Stumbleine In Springtime:
A Sonata for Banjo, Washboard and Mouth Harp
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Just about now the drops started to fall. Cabe pulled the final moves and searched for an anchor above, into which he would clip and bring me up. That is, if I was keen to climb in rapidly saturating conditions. I knew the first 20 feet of the route would likely give me a bit of trouble, and I wasn't overly excited to try the moves while they were wet. Cabe called down and asked me what I wanted to do. I felt an overwhelming sense of cowardice rush over me, but I just... had... a... feeling. So I called up to Cabe to rap and clean. He briefly tried to talk me into seconding, but I wasn't up for it. Minutes later, we needed a life raft. I felt a little better now that he was getting drenched.
When Cabe touched down, gear cleaned, we ducked under a roof on the wall with another party of six, where we sat for about half an hour before things let up, slightly. While we were lounging, Brian reflected on the route, saying, "I could see the storm coming in quick, I could see the sheets of rain. But I thought 'if he climbs fast he might just barely beat it.'" It was the funniest thing I heard all trip. Climb fast. Right... Cabe knows me better now. The rest of the day was a wash, literally. The rock above looked like a vertical oil slick. We rummaged around the base of the endless walls (literally; there's one called that) craning our heads upward and wondering (I was, at least) just how the hell anyone climbs about 80% of the lines at the New. We did a bit of bouldering, but finally gave up a couple hours later and headed back into town for dinner, yuks at a local watering hole (and I do mean local, Mr. Bocephus) and, later, South Park. Cabe doesn't get the South Park at home, where things are a bit more, shall we say, regulated (the local affiliate won't air Saturday Night Live, I kid you not). I couldn't decide what was funnier - the show itself or Cabe experiencing it for the first time. |
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