear. My then-girlfriend and I, riding the bus back to town after an evening stroll on the Riverside Walk, looked toward the front.

“What route were you on?” the driver asked the three guys.

“Spaceshot,” one of the guys said. “We just fixed the first couple pitches, so we can come back and fire it in the morning.”

It was my second time ever visiting Zion National Park, and I was aware that people climbed the steep red-and-black sandstone walls. I had started trying to learn to climb myself, outdoors, in Phoenix, with mixed results: I was terrified of it, didn’t trust my feet, overgripped everything, and enjoyed it maybe 40 percent of the time, maintaining a state of near-panic the rest of the time. I understood a little bit about how the rope and climbing gear worked, in my five or so times going climbing so far. But on the bus in Zion, I had no idea what these guys were talking about. Or why they were wearing knee pads. And I must have been staring.

“Do you want to ask them for their autograph?” my then-girlfriend asked me. I laughed. She had less than zero interest in rock climbing, and I was just starting to become very excited about it, the beginning of a fixation that would last almost a decade, and would outlast our relationship. If I looked very interested in what those guys were doing, it’s because I was interested. Clueless, but intrigued, I wondered if I’d ever see Zion Canyon from up on one of those walls someday. I would come back to Zion a half-dozen times over the next eight years before it actually happened.

—

In early 2013, a Prescott College student named Ethan Newman wrote to me, explaining that he had picked up a minor in nonfiction writing in hopes of finishing his degree—a process that had a little hiccup in it since he’d left Prescott to live in Springdale, Utah, just outside Zion National Park. He wanted to know if I could provide a little insight into the world of outdoor writing? I said sure, I could tell him what I knew, but I wasn’t convinced I knew very much.

We chatted on the phone a few times, emailed back and forth, and eventually I became an official long-distance mentor for Ethan in an independent study he would title “writing for magazines.” He said the college would pay me a small stipend, and I replied “Maybe instead of payment, you can winch me up Moonlight Buttress sometime this spring.”

I was living in a van at the time, and came through Springdale quite often, having fallen in love with the canyon, and also having befriended Scott and Heidi, the owners of Deep Creek Coffee, who didn’t seem to mind when Hilary and I bought coffees and breakfast sandwiches and then loitered in the coffee shop for another hour or two trying to catch up on emails and write stories. Ethan was a Deep Creek regular (and friend of Scott and Heidi), and it wasn’t long before we met in person. He had a big smile, red hair and a beard, was personable (he worked as a canyoneering guide) and thoughtful in conversation.

A year and a half later, Ethan had gotten some writing published by a few climbing websites, had recorded a Dirtbag Diaries podcast about the time he lived in a cave outside Bishop. We pitched a story about Zion climbing to Climbing magazine, with the idea we’d co-write it—my half from learning to aid climb from Ethan, and Ethan’s half about teaching me, as well as some of the history of aid climbing in Zion. October 2014 found Ethan teaching me to jug a rope in the garage of the house he rented at the western edge of Springdale.

The morning of our first climb, we popped our shoes off, rolled up our pant legs, and waded across an icy-cold but only ankle-deep Virgin River toward the shaded west face of Angels Landing toward the base of the route, Prodigal Sun. I’d walked across the top of the formation many times before on Zion’s most famous hiking route, hanging onto the chains for support. I had wondered where the climbing routes topped out in relation to the Angels Landing hike, and with some luck, now I’d find out. Our plan was: Ethan would lead the hard pitches, I’d lead as many of the easy ones as possible.

On my first lead, I tried to remember everything Ethan had said while I fell into the rhythm of the sequence: eyeball the crack above me, look down at the 30 cams and 25 nuts on the gear sling, pick one, place it in the crack. Yank on it a little bit to make sure it’s solid. Clip one of the two daisy chains attached to my harness to the cam, gently weight it, then transfer all my body weight to it. Bounce up and down to make sure it stays in place, but don’t look at it in case it pops out (much better to have it snap into the top of your helmet than into your eye), bounce, bounce, bounce harder. Clip an etrier—a ladder made of fabric webbing—to the cam, and then step into the first step, then up to the next step, then the next step. When the cam you placed is even with your waist, grab the fifi hook attached to your harness and hook it into the cam so you can lean back and inspect the crack above for your next placement. Repeat process.

