Another Man Down

We’ve entered yet another stage in the on going healing process - the waiting game. With no sign of infection in my blood and the debridement wound healing nicely I’ve been taken off of antibiotics, lost my little pal the Wound-VAC and graduated from hyperbaric oxygen therapy. So currently, and for first time in a while, there are no tubes hanging from my body and I’m allowed to wear whatever I want. If infection steers clear and bones start to knit the possibility of a highly functional outcome becomes very very high, but it will be at least another month before anyone considers putting any money down. And although there’s a small part of me that wants to hole up in the dark, bite my nails and fear for the worst (of course normally there’d be an empty bottle of wine or two close by, but in this example we’ll forgo it for the sake of healing), life feels oddly normal.

Last day in the chamber

Last weekend Bridget and I drove up to Santa Maria (yes, I’m driving) to visit our buddy Justin Willet at his winery. Winemakers are usually pretty busy, but during harvest in the early fall things get very exciting. For the past 2 months Justin and everyone else in the winemaking world have been working overtime to get ripe grapes off the vine and begin the vinification process. Fantasies that many have about the winemakers life are a far cry from the laborious work of harvest. There’s no cheese plate or skirt clad barefoot women in sight. No, in September and October the winery is filled with allot of sweat, tired eyes, sore muscles and more than a few empty cups of coffee. We caught Justin at the tail end of the season. He was noticeably exhausted, something I’ve never witnessed from the man I consider an expert in burning the candle on both ends. On the day of our visit he had a “light” 12 hours of work to do, so there was plenty of time to show us around.

Welcome to Tyler Winery

Punch downs!

Side note: I won't be shaving until I walk again

Chardonay fermenting away

Towards the end of the day my phone rang and the caller ID lit up “Elijah”. We had exchanged texts earlier in the day. Ever the assholes, we spent the morning taunting and assaulting each other’s manhood. He was off bouldering so I assumed the current phone call was a last ditch effort to lovingly rub dirt in my face.

“What’s up dude?”

“Oh, not much.”

“So how’s climbing?”

“Yeah, about that.... I think I broke my ankle falling off the top of Gangsta Hippie.”

This is when I start laughing, not because I don’t believe him, rather the shear irony of the situation is far greater than any amount of concern I have for my friend. I could already see us hopping around town on crutches together - the perfect couple. Better still, Elijah’s sitting up there at the bottom of a boulder, his ankle mangled and his first instinct is to call me, not for help, but just to chat.

“You’re fucking kidding me? Are you at the hospital right now.”

“No. I’m sitting at the bottom of the problem. I just snapped my foot back into place. It sorta hurts. I almost puked.”

“Are you alone?”

“Uh kinda. But Kristy and some other people are around here somewhere. There supposedly gonna get me out of here, but I haven’t seen them for a while. I might just start walking to the car myself.”

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. Ahghh” He moans and there’s a pause. “Its starting to swell allot. I just got tired of waiting around so I figured I’d call you. Oh. I think I hear them coming. I’m gonna try to get up and start moving down the hill.”

“Uh. Ok. Call me later and let me know what’s up.”

A few years back I fell off Gangsta Hippie and slammed my head spotting a landing.

I found out later that Elijah didn’t break his ankle, but rather massively ruptured the ankle ligaments, along the way tearing out some muscle and a piece of bone. We’re told this sort of injury ruins a runner’s career, something Elijah is anything but. However, the injury is a notch or two up from your standard ankle sprain and Elijah’s traded in his climbing shoes for a pair of crutches.

Reed looking stylish back in the "good old days"

Hawk looking even more stylish

Oddly, this is actually the fourth major climbing injury a member of the Castle crew has incurred this summer/fall. Reed Bartlett took a fall recently, and from the looks of things may have chipped some bone or torn ligaments. Another veteran climber with a string of bad luck. He’s got a pair of crutches too. Of course, how could we continue without mentioning the man they call “Hawk!”, who broke his arm falling from no more than a few feet off the ground while climbing on top rope at the Owl Tor. No one’s ever claimed that climbing is without risk, but this is getting a bit ridiculous.

I can't walk, but I can campus

on really small rungs no less