Story From the Old Climber's Home
Brutus of Wyde
I tried posting this a few months back,
but it seemed to disappear. Still just
getting the hang of this new computer.
Anyways, back then the fellow down the hall
passed away under the care of a nurse.
(More specifically, when a nurse was
sitting on his face, but that's another
story...) I never spoke with him much
about climbing, but we talked a bit about
computers. The nurses here in the old
climber's home notice me occasionally
playing pong on my 256, and when this
fellow passed on, they asked me if I
wanted an upgrade. After making sure
they were referring to a computer, of
course I accepted. Here, for your
reflection, is the last file that he
had opened on his voice-activated
word processing program.
Brutus of Wyde
Old Climbers' Home
Oakland, California
***********************************
As the last light of day faded from the
overcast sky, the first sprinkling of
raindrops hissed across the granite walls
around me. Far below, distant and unreal
in the gloom, the wind rustled the tiny
pine trees like a breeze through a field
of grain. Two pitches to go, two short
pitches, and I would have my free solo
of Astroman.
I stood on a 6" belay ledge in the upper
dihedrals of Washington Column and thought
back about the day. The Boulder pitch had
given me pause, early in the afternoon, with
several attempts and some desperate ledge-jumps
required before I nailed the sequence.
5.11cma. (5.11c-my-ass.) After that, though,
The climb had proceeded relatively smoothly.
Enduro had felt easier, more beautiful, and
even more exhilharating than when I had done
it last. Harding Slot was a cruise, no pesky
gear in the right-index-fingerlock at the roof
this time, shoulder bridging and knee-toelocking
out the incredible passage, no rack crushing
me in the squeeze. A cruise.
The next pitch had given me a bit of trouble.
It took a few tries before I remembered the
backstep sequence that carried me through the
layback and up to the belay. I had been so
thankful for the near-sit-down rest just below
the crux, I almost cried.
On the ledges below the Changing Corners, as
startling sunlight, unnoticed before, disappeared
into the shadowed dihedral, I took a nap,
cradled by rock warm as living flesh, clipped
into the cam and the stopper I had brought just
for this purpose.
The cold awakened me. The wind had picked up,
and some ominous-looking clouds were drifting
overhead, obscuring the wildly blue sky. The
sun was low in the west, and it was time for
this to be over.
Changing Corners went well. With no rope,
without a need to climb high to protect,
without a need to make a blind cam placement
before tackling the thin face and tips-only
crack, the moves seemed only half as hard as
I remembered them. It was with great
satisfaction that, smiling, I finally
sank my arms into the wide cracks above
and relaxed into the rythm of repetetive
hand and fist jamming through the vertical
evening.
I was on the small 6" ledge in the upper
dihedrals when the rain began. At first,
I was concerned that the constant light
sprinkle would create problems. The next
200 foot pitch, easy 5.9 and 5.10 cracks,
was climbed quickly, and with a note of
seriousness: Although the rock was dry,
the cracks below the final overhang were
nearly invisible in the darkness as I
crawled out from under the roof onto
the final ledge. One pitch to go.
Up here, on the last large ledge below
the top, I was less sheltered, and realized
the intensity of the storm had increased.
I donned my rain jacket (previously tied
around my waist) and fetched the tiny Petzl
headlamp out of the pocket. The beam showed
the rock to be wet from the constant drizzle,
but not yet streaming with water. I quickly
moved up the black, featured 5.9 crack to
the top of the pedestal, looked above.
At this point, a free ascent was impossible.
After a few moves off the pedestal, I yarded
on an angle pin sticking most of the way out
of the rock, found a rugosity and a sidepull,
and carefully high-stepped onto the pin.
Fingers clawed over the glass-like face,
starving tarantulas looking for prey.