If I had told most rock climbers I was headed to Zion to learn to aid climb, I think most of them would say, “Why?” Aid climbing is slow, a lot of work, and definitely isn’t the sexy rock climbing most people think of (shirtless, balletic, athletic, graceful). Aid climbing is more like shoveling gravel for a whole day, an hour or so at a time, with breaks while your partner is leading. Ethan told me not to bring climbing shoes, because we wouldn’t be doing much free climbing, and not to wear new shoes either, because they’d get destroyed when I jugged up the rope behind him. I explained it to my mom as “the way most people climb El Capitan—you climb pulling on the gear, not on handholds.”

A few hundred feet up the wall, looking down at the Virgin River and the road snaking along the floor of the canyon, though, I was pretty convinced it was more rewarding than shoveling gravel. When Ethan led pitches, I sat suspended at belays, my harness digging into my legs and hips. I stared at the deep burnt red sandstone in front of me, looked up to see how much progress Ethan had made, looked over my left shoulder down canyon, up canyon the other way, thousand-foot-high walls in every direction, just hanging out with some birds, noting the occasional gentle breeze.

When it was my turn to lead, I tried to be efficient in my movements, placing each cam or nut as high as I could above my head, then climbing my etriers up to it, stepping as high as I could before placing the next piece. When I stood in the etriers and jugged up the ropes following Ethan, the toes of my shoes scraped the wall. At the hanging belays, my weight was split between my harness and my feet splayed out on the wall. Occasionally I’d pull my feet away and rest with my knees pushing against the wall, just for a few seconds—I could see why the guys I had seen doing Spaceshot back in 2006 had worn knee pads.

Ethan and I switched places a couple times, and the sun made its way across the sky, lighting the canyon walls in deep morning hues, then harsh blown-out midday tones, and then the soft, warm glow of the golden hour. We had hoped to finish the route before sundown, but it was dark when we entered the last pitch, a low-angle chimney full of sand and loose rock to the top of the formation. We found the now-deserted Angels Landing trail and descended, our headlamps lighting the dark path all the way down to the river.

—

We wanted to do one more route, with an additional, probably unnecessary objective: spend the night halfway up on a portaledge. In a few years of climbing, I had done almost everything I’d wanted to: sport climbs, trad climbs, alpine rock routes, ice climbing, snow climbs, and a bit of ski mountaineering. But I had never spent the night on a big wall—and from all my times riding the Zion shuttle bus, I had heard more than one bus driver tell passengers, “Some climbers say they sleep better up there than they do at home.” We picked Lunar Ecstasy, an 1100-foot route on the Moonlight Buttress formation, just to the left of Zion’s most famous climb, for which the buttress is named.

We packed gear into a couple haul bags, ordered a pizza from the Zion Pizza & Noodle Co., and carefully put it into plastic bags, hoping it would survive the first four or five pitches of climbing mostly intact.

It was late morning when we finally got to the base of the route, again crossing the river. Our friend Matt was to join us for the first few pitches to take photos, and then he’d rappel off and come back in the morning to hike to the top, rappel in and shoot photos of us on the route’s upper pitches. I racked up and led the first two pitches, mostly free climbing and then some easy aid climbing to the top of the second pitch. I handed the gear over to Ethan for him to get us to the top of pitch four or five, wherever we’d set up the portaledge for the night. I could rest sort of easy, except I had to lead the final two pitches of the route sometime the next day. And I had found out that the final moves of the route were now missing a bolt, which would make it a little more adventurous for me.

We stopped after pitch 4, setting up the portaledge and eating cold pizza that had retained some of its original shape and most of the original flavor as well. Matt decided he’d go ahead and just stay with us on the portaledge, which was designed to hold two people fairly comfortably, and I guess three people less comfortably. We wedged ourselves in head-to-foot, 500 feet above the canyon floor, and I’ve certainly had better nights of sleep, but I’ve also had worse nights of sleep.

