It was a lifetime ago when I last slept in this tent on Denali. And while so much has changed, I have embraced the seasons of my life and the blessings. Seems a good time to recognize our Danny who helps us all live in and appreciate the moment.
Danny’s not the strongest dude at the “Black” (Black Canyon of the Gunnison), but he’s pretty darn strong, he doesn’t shy away from a scrappy challenge, and he’s got the most stoke of anyone at the little known peninsula campground with 2,000 foot drops in every direction. He knows where to take his geologist/climber wife on a date weekend.
He’s not the most graceful on the choss-filled steep gully descents into the 2,300 ft deep canyon, but he gets it done and most importantly knows where all the fixed lines are so we get down safely.
When assessing whether a tent lacking a rainfly is waterproof, he may not have the best intuition, but he’s happy to dig out the rainfly when the ceiling starts dripping, and he’s still happy to just be out there, even with a wet sleeping bag.
He’s not the best at picking cliff aspects that don’t nearly cause heatstroke in summer, but he will step up to finish the sometimes downright Nasty climb when no one else can. He’s not known for bringing adequate water for a multi-pitch day in the direct sun, but he’s got no problem ordering an additional water bottle soon after the collective near heat stroking, for the next trip. He’s also very good at giving practical gifts, like new crack climbing gloves, sun hoodies, snack fannypacks carrying dark chocolate, high ankle hiking boots for gimpy ankles, a camping shower, the most highly rated all around climbing shoes, and little yeti thermoses to keep ice water cold (some of these gifts may be mutually beneficial).
He may have picked a burly multi-pitch for my second route in the Black, but he was happy to “Rope Gun” when I decided I should probably just lead the transition pitches. He also knows it’s best to rope up for the extra pitches the guidebook refers to without much detail as the “walk off” particularly when it’s starting to rain. He doesn’t get too fussy when the humidity is so thick on the second pitch, he has to “French” free the cruxy wet crack, so we can all get on with our lives. He’s good like that, keeping his ego in check.
He can be directionally challenged, and may have got lost on the top-out wandering in the brambles yelling for me, but he’s quickly back to over-stoking at the tailgate party, happily re-living every touch and go moment of thrutching and delirium. Sometimes he forgets I’m not his Bro, but when I remind him, he’s happy to cuddle me.
And when it’s the rainiest weekend the Black has seen the entire summer, he’s happy to drink wine and eat peach pie when we can’t climb for a day. But he doesn’t need wine. He’s just as happy with chicharones burritos and nice IPAs. He likes his trucker hats and his George Strait which give the impression he’s All Country, but ask him to break down some Covid stats or talk about renewable energy systems dynamics models, and you’ll see his eyes really light up. He’s also incredibly determined. For most of our marriage, he’s been into long distance bike and ski racing, despite having a congenital heart defect that caused him to pass out randomly until he had heart surgery. He’d like me to add he’s also very good at shower towel dances, and he’s considering entering that competition circuit next.
He’s not the fastest driver, in fact he may drive slower than the many slow drivers out driving while High. But it gives us more time to alternate between the Climber’s “Enormocast” podcast and my preferred “Ten Percent Happier” podcast. And, he doesn’t rage or tailgate when he drives, which makes for peaceful safe road trips, even if they take twice as long. He can be quite chatty on long drives to adventures but, like one of his climbing partners said “It’s definitely better to be an Over-stoker than an Under-stoker.”
He takes me to the wildest most beautiful places, but he also likes to stay home and cook for all of us and listen to French, Bossa Nova, “Baby” music as he calls it, or Norweigan Down Tempo, or if we’re very unlucky, Steely Dan which is only allowed on special occasions. He even lets me listen to Whitney Houston’s “Higher Love” on the Wailin Jenny’s version of Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers” on repeat. That’s love.
He’s my favorite person to watch sunsets over a geolgist’s dream of a canyon view and is happy to talk spectacular pegmatite dykes, colorful alluvium of every rock type, and the ever present discussion of the merits of each rock type for climbing. He’s the best adventure and life partner a girl could wish for. This November we will have been together for 10 years, and while raising a family, we’ve prioritized our passions together. It’s a good life.