Crystal here, wrinkle there. High step,
look carefully, beam of the headlamp
reflects off a silvery wire from the
bottom copperhead of a ladder of blobs
leading to safety, to the large incut hold
in the darkness above, bloody fingers
screaming from grabbing the frayed cables,
feet slipping, rain pounding down now,
turning to wind driven sleet as I grab
the juglike hold at the end of the difficult
climbing then scamper up the 4th class to
the top. I stumble across the summit by
surreal lightning flashes, hunker below
an overhanging rock in the mud, shivering,
miserable, exhilarated.
I suppose I should have built a fire
and bivied then. But as the hail began
to accumulate on the manzanita, on the
gravel, on the slabs, invisible and
malevolent except where my light brought
it to ghostly, colorless life, I jogged
through the bushes on the top of the
Column and started across the ledges,
jacket flailing freezing water and sleet
from every bush I passed, pant legs
shredding in the brambles, hands numb,
face stinging with cold and sleet,
shoulders hunching and shaking with
uncontrolled spasms, powering across
the slabs, heading for the warmth and
safety of the Valley Floor.
As I reached the final traverse into the
North Dome gully, crabbing across the
treacherous mud, filth and thicket clinging
to my numb self, slower, clumsy, no longer
shivering now although the sleet continues
to fall, slipping, accelerating, forest
overhead blurring, headlamp spinning away
crazy-dancing down into the night-filled
void sledge hammer blow to my neck felt
dully through the empty lazy space whirling
off into the darkness.
::
All of that was so long ago, I seldom think
on it any more. My life began then, and ended
then, years ago in the darknesss of North Dome
Gully, hypothermic, dying, alone. Now I am a
ghost: learning how to operate a wheelchair
with my chin, to use a voice-activated computer
interface have been the greatest challenges of
my death. A few special friends helped me through
the transition. I haven't heard from most of my
ropemates in years. Guess my reminder of their
own frailty, their own mortality, was a little
more than they wanted to deal with.
Or maybe it was simply that I no longer climbed.
Climbing had once been the center of my life,
as it still was for them. I had had little time
for those not swept up by the wonder of the
ascent.
So I understand.
We were so indestructible then, when we conquered
a wall we felt like gods. Poor, frail humans,
trying in their own pitiful ways to grasp at
the stars. Yet, in the end, grasping only the
cold unfeeling rock, and having it turn to
cold black mud slipping through our fingers.
"Jim, it's time for your physiacl therapy."
[chuckle]
Nurse Catherine! come in! you look ravishing
this evening. Just a minute, let me save this file
and then we can play...
END OF FILE
***********************************
Kelly Rich
In article <6dp5ir$i3m$1...@lal.interserv.com>, bbin...@ebmudnot.com (Brutus of Wyde) says:
>We were so indestructible then, when we conquered
>a wall we felt like gods. Poor, frail humans,
>trying in their own pitiful ways to grasp at
>the stars. Yet, in the end, grasping only the
>cold unfeeling rock, and having it turn to
>cold black mud slipping through our fingers.
...me too...
Here's a quote I'll keep. Nice upgrade...
:- k
Jeff Elison
Brutus of Wyde (bbin...@ebmudnot.com) wrote:
: I tried posting this a few months back,
: but it seemed to disappear. Still just
: getting the hang of this new computer.
What the heck is this doing in rec.climbing??
Quality posts don't fit in around here! This is the
best post I've seen in '98.
thanks,
Mort
Med Dyer
On 12 Mar 1998 16:36:28 GMT, jwe@PROBLEM_WITH_INEWS_GATEWAY_FILE (Jeff
Elison) wrote:
>Brutus of Wyde (bbin...@ebmudnot.com) wrote:
>: I tried posting this a few months back,
>: but it seemed to disappear.
It didn't disappear -- I recall seeing it late last year, maybe with a
different ending though?
>Quality posts don't fit in around here! This is the
>best post I've seen in '98.
Also the best of '97, if I wasn't hallucinating previously. It is a
great post and should be picked up R&I for publication.
Med Dyer