I met Clint last year at Frog, He approached our quiet camp one night as an abrasive storm of tobacco smoke, cuss words and tall stories. We hated him.
A few days later I was forced to climb with him. All the qualities that I had found unlikeable that night, shone through as honest enthusiasm for being out there. Even at the time I chalked it up as a lesson of judging a book by its cover, and through out the day he continued to surprise me with his apparent deep awareness and connection with climbing not to mention his interest in classical literature. |