We woke shortly after the sun popped over the eastern rim of the canyon, ate cold breakfast burritos, chugged cans of coffee, and started packing up. Matt rappelled down so he’d have time to run over to the Angels Landing trail, hike up, and rappel down again to shoot photos, and Ethan started up the fifth pitch. I settled in for a long day of belaying, watching the buses putter up and down the road below.

Every once in a while, a bus would slow down in the middle of the road, sometimes even stop, and I was sure the bus driver was pointing out climbers up on the walls above. Probably us, a climber in a blue shirt and orange helmet, and a climber in a red shirt and white helmet. Crawling up the wall. Probably almost none of the passengers knew what route we were on, maybe none of them knew anything about rock climbing, but in Zion, climbers are part of the wildlife, like the elk and bison of Yellowstone. I thought about that bus ride back in 2006, when I was a passenger who didn’t know what Spaceshot was, or what fixing ropes meant, or why one might wear knee pads up here. I just thought it looked cool. And, eight years later, it was cool. It was better than I imagined, sitting at a belay with a few hundred feet of air under me, Ethan methodically snaking his way up a finger-wide crack in a thousand-foot-high wall above me.

We inched our way up, the first three pitches taking longer than I’d hoped, as I kept checking my watch, doing the math of how many hours and minutes of daylight I’d have to lead the final two pitches to the top. Ideally, I’d have four hours, which would be plenty of time. Sometime in the afternoon, it became clear there was a really good chance I’d be doing at least part of it in the dark. Still, I hung onto some hope.

I had found my way into rock climbing through sport climbing in 2005, arguably the climbing discipline with the lowest barrier to entry—aside from bouldering, which only requires shoes, chalk, and a crash pad. All I needed was a pair of climbing shoes, a harness, a belay device and a locking carabiner, some quickdraws, and a rope (or a friend who had some quickdraws and a rope). I learned the mechanics of the safety protocols, then rushed into climbing as hard as I could, without bothering to train or get better before I tackled harder routes. Then I met a friend, Lee, who taught me how to place trad gear, and before long, I had cobbled together a set of cams and nuts, and was finding routes that scared the crap out of me, and even made my way to a few dozen technical routes in the mountains in Colorado, Wyoming, and Arizona, and eventually the Alps. I put together a decent-sized life list of routes I’d climbed, but never got to the point where I was confident and could get through a challenging route without debilitating fear.

In 2012, while climbing on Utah’s Castleton Tower, a young man fell and decked, landing head-first right next to me on the belay ledge at the top of the first pitch, immediately twisting into a seizure before losing consciousness. My friend Chris and I spent the next six hours helping facilitate a rescue. The climber, Peter, made a full recovery, but the image and sickening sound of him hitting the ledge stuck with me. I never dealt with it psychologically. I kept climbing, not admitting that the fire in me had dimmed. I couldn’t imagine not climbing. Lee and I wrote a climbing guidebook, covering trad routes up to 5.8+ in Colorado’s Front Range, and it was fun, but after pulling the crux move while leading the hardest route in the book, I felt relief and exhaustion, not joy.

So Zion was either going to re-light my fire, or be my last big rock adventure for a while. I didn’t know which.

—

Ethan had convinced me to bring a little bluetooth speaker with us, to make the long hours at belays less tedious. The purist in me cringed, not wanting to take music into the cathedral of Zion Canyon. But eventually, I realized no one else above or below us would hear the music, so I played a chunk of The National’s High Violet.

At the top of Pitch 6, Matt yelled down from above us, hanging off his rappel rope and shooting photos. The top was only 400 feet away, but still several hours. Ethan started up Pitch 7, home of a giant flake called The Amoeba that is somehow still attached to the wall but strikes fear in the heart of everyone who climbs past it. Ethan led, having a private, very tense moment as he passed the Amoeba, wondering if he’d be the one to finally dislodge it (and/or the loose blocks of rock resting on top of it) and watch it fly down the wall directly onto me below. Thankfully, it stayed put. Still, when I looked up at the wall above, I found myself ready for it to be over, not jealous that I wasn’t leading the best pitches of the climb.

