Gear Review

I bought my first pair of climbing shoes in high school. When I complained about the pain in my toes my climbing friend laughed and said, “Get used to it, that’s how they are supposed to fit.” Since then I have always equated climbing shoes with pain. In fact, it seems to be an industry standard and a literal take on the phrase, “No pain, no gain.” The Scarpa Vapor V’s are here to turn that concept on its head. 

When I saw the Vapors a the REI garage sale in October and slipped them on I was surprised for two reasons, they fit, and they were instantly comfortable. It felt like they were meant for me, green and tucked in a pile of miscellaneous shoes. I did a double take before I realized I was looking at a pair of sleek climbing shoes. At first, I thought they were too big but there was no dead space, they are just instantly comfortable. This is one of the Vapors best qualities, there is no trial time to break in the shoes.

On rock or at the gym the Vapors excel. With a slightly aggressive shape but a soft flex they hold a fine balance. They are designed with the reverse slingshot rand pushing your heel back rather than your toes forward increasing comfort. They are coated with

4 mm of Vibram Edge rubber making them grippy on even the most worn granite. The toe box is properly tight but not uncomfortable, and the sensitivity of the shoe makes finding the flakes for foot placement easier than I’ve ever experienced.

Climbing at the gym I’ve gotten comments from people about my sweet shoes. They aren’t overly colorful but the green pops just enough to catch the eye when you are making that sweet heel hook. My favorite part about them is the little Italian flag. Scarpa is proud and they show it. You should be too, sporting these great climbing kicks is like taking your climbing level up a notch just by putting them on. 

Since this has to be five-hundred words I need some space filler, but really what more can I say about a pair of shoes. So I’ll tell you a little about my first climbing experience in years. Picture this- Alaska, a craggy glacial valley and perfectly worn granite all over the place. My friend Daisy takes me mountain biking to one of the local crags. I have no shoes and haven’t climbed in years but she is encouraging. Up I go, leading some easy climbs in my bare feet. It was a blast and was the invigorating body movement and experience I needed after over a month out at sea and to get me excited about climbing again. I now have gotten myself a new pair of shoes and am back at it again. It is amazing what a friends enthusiasm can do to get the stoke flowing again. 

Salmon Fishing

A joyous moment!

Alaska, the last frontier, they say. The promised land some say. I have heard about this place of mythical proportions my whole life and I’ve been infatuated with the idea of going. Last summer I got my chance. I bought a plane ticket with the determined intention of salmon fishing in Bristol Bay. I had heard that this was the real deal, “off-the-road system”, removed from the rest of the country by ridges of glacier capped mountains, only accessible by plane or boat. On my flight in we passed almost directly over a smoking volcano and on my descent I saw a herd of caribou.

I was on an adventure. The journey pushed me beyond anything I have ever experienced. Sleepless days, nights never dark, but picturesque with rainbow skies. Fish, fish and more fish. Endless fish, I swore at them, prayed for them, and ate more of them than I ever had in my life. My world became a 29-foot-long and 11-foot-wide boat named Sea Breeze. However, there was nothing breezy about the experience. We launched into 30 knot winds and 8 foot seas. The first 48 hours were hell incarnate, I was soaked, shivering, puking and pulling fish in. The puking stopped, we fixed our leaky windows, and the fish kept coming.

Five weeks out in the ocean. Five weeks without feeling the land underfoot but learning to relax and rock with the boat. Whether sitting, cooking, hauling in fish or sleeping. The rock and sway became comforting. I had nightmares for two weeks, imagining all the terrible things that could befall us. But one by one we checked them off the list and I became more confident that we could survive anything. Engine fire, check. Grounding on a sandbar with the net out, check. Wrapping another boat in our net, check. The never ending near catastrophes became commonplace.

A hose clamp fractured on our coolant hose. Emptying our antifreeze, seizing up our engine, and breaking down our hydraulic reel. The net out and our boat adrift cruising towards the 1000-foot-long “trampers,” hitting one would mean obliteration. 900 feet of net loaded with fish, and they were still coming in. “Round-hauling,” pulling the net in by hand, is like running a marathon with your fingertips. Grab the mesh, lean back, pull as hard as you can, repeat. The conclusion of this act is a deck filled with net and fish, hip deep in it. The next step is to remove the fish one by one. Yanking, pulling and picking through the mess of net and fish.

There was beauty and joy amidst the overwhelming hardship. Watching the mountain ranges change to indigo under rainbow skies. The sublime calm of night, ripples dancing, reflecting the moon above. Fish, rooted to the cycles, 4-6 years swimming all over the Pacific Ocean only to return to their natal stream. Multicolored and powerful, unyielding in their determination to return home. Salmon Fishing, a rite of passage that taught me that I’m capable of anything.