Clementine Pradal

Here at jjobrienclimbing we've had hundreds of letters from readers asking "When are you going to add some sophistication to your blog".

Hey, what was wrong with Big Al?............. OK, OK, I hear you.

So here's Clementine Pradal. She's French, she's stylish and she climbs in pearl earings.



Sophisticated enough?











That's Damo in the background, more from him later.







Clem works Coolm Cave's icon 26, "Screaming Insanity".

I'mconfident the stylish bloggers over at Red Phoenix Styleare going toaward Clemtheir highest approval.































Even Princess Russ never lookedthis good at the Cave.





Clem grew up climbing real mountains (in the French Pyrenees) with her family. Before she could walk she would climb mountains.



Two years ago she climbed 22's and hated anything and everything steep. Now she loves steep routes, enjoys falling (sometimes!), secretly hates slabs and climb's mid-20's.















Oo, nice chalk bag jj







All that stylish climbing can wear a girl out.

Big Bend :: Santa Elena Canyon

One of the main attractions of the Castolon area is Santa Elena Canyon and the trail that leads you a short distance into the Canyon.

On my first afternoon at Castolon, I drove the eight miles to the end of the road and ventured down to the river. To get to the canyon trail you first have to cross a small stream that meets the Rio Grande. Depending upon how much rain there has been, or whether water has been released upstream, the crossing can be between impassible or merely a walk across a dry stream bed.

On this day the stream was flowing, with perhaps 2-7 inches of water where it joined the Rio Grande but upstream it was thick, gooey mud. I put on my old shoes and waded across, carrying with me a pair of dry socks, which I changed into on the other side. If you are careful in choosing the path across the stream you can cross without hardly getting wet. I was more successful (less wet) on the return trip across.

Santa Elena Canyon was forged through the eons by the waters of the Rio Grande. Mexico is on the left and the United States on the right. Also on the right is the small stream that joins the Rio Grande that must be crossed to get to the trail.

The view from up above, at the highest point of the trail. The Chisos Mountains off in the distance. The small stream on the left merges with the Rio Grande on the right.

The trail drops down to the river, goes into the canyon about half a mile, and ends just on the other side of the big boulder in the center of the picture. The walls of the canyon, at that point, go straight up from the river.

The next morning I returned for another picture of the Canyon. The water level of the stream had dropped significantly overnight but the stream bed was still quite muddy.

Photographs taken March 1, .. and March 2, ...

Dream States

My first cycling dreams were vague and atmospheric. When I rode along the Danube in the Austrian countryside, I would re-experience these rides in my sleep constantly. It was mostly the scenery and the light I would dream of. That backlit look as the day fades into evening, the shimmering water, the aspens and the wild flowers swaying in the breeze. The rides themselves resembled dream states, with their improbably long sunsets and no clear end or beginning to the winding Danube trail. Fading peals of laughter from party boats, the clanking of dishes in the back yards of houses I would cycle past. The sounds trailed off, almost ghostly. It would slowly grow dark as I pedaled and pedaled and pedaled. When I remember one of these rides now, I cannot be sure whether it is the actual ride or the dream I am remembering.




Riding for transportation in Boston, cycling disappeared from my dreams for some time. The few I remember are short, anxiety-filled re-enactments of close calls - I'd wake up with a sinking feeling in my stomach from a car having cut me off or passed too closely. In waking life I experienced no fear or nervousness when riding in traffic, but it must have been there on some level - what I would not acknowledge in my conscious state surfacing in dreams.




Later it was roadcycling that populated my dreamworld. Like an animal moving its paws in its sleep, I would pedal with my legs and shift gears with my fingers. The novel sensations of ergo levers played a starring role for some time. My fingers just wanted to keep using them even after the ride was over and I was fast asleep. Tap-tap-tap... spin-spin-spin... thumb press, thumb press!... spin-spin-spin! It was mostly just the motions and the speed I remember dreaming about, the anticipation of downhills. There was also a magical effortlessness to it that did not exist in real life. In my dreams, my legs never hurt and I cornered elegantly. Tap-tap-tap, spin-spin-spin! It could go on forever, just like that.