At the top of Pitch 7, I took the gear from Ethan as the daylight started to wane. I hurried through the next pitch as much as possible, hoping to minimize the amount of climbing I’d have to do by headlamp, knowing it was futile but trying anyway. I started up the final pitch by headlamp, dreading the missing bolt and the idea of trusting my body weight to an inch-long metal hook sitting on a nubbin of sandstone somewhere a hundred feet above me.

The buses had stopped driving up and down the canyon, and our two headlamps were the only visible lights in the canyon, a dark abyss below us. We were completely alone. I worked my way up the wall, up a curving crack and an overhanging arete, leaning backward and clinging to the wall with tired arms. The wall went back to vertical, and the crack petered out. I rounded a corner and couldn’t see Ethan anymore, but could hear voices coming from the bluetooth speaker. I was sweating, searching for gear, working through my fear in a little dome of headlamp light, an ant on the side of this huge wall, and Ethan was enjoying a podcast down there.

Ten feet from the anchor bolts at the top of the route, I found the section where the missing bolt would have vastly improved the safety of the climbing. Alas, it was still gone, just a rounded hole in the sandstone where it used to be. Someone online had said something about “one hook move.” I searched the rock above with my fingers, blindly hoping for a nice lip to hang a hook on. I found something decent, delicately placed the hook over it, clipped an etrier to the hook, and gingerly weighted it. It held. I carefully climbed the steps of the etrier, looking above for another spot for a gear placement. Nothing. I fished through our gear and found the other hook we’d brought, and found another lip, then repeated the process again. I could see the anchor bolts, but it was still at least one more move to them. Another hook placement.

I felt around again, thinking about how far my last cam was beneath me, what it might feel like if this hook placement popped free and I fell 20 feet into the dark before the rope caught me, how much of a bummer it’d be to have to re-climb this section again, and if the pizza place would still be open by the time we got down, and I found a decent crimp for the last hook. I clipped an etrier to it, stood up on it, reached high with my right hand, clipped a quickdraw to one of the anchor bolts at the top of the route, pinched the rope through it, and topped out. I called down to Ethan, he whooped back, and I started hauling our bags up, awash in relief.

We pulled off our harnesses and gear, re-packed the bags much less carefully , shouldered them, and started to hike down the paved trail, 1,400 feet to the canyon floor, back at Ethan’s truck in just over an hour.

Somewhere during that long afternoon of belaying Ethan while he led us up the steep pitches of Lunar Ecstasy, the wall towering over my head gave me pause, and put me in a spot to think a lot about climbing. I had been fortunate to do a lot of things, and climbed several hundred pitches all over the west and a few in Europe, and I had still never gotten that comfortable with it. I had been anxious about climbing since the day I started doing it, and over the past year I’d been having more anxiety than fun. Maybe it was time for a break. I told myself I’d take some time off after our Zion climbs, and I did. More than a year passed before I roped up outside again, and I still haven’t quite gotten back to it with the fire I had in the first years I was climbing. A year and a half later in Spring 2016, Ethan followed his first byline in Climbing by writing the Mountain Profile for Alpinist Issue 53, an extensive feature article that went far beyond anything I would have thought possible when a random college student with hardly any experience emailed me out of the blue three years prior. When I got the issue in the mail, I sat down with it and realized I was more proud of Ethan’s story than any magazine piece I had written myself. I still think I got the better end of the mentorship deal, with Ethan enabling my almost decade-long dream of climbing a big wall in Zion—even as white-knuckle as it had been.

The day after we walked off the top of Lunar Ecstasy and plodded down the trail with our heavy haul bags, I again found myself on the Zion Shuttle bus, taking an easy day in the park with my girlfriend and future wife. As we pulled up to the Big Bend shuttle stop, I looked through one of the roof vents, and spotted a pair of climbers headed up one of the walls. I snapped a quick photo with my phone, because I still thought it looked cool.

—Brendan

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