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TR: Son of Gunksfest

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John Peterson

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Dec 29, 2002, 9:12:05 PM12/29/02
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Oh, the humiliation. To be home sick while the hardest of hardcore
climbers braved cold, snow, and the wimpiness of their fellow climbers
to suffer at the Gunks.

I would have been there if I could.

It started well enough: Alex visited Connecticut for a lightning ascent
of Weissner's Rib at Sleeping Giant. It was warm and cozy on the
course, blocky basalt. We were heroes. We were ready.

But then: disaster. A major winter storm. A major winter cold.
Majorly wimpy kids. Gunksfest came and went without me.

How could I atone for my errors? How could I once again become a
member of the hardcore elite? Then it came to me: my own Son of
Gunksfest would redeem me in the eyes of Steve and Dawn.

So there we were: a mere 3 days after the real Gunksfest. Unlike the
foolish Gunksfesters a few days before, we brought proper gear: skis.
Definitely some of the best snow we've had at the Gunks for a long
time.

But just skiing wouldn't do. A Gunksfest isn't a Gunksfest without
climbing. So after a highly enjoyable bit of touring around I
convinced (or maybe forced?) Jay into some climbing.

Now this was a minimalist Gunksfest. Probably more in the spirit of
the original Lenape Indians who first introduced Gunksfesting to the
white man. We needed no rope, no climbing shoes, no common sense. It
was man (and boy) against nature, naked and unaided.

Fortunately we had our choice of routes. No hordes of climbers to clog
up the classics. As we skied down the hill we saw that our route was
open and ready: Dirty Chimney. According to Williams, this is one of
the top 4 5.0 routes at the Gunks. We had to do it.

Before we started our ascent, we took time to appreciate the efforts
of those before us. The tracks leading up Mental Block. The
Snowman. In spirit, we were not alone.

After due deliberation, we decided to ascend without our skis. It
would have been cheating to wedge our skis across the chimney to form
a veritable ladder. Where would the challenge be?

The first crux was stepping off the deep drifts of snow onto the
waiting quartz conglomerate. A few vigorous kicks managed to clear
our boots of any lingering snow. We climbed rapidly: 10 feet, 20
feet. Nothing could stop us! But then: the real crux.

The chimney narrowed. Ledges became infrequent. The exposure was
appalling - nearly 40 feet of empty space gaped below us (that's 12
meters for you Canadians ...). But above we could see the tree that
marked the end of the difficulties.

Jay thought we would be fools to continue. What good would the
fleeting glory of Gunksfesting be if we fell, or worse, backed off?
But I couldn't resist the call of the summit. So close. So close.

Finally Jay and I worked out the moves. A foot jam. A long reach. A
high step. And then the grab for the bucket at the top of the crux.
I steadied myself, ready to catch him in case our plan went tragically
wrong. Jay tried once. Then twice. Then he went for it! I could
see his hand shoot up and grab that final glorious bucket.

DAD!! IT'S COVERED WITH ICE! MY HAND IS FREEZING! I'M GOING DOWN.

So that was it. My pleas, my threats, my entreaties went unanswered.
Only descent would satisfy him. Like Weissner on K2, I was defeated
not by the mountain but by my partner. Sadly we retreated..

So that's it. History will be our judge. Are we real Gunksfesters or
just posers? We don't know. We may never know.

But wait till next year ...

John

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