A late winter ride to Lost Lake led to a bicycling dream of cinematic proportions. In a small group we had ridden through the snow covered landscape of central Massachusetts, a route that culminated in a dramatic course of rolling hills. The combination of the stunning winter scenery and the sensation of the ride itself must have overwhelmed my impressionable mind. That night I dreamt of Pamela Blalock standing atop an icy mountain, her long platinum braid fluttering in the brutal wind. She pointed at something in the distance, and when I looked in that direction suddenly it was I who was there, along with Dina, Emily and Pamela herself. We were riding what I first thought were horses but turned out to be huge bicycles made of a rusty, coppery material. Later I recognised them to be life-sized versions of some of the wire sculptures I'd seen at Pamela's house, but in the dream this was not apparent. Weightlessly we pedaled up a steep, narrow road in a blizzard, and just as we crested the hill we saw that the pavement ahead had turned to ice. No longer in a procession, we were now side by side and our bicycles tied together with rope. With incredible speed, we slid down the endless winding hill like some giant 8-wheeled chariot. I let out an excited scream, but it was so cold that I made no sound.




Other dreams of cycling followed - rehashing the day's events, playing out fantastical narratives, expressing anxieties. Before embarking on an overnight ride to Maine, I dreamt that my dynamo light was not working and that I couldn't shift gears uphill. After the ride, I dreamt of cycling endlessly along the coastal saltwater marshes in the dark. I had a handlebar bag full of tiny fresh bagels. I took out a notepad and wrote a letter to a friend on the side of the road, then dropped it in a mailbox and kept riding. I do not remember what I wrote or to whom. The night was warm and dark, only the outlines of trees discernible in the distance. Morning never came. When I reached the Canadian border, the guard was expecting me and gave me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I kept pedaling. That was the last bicycling dream I remember.

Indiana National Guard Unit 1907

This photo was probably taken about 1907. Hale Brubaker, in the middle of the back row (the fellow without a hat) was a member of Company G, 3rd Regiment, Indiana National Guard. He was a First Lieutenant at the time he left the unit in 1908 to attend law school at Columbia University in New York City. Click on the picture to enlarge it to see the details. It is obviously a posed photo made to look like a candid shot.

Jackson Visitor Center - Final Weekend to Visit!

Yup, the Henry M. Jackson Memorial Visitor Center (JVC), whose design has been loved, hated, and debated since its opening in 1966, will welcome its last visitor on Sunday, September 28. It is closing to prepare for the demolition and move to the new JVC, which will open at 10:00 a.m. on October 10th. Between September 29th and October 9th, the Paradise Ranger Station (in the upper lot) will serve as the main NPS contact point at Paradise.

Here's some background on the now infamous "space saucer" of Paradise. The NPS commissioned its construction as part of a 10-year effort called MISSION 66. MISSION 66 set out to improve infrastructure and visitor services for NPS in time for its 50th anniversary in, guess what, 1966. The Paradise visitor center was originally known as the "Paradise Day Use Facility" until 1987, when it was re-named in honor of Washington Senator Henry "Scoop" Jackson. "Scoop" had originally secured congressional funding for the project and personally selected the architects.

The future of the oldJVC is significantly less promising. With the initiative to build a new visitor center came the $880,000 contract to demolish the JVC and rehabilitate the lower parking lot. Sometime late next year, you should be able to park your vehicle near the current information desk or bookstore. If the weather holds, this fall the contractor intends to start salvage operations of reusable materials and also carry out removal of fuel tank and hazardous materials. Final demolition will begin in the late spring of and will be completed by the end of the summer.

NOTE: If you're visiting the park this weekend, September 27 and 28, there are no entrance fees. The NPS is waiving fees on Saturday in celebration of National Public Lands Day and on Sunday in honor of newly naturalized United States citizens. The JVC at Paradise will be open from 10:00 a.m. – 6:00 p.m. through Sunday the 28th. Come on by, because it's your last chance to lounge in those creamy orange couches and chairs.

New Bowl

I got this bowl at a thrift store. I really like, it just called to me, but hubby didn't care for it. It had no markings on it, and wonder if anyone knows anything about cermanic bowls like this.

Beware of the Warm and Cozy

Watching Bikeyfaceride around the studio in circles as the sun shoneweaklythrough frost-covered windows, I had a terrible realisation: If we weren't careful, we could fall prey to the Cozy Neighbourhood Winter Madness Syndrome. Ever since I moved to the Cambridge/Somerville area it's gotten me every year.




