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Chalk and Cheese  Penn Newhard

Chalk and Cheese  Penn Newhard

Getting out the door is the hardest part. After two years of table talk, Mike and I are finally taking a trip into the mountains.

“You really think you can fit everything in that pack?” Mike looks at me incredulously, as I chuck my disorganized pile into his car.

Good question. I’d spent hours thinning my pile down.

“Do we really need all this stuff?” I ask.

We aren’t even out of the car and it’s going to be one of those trips. Two middle-aged dads with a 72-hour pass into the wild. We have a rope, a rack, tons of superlight gear, chalk and a block of cheese. We arrive at the ferry dock and get a lift to the far side of the lake. As the pack straps floss my office-soft shoulders, I wonder if, perchance, light is wrong. Mike bolts up the trail in his climate-controlled base layers. I pull my ball cap down low and shotgun my clogged nose onto the dusty trail. Game on.

The next morning is perfect. Alpine setting. No people. Bluebird. The route is comfy.
We summit by midday and spend the afternoon running the ridge to seek further views.
That night my pad goes flat and hail sends me scurrying from my starry bivy into the tent.

We wake to cold, gray, booming clouds. Hardfrost in September. We plan to hike a semi-nearby peak. Route finding is a bit sketchy but the blueberry foraging makes up for the lack of trail. Mike thrashes ahead. I gorge, and find some raspberries too.

The bad clouds keep their distance. We reach a stunning alpine cirque. Enormous boulders and towers serrate the ridgelines. Great talus jumping. Mike uses his trekking poles to swing himself forward. We top out on a deceptively steep summit that is flat on the far side. So cool to be surprised like that, with big, wild valleys as far as we can see.
The youthful enthusiasm of the terrain is overtaking us. We weave drunkenly from the summit to a clear tarn that lures us to swim. We shave the block of cheese down and shake gorp into our hands like gamblers shoot craps. We plan big the last day. Hiking before dawn, we get way lost. The route is on a big peak, in a big valley, right in the middle of our big map.

We run out of water before we get to the base of our route. Risking giardia, we refill. We start to waffle; it is getting late. We have two bars and a pocket full of nuts but the perfect weather won’t let us bail. Getting started is the hardest part, and not turning back is the best decision we ever make.

Penn Newhard

Penn Newhard does not want to grow up. He continually is trying to squeeze in fun trips and backcountry missions which threaten to upset the balance of his work and home life. Realizing that shirking responsibilities is becoming more difficult in broad daylight, Penn is holding out for the new product development of night vision ski goggles, glow in the dark stoppers and sponsorship by a chocolate-covered espresso bean company.

The New Measure  Doug Heinrich

I’m tired, the good tired. It was a great day in the mountains with Conrad—a perfect escape from the day-to-day toil of cell phones, e-mail, business travel and all the other responsibilities that consume too much time. We’re past the summit and steadily making our way down the descent trail. Lichen sparkles, the last rays of light filter on the sea of white granite. We’ve been climbing in Yosemite together for the past 20 years. Neither of us is as fit as we once were, but the experience is richer now. The approach and descent are as enjoyable as the technical ascent. Success and failure are no longer measured on the grade or the moves, but on the day, the conversation, the quality time and the simplicity of the activity.

The trail is lined with manzanita. The Merced River—a few thousand feet below—is lazily winding down the autumn, preparing for winter. Beauty is everywhere: the sky is dark purple, the first star of the evening glimmers on the horizon.

“Yosemite is amazing,” I shout, still astonished after 20-plus years. The cool breeze feels good against my warm skin. Conrad’s lamp is bright—elements and environment prevail. “We’re lucky, so lucky we’re here,” I think.

Douglas Heinrich

Douglas Heinrich has been climbing with Conrad Anker since the early 80s and over the past 25 years has authored rock and ice first ascents throughout the West. These days DH often runs under-the-radar in the Wasatch Mountains or chases a little white ball around in hopes of eventually shooting even-par golf again. But as soon as sub-freezing temperatures mark winter’s return, you can always find him stomping around the iceboxes of Provo and Santaquin Canyon in search of azure ice and new mixed potential.

Macro to Micro

For responsible companies in the Outdoor Industry, it’s not uncommon to support organizations that preserve our environment. But for the employee-owners of Black Diamond, such support transcends the political. When the lands that create not only our livelihoods, but also our lifestyles, are threatened, we take it personally.

Black Diamond supports more than 30 non-profit organizations and environmental advocacy groups. We provide financial backing as well as lobbying support, advisory services and even letter-writing campaigns if we feel that the people in charge aren’t listening.

Black Diamond, an Environmental Protection Agency “Green Power Partner,” is committed to alternative sources of energy. A member of the Utah Clean Energy Alliance’s “Blue Sky” Wind Power Program, Black Diamond was one of Utah’s first manufacturers to be powered by wind and, in so doing, reduced our CO2 emissions by over 111 tons our first year with the program. Additionally, we recently partnered with Solar Energy International (SEI) to install solar panels, in the form of a 2200-watt grid-tied system, on our retail store. In a recent renovation to our campus, we replaced existing magnetic ballasts with T8 bulbs and electronic ballasts, which are up to 44% more efficient.

We recycle. We reuse scrap paper. We carpool up the canyons on powder-day dawn patrols and we pack people in our trucks on road trips. In short, we make every effort possible to preserve the lands we love. We don’t do it to sell more carabiners; we do it because we believe it’s the right thing to do.
And we hope you feel the same.