Crashed Ice and Stuff White People Like

Rant below but first off check this out:

As a kid who grew up in the "hockey belt" upholding Mario Lemieux as a living deity: two insane thumbs up. And on the subject of ice skating sadly The Pond @ Bryant Park closed its doors for the season this past weekend. The Pond is the only free ice skating rink in New York City and is always a crowded and vibrant affair. I vividly recall one moment when a Black person coming off the ice, in what was apparently their first time on skates, remarked "hey, not so bad for a person my color." If you've ever skated at Bryant Park then you quickly grasp the irony of this comment. Almost all of the "skate guards" and elite skaters are, night in and out, overwhelmingly Black, Latino and Asian; a Lupe Fiasco'esque counterculture of whiz kids, the unlikely mesh of hip-hop and hockey. Skate, push, skate, push...coast.

"Threatening to Move to Canada." It doesn't matter if you're white or a person of color, the StuffWhitePeopleLike blog is riddled with undeniably "zomglolz!" and "ah-ha!" moments. Pretending to Like Soccer? Jesus Harold Christ. And yet after wading through this supposed exposure of dominant culture I'm left with the salty feeling that Christian Lander's blog is ironically a typically non-transformative exercise in hipster-irony. It strikes me as being a sophisticated, if well-intentioned, digital version of a tight-fitting punchlined shirt spotted in the East Village. Beyond the immediate irony of the author of the site being a white man who received a $300,000 book deal (had he been Black would he have snagged such an offer?), there's just a decidedly predictable and snarky tone to it that doesn't actually challenge preconceived and often errant notions of race and culture. Is even 'white culture' in this sense so monolithic, static? Are people of color who enjoy similar things compromising their authenticity, i.e. not keeping it real? Don't a LOT more white people like 50 Cent than Mos Def? Am I uncool as a person of color for loving Mos Def? Why the singling out of liberal and even radical (Mumia supporters) whites? Is it less uncomfortable to poke fun at white people who like traveling in third world countries than it is whites who remain silent when openly racist things are spoken? Is it also ironic that Black and Brown people often fetishize upscale cars, brands and designers who frequently don't bother concealing their resentment? Why aren't the real tough questions asked concerning access and means. Do you think that youth from the ghettos and barrios of our cities wouldn't WANT to experience lands and cultures that only exist to them (in more often than not distorted ways) in movies? Would they not feel the same awe as some of "us" seeing the misty ruins of Machu Piccu, introduced to the rush of carving fresh powder at 30 mph (or 5 mph if you ski like me)?

Figure A: Jarome Iginla, Nigerian-Canadian captain of the Calgary Flames, one of the most skilled, feared and respected hockey players in the world, part of a growing generation of Black hockey players.

Maybe I'm just overly sensitive as someone who straddles so many worlds and roles, between my Filipina mother and Irish last name, as social justice advocate, incendiary rapper and soul singer, my Brooklyn pride and Adirondack roots, between hip-hop and hockey, treeline summits and sea-level streets. But I'd like to think, in the age of an Obama presidency, that culture is so much more alive, fluid, dynamic. People more nuanced, ever-changing. Race relations not so black and white, not so easily boxed and checkboxed. The truth mind-boggingly complex.

I am ALL for making light of our naive foibles and shortcomings but instead of a self-deprecating dive in (white) guilty pleasure, how about a provocative, honest and transformative dialogue on race for once? And on that note, you are sorely missed Bryant Park.

As a more constructive suggestion I urge you to check out the certifiably dope Hip-Hop to the Heights-approved non-profit organization Big City Mountaineers.

