Sketch, done the other night, of my climbing partner, Chiu Liang Kuo, years ago on Mt. Hood's East face. We were picking and spidering our way, very delicately, up acres of steeply tilted rime ice and unconsolidated volcanic rock. We climbed at night because during the day the face was streaming with meltwater, ice and rocks. In this sketch, Chiu has turned towards me, blinding me with his headlamp. We didn't reach the summit, and had a scary retreat, downclimbing a thousand feet or so of unstable terrain; rappelling was out of the question as there was no rock or ice solid enough to take a good anchor.
Having wrapped up two books this month, for a total of six in the past six years, my mind is completely wrung out. I've spent some time listening to old radio dramas and drawing, or just watching movies, or just laying in the bath, reading. When I feel the urge to get up and do something, I have to remind myself that I am doing something: I'm resting.
Interview and photos next week RE the pressure suit project. A few items to take care of before that. Then off to California to fly my glider and dive some with John Haslett from the raft expeditions. I am going to enjoy completely detaching from the intellectual world for a week or two.
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