Not to be confused with the Winter Doldrums or Seasonal Depression, the Cozy Neighbourhood Winter Madness Syndrome is characterised by the claustrophobia of becoming trapped by winter in our immediate surroundings. Particularly vulnerable are residents of certain urban yet peripheral neighbourhoods like ours. On the one hand, our neighbourhood is self-sufficient and has everything we need: Cafes, grocery stores, shops and a multitude of other services are within walking distance or just a short bike ride away. On the other hand, it is village-like and does not feel altogether connected to the outside world. This makes it both convenient to stay close to home once the freezing temps and snow set in, and frustrating to feel yourself trapped in a pattern of doing just that. Soon, Boston proper begins to seem as distant and foreign as Hong Kong; the outer suburbs as desolate and forbidding as Siberia.Sure, we know that it's all in our heads, that we could and should venture out beyond our shrunken travel radius. But the 'ville keeps us firmly in its clutches with its cozy cafes, charming shops and poorly plowed roads leading out of town. "Stay put, baby," the neighbourhood whispers seductively, "it's cold outside." As the winter progresses, we slowly begin to go mad from lack of contact with the outside world. Before we know it, we are speaking a dialect that only the local coffee shop baristas understand. When we finally emerge in spring the folk across the river can sense we're different.




Well, not this year. I was worldly now. I was tough. I would not be deterred by the warm, inviting glow of the Wine and Cheese Cask whilst attempting to ride past it on my way out of town.




"Bikeyface," I said, my voice ringing with festive determination. "I am prepared to go anywhere for lunch! I have donned many layers of wool and my bike is geared for adventure." Bravely, we bundled up and stepped into the cold. Things were going well, until we happened past a new coffee house down the road. We tried not to look directly at it. But oh how tiny it was. How comfy the people inside looked. Through the fogged up window we could make out a small unoccupied table with two chairs, just waiting for us...




Next thing I recall, I was sitting across from Bikeyface, chewing on a delicious spinach pie and sipping a hot cappuccino. A David Bowie song played in the background. Humming along, the barista glanced in our direction meaningfully, as if to say "You see ladies? No need to go anywhere; we got everything you need right here." A customer approached the counter and ordered a hot beverage. It was only January, and already he spoke in the local dialect.

Vapor trails

While walking near the swamp, we saw some contrail reflections among the branches.






Later, the sunset made them look like angry cuts.

Tombstone Tuesday :: Brubaker Family

The Brubaker plot at South Park Cemetery, south of Columbia City on State Road 205, in Whitley County, Indiana. Photos taken in October ... Top photo, taken 10/24, is looking east and the second one, taken 10/09, is looking to the west.

In the top photo, the marker on the left is for my 2nd great grandparents, William and Malissa Joslin Brubaker. On the right is the marker for their son, Maurice Hale, whose life was cut short at the age of 24.

On the Front: BRUBAKER / CO. E 17 REG IND VOL. INF. / WILLIAM 1843-1912 / MALISSA M. JOSLIN / HIS WIFE / 1849 - 1937. On the back: BRUBAKER / G. A. R.

Hale's stone, on the front: BRUBAKER / MAURICE HALE / SON OF Wm. & M.M. / BRUBAKER / 1886 - 1910. On the back is: 1st LIEUT Co G 3rd INFTY. / I. N. G.

Northern Lights over Devil Fish Lake

Aurora Surprise! The early morning hours of July 9th began with a surprise showing of the northern lights. According to spaceweather.com, the source of the display was not an explosion on the sun, but rather a fluctuation in the interplanetary magnetic field. The IMF near Earth tipped South, briefly opening a crack in our planet's magnetosphere. Solar wind poured in and ignited the lights. A beautiful green sky throughout the night was the result, as seen here at the public water access for Devil Fish Lake in Northern Minnesota. The exposure settings for this photo: exposure length 30 seconds, aperture f4.0, ISO 2500. Taken with a Canon 5D Mark II camera and Canon EF 17-40mm lens.

Hoh Rain Forest

We were up and on the go again. Still heading north but with a long side trip into the Hoh Rain Forest. The rain forests in Washington are the only rain forests in the continental United States. And I was disappointed as it wasn't raining. But still it was very enjoyable and beautiful to see. Everything, and I mean everything was covered with moss, and ferns. Everything was green, so very, very green, an almost jewel-like green. It was so different to the forests we have here in New Mexico. I was almost afraid to step off the trails because the undergrowth was so thick and I was sure I would get lost. The trees were so tall and the plants and scrubs so thick it was hard to see the sky and sun, so that you could tell the four directions. Even the pay phone booth and a tool shed were covered in moss and ferns. We followed the Hoh River on a lot of this journey and it was a clear, sparkling river, not running real fast as it was August but neither was it wasting any time.