Mount Beacon, Breakneck Ridge: Affliction & Addiction

Someday I hope to attempt my probably overreaching ambition of bagging the more notable fourteeners (peaks over 14,000') in Colorado and eventually Mexico's 18,490' beautiful volcanic monster Pico de Orizaba. I can't even begin to imagine their jaw-dropping glaciated panoramic vistas, those "windows into heaven" and the hellish assault required to experience them but even come that day I will still have a soft spot in my heart for paltry 1,260' Breakneck Ridge. Breakneck Ridge is typified just as much by its harrowingly vertical ascent and beautiful overlooks of the Hudson River and Storm King Mountain as it is by its disgustingly crowded (Bottleneck Ridge?) and littered trails. The only trail I've been on more choked with human traffic was Shenandoah's infamous Old Rag, similarly within close proximity to a large city. In the past two years I've climbed Breakneck Ridge some 20+ times and have done the 8 mile ass-kicking Breakneck Ridge to Mount Beacon trek 8 times, including an extended summer trip to Bald Hill where I came within inches of stepping on a very angry, large and rattling Eastern Timber Rattlesnake. Breakneck Ridge is my gear testing site, my wilderness gym, the perfect introductory hike to bring along friends unfamiliar with trees outside of parks, a road to traverse with my head floating like a balloon on a string free from the weight of city toil: it is a just plain ass fun time. I fuccs wit' Breakneck.

Fittingly my first trip report on this blog is of the most recent Breakneck-to-Beacon trip I took with some members of Meetup.com's Hiking & Nature group. It was taken as an unofficial pre-hike in anticipation of an Adirondacks winter trip that I unfortunately cannot make. Meeting people off the Al Gore for activities is a little strange to begin with but meeting strangers to go on long winter hikes of potential consequence is an all-together nutty thing so I was relieved to discover that this small group was equal parts experienced, irreverent, friendly and neither excessively organized nor disorganized. Liz, an ice climber, even learned me on the "screaming pukies" (don't ask, just Google, ugh). Shout out to traildog millionaire Andre for the accompanying photographs - I managed to leave my camera at home. A few of the other photos are from the same trip made two weeks prior with Karen who learned in dramatic fashion the necessity of stabilicers/microspikes/crampons in winter (sorry 'bout the knee!).

Due to a small logistical error - not naming names - we had to walk to the Breakneck Ridge trailhead from Cold Spring. We were all quickly struck by just how fucking cold it was walking down Route 9 with temps hovering in the low teens on the tail end of an arctic cold front. The sky however was a cloudless impenetrable blue, just beautiful. Through the holidays I predictably allowed my conditioning to atrophy so I had some inhibitions about pacing with a group unfamiliar to me. Outside of sweating buckets as the sun rose higher and lagging behind during a tortuous gear change to snowshoes/poles that I inexplicably made without stopping, I managed to drag myself along okay. Time to get my ass back on the Brooklyn Bridge for sure though (and to break in my new Scarpa SL M3 boots, irresponsible purchase #17 of the new year).

The weekend prior I went snowshoeing in similar conditions at Fahnestock Park so I decided to take my MSR Denali Evo Ascents along despite there being only some 5 inches of cocaina on the ground. If you're unfamiliar with the experience winter hiking is a game of layer management. Uncomfortably cold? Add a layer. Warming up? Remove one. The idea is to reduce to an absolute minimum the amount you sweat since it significantly reduces the insulating properties of your (non-cotton) layers, while avoiding frostbite and hypothermia on the other end (fail). The sun, weight of the snowshoes and my own lethargy caught me by surprise so let's say my Xbox 360 Layer Management Achievement was not acquired that day. But I did manage the hairy scramble up Mount Beacon without removing my snowshoes (Sufficiently Stupid But Stable Snowshoe Achievement, 25G).

All in all despite the bitter cold (Mount Beacon you mutherphucker) and late start it was a beautiful day in which we had most of the hills to ourselves. On top of that I met a solid group of folks I hope to get to share trails and snarky punchlines with in the future. The only real bummer was having to literally run from an overrun Chinese restaurant in Beacon to the train station only to find out the train was delayed: completing this traverse is truly worth savoring broccoli in garlic sauce in relaxed and accomplished fashion.

Breakneck Ridge is accessible via Metro-North train from Grand Central Station on weekends. You can obtain a topography map from Tent & Trails or EMS: NY/NJ East Hudson Map Pack. For more information I wrote a guide for a shorter traverse to Cold Spring here.

The photos below are of Mount Beacon, including a view of the New York City skyline in the distance from its summit.

