Rogers Gate, Part II

A completed side of the gate.


Drifting holes to allow for the pickets to pass through.


Detail of the the drifted holes and joinery.


Fabrication of the "ray" detail is like putting together tinker toys.


Apples, pecorino, French cheddar, luque olives, olive bread, and focaccia: a typical group lunch at the forge.

The Rogers Gate

It's been a long, tiring, and productive week at the Forge. The Rogers Gate proceeds: I finished all the lozenge details for one side of the gate, and almost all the heart-scrolls.



A friend of mine came by the other day, took one look at the chalk sketch of the Rogers Gate on the floor, and boomed "speak, friend, and enter". If you can plumb the significance of that literary reference, then you probably can discern the difference between orcs and elves as well.

Renaissance Man, Day 5

Image courtesy of Jason Shepherd.


For posterity's sake—or mnemonic repetition—here's the litany of moves running through my head while working Renaissance Man:

Right foot on root, right hand palm-press for balance, reach left to three-finger pocket, ease in to open hand grip, reach right to undercling, left foot step-through, paste right toe, cradle right knee into knee-bar and torque out and in, release right undercling and grab crimp, lock it off, shift left toe to higher foot, stay tight, reach hellish sloper, move quick but controlled, bump left hand to sloping edge while pressing like hell with left toe and torquing right knee-bar, keep core tight, slowly release knee-bar, high-step left toe to hueco, flag right foot like crazy to the left under a bulge, release left pointer finger on left hand to make room for right hand, match hands, keep core tight, static reach for sharp crimp, then...

One or two more hand-movements will bring me to the flared crack, my first gear-placement on the route, and a 5.11d/12a joyride to the top—hopefully. Sometimes it occurs to me how little objective gain this climb will bring me in life, and for a moment I'm struck by the absurdity of it all.

But just for a moment.

New Work: Coleman Residence, Part 1

I officially toppled off the social radar over the last couple of weeks due to a massive push in the shop. Our client, who was building a sharp residence on the beach at Sandpoint, had a non-negotiable move-in date, and we, being amenable metal-smiths, agreed to a nearly impossible timeframe for installation. Months ago, In the preliminary stages, Dan had briefed me on the scope of the project, but I hadn't fully grasped the looming immensity ahead. And oh, the copious amounts of bronze needed! Wonderful, finicky, lustrous, softer-than-steel bronze. It even has a funny smell and bitter taste (don't ask). I hadn't worked with bronze in any substantial capacity since the City Art Project last year, and it was a labor of nostalgic fervor.

The Sandpoint Project (hereafter known as) evoked a slightly eclectic catalogue of aesthetics, at least from a metalwork vantage. We executed lots of uncompromising straight lines, seams, and angles, yet much of the finishes were mottled, weathered, textured with a hammer, or intentionally rusted for a neo-industrial look. I hesitate to say the interior of the house was modern because the term falters in the face of specificity, but the product of our work—and the work of the carpenters, lighting technicians, and flooring guys—was peculiarly rooted in the architectural sensibilities of our time: a push towards natural light; sustainable materials; unifying geometry; openness.

(By the way, the amount of metalwork at Sandpoint makes for prohibitive blogging, thus, I'm breaking my blog-entries into parts.)

Starting with the entry handrail, here's a little tour:



Normally I balk when a client wants to powdercoat forged metal. In this instance, I thought the matte-black brought out the textured cap-rail quite nicely.


Cool little transition





Bronze surrounds for the fireplace and flatscreen television. Each of the panels have thin-gauge bronze wrapped around sheets of perfectly sized wood. The goal was to have all the corners and seams match perfectly—a tricky task, since nothing was perfectly square.




Carefully machined hinges allow the four panels to open and fold against the wall, revealing the (pending) flatscreen.




I'm pretty psyched on this handrail. I hand-peened all 30+ feet of the cap-rail, and strategized fabrication for a continuous run up three flights of stairs. Yeah, it's functionally all one piece.


Transition around corner.




Engaging step encounter at the landing.




I designed a hand-forged bracket for connecting the handrail to the wall. It vaunts an angular, somewhat savage look.

Returning

Mary and I just returned from Bishop. You have to work pretty hard to not climb something good in this high-desert hamlet, but I somehow subjected myself to a number of "no-star" routes, and quickly realized why guidebook authors add their two-cents in the first place. It's not that I didn't have a great time; my sojourn into obscurity reaffirmed why I like climbing in the first place: distilled and esoteric adventure. When I first started coming to Bishop years ago (2001, I think), the modern "trendy" bouldering movement was on the nascent side, and Chris Sharma was just beginning to throttle the minds of climbers everywhere. Bishop was my first climbing trip, my first dirtbag locale, and my first outdoor vomit experience (following a massive Mexican feast at Amigos). I wax nostalgic whenever I come here.

We also had the fortune of following Jake around with his two friends Dillon and Dana, all of whom had been bouldering every day since that previous Monday, making Friday—the day we met up with them—their fifth day on the rocks. Oh, the eternal springs of youth!

Mary and I just bought Dale a backpack. Now he carries my rack, his water, and the legacy of working-breeds everywhere.


I had never bouldered up at Dale's Camp, but I can't wait to go back. Jake has his sights on Xavier's Roof, V11. He's super close, but Dale doesn't seem to care.


Owens River Gorge.


Here I am, unwittingly committed on a stupid-thin 5.12b at the Gorge. This climb shredded my tips and almost ruined the weekend.

It's Slab-Awareness Weekend

After a successful Saturday of climbing at Gibraltar, where Bernd and I nabbed the first free ascent of Broken Mirror, we opted for icing on our proverbial cake: a Sunday afternoon Lizard's Mouth session. What could be better? With everything from challenges for the nascent boulderer, to yet-undone projects, LM has a vast array of untouched climbing fare. However, that last claim might draw laughter from the sidelines of the Santa Barbara climbing community. The main areas of LM have chalk in all the obvious places, and at first (and second, and third) glance, the true cherries appear plucked.

Enter Bernd Zeugswetter.

His eye for creative, complex, and truly hard lines is second to none around these parts. Bernd was the first to muster the pluck and power to consider climbing one of LM's most auspicious features, the now-named Egret Arete (V10 R/X), a sunny corner of stone that, since time immemorial, simply looked too high, too hard, and too terrifying. A mere stone's-throw away from Egret Arete sits Lord of the Flies, another highball boulder problem—albeit a much less challenging line at V0+. Lord of the Flies probably has chalk from 1977 caked on its well-traveled holds. Imagine my surprise when Bernd claimed to be working a heinous (and very high) slab problem a mere arm's-span away from LOTF. I had to see it. Thus, with multiple pads in tow, we set about the task of climbing—after lots of falling off of—what will surely become one of Santa Barbara's coolest thin climbs. I snagged the first ascent. Bernd second ascent followed quickly thereafter.

Unless someone can think of a better name, I'm calling it The Conch Problem, V8 (R).

(Thank you Bob Banks for the images, and for entertaining my dog with your dog)

Broken Mirror, 5.12a R (FA: Zeugswetter, Patterson)

Windy day, hazy clouds, perfect temps, immaculate climb. Just when you though Gibraltar was climbed out...














Thank you Bernd and Hjordis for an amazing day of climbing!