Koba and DJ Boo last fall in Virginia

Okay, not a trip report but this show was a boatload of fun:

Koba and DJ Boo at Foxcroft Boarding School, Virginia


The real stars here were the ladies of Foxcroft School. If I had audiences this charismatic more often, well...you can imagine.

...It Begins! (And How It All Began)

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all. Helen Keller (mandatory quote #1)

Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion. I go to them as humans go to worship. From their lofty summits I view my past, dream of the future and, with an unusual acuity, am allowed to experience the present moment...my vision cleared, my strength renewed. In the mountains I celebrate creation. On each journey I am reborn. Anatoli Boukreev (R.I.P., mandatory quote #2)

The Great Way is very level but people greatly delight in tortuous paths. - Tao te Ching (words of wisdom for a Presi Traverse)

Nobody climbs mountains for scientific reasons. Science is used to raise money for the expeditions, but you really climb for the hell of it. - Sir Edmund Hillary (that's more like it!)

Many of you know me as Koba, the sweat-spilling stage-jumping, rappin' and sangin' the truth-to-the-youth hip-hop firebrand and performer extraordinaire but I'm also guessing many of you know me as Koba the mountain-obsessed trail junkie because I just can't seem to ever shut up about the "freedom of the hills." It's been a year and a half since my newfound passion commenced and I thought it was about time, especially given my expanding ambitions, to document my granola pathology for the world to bear witness to, or at least a tiny portion of the Al Gore.

...In the Summer of His 27th Year...

I was born in the Adirondacks, literally within miles of the Canadian border, and spent much of my childhood at my grandfather's house near Old Forge. In high school I casually went spelunking with friends at Chimney Mountain in the Central Adirondacks and like many other upstate New York kids, the woods, creeks (read: cricks), open blue sky and ubiquitous snow were all but synonymous with the world. My sudden affliction for hiking however was no revisitation of that experience. I had grown up a pudgy, computer-anchored video game-addled nerd more likely to have his head in a Noam Chomsky book than a Sierra Trading Post catalog. But that experience did set a context for what I have come to immeasurably love, a love that dare not spare me a weekend.

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin' home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin' by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changin' fast and it don't last for long

So how did it happen? In June 2007 - in the summer of my 27th year - I came across an article about Samantha Larson, who at 18 had just become the youngest person to complete the Seven Summits challenge, i.e. summitting the highest peaks on all 7 continents. Amazed by this accomplishment (and combined with a particularly slow workday) I began to seek out journals and stories of others who dared taunt the windswept summits of these inhospitable peaks with their fragile mortal presence. I instantly became an armchair mountaineer and decided to begin training for the actual task by walking to and from work over the Brooklyn Bridge - the world's greatest short hike. Lo and behold a couple of months later I traded in Wikipedia entries about the north face of the Eiger and Cerro Torre for the summit of 3,780 foot Wittenberg Mountain, the throne of the Catskills.

Since then I have hiked and backpacked in all seasons in:

• the Adirondack High Peaks (10 peaks including aborted Great Range traverse)
• the Catskills (4 peaks, Wittenberg 4 times, Burroughs Range Loop)
• Shenandoah National Park (northern half of AT)
• Acadia National Park (Beehive, Champlain, Cadillac, Huguenot, Dorr)
• Mohonk and the Shawangunks
• the Hudson Highlands (Breakneck Ridge 20+ times, Mt. Taurus, Mt. Beacon, Bald Hill)
• Harriman State Park/Bear Mountain
• and elsewhere
  

It's also worth noting that I've long been an activist and advocate for humanity's better interests. How can you claim to love and defend this beautiful blue planet if you do not seek out its most precious and threatened ecosystems, its most magestic and elusive vistas that give wide open view over the very things you've pledged loyalty to. And how do you sustain your Xbox 360 addiction without the healthy counter-weight of rigorous and routine physical effort?

Anyhow, I'm going to use this space to record my stories and photos with hopefully helpful information for anyone inspired to follow their inner Alexander Supertramp into the wild. Please don't hesitate to leave comments and if you have any inquiries whatsoever don't hesitate to contact me. Sorry mama but the mountains are calling, word to John Muir.