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About Tradgirl | ||
by Tom Cikoski, 12/26/00
The invitation had come in the mail a few days
before Christmas. It said as follows:
You are cordially invited to attend the most fantabulous marketing event of the year!
The Alguard-Cherry Expeditions Company will use The Shawangunk Mountains as the site of its annual pre-New Years kickoff party and marketing extravaganza.
Dawn Alguard and Steven Cherry have set up a base camp at the foot of "The Gunks" to prepare for this exciting event. At the stroke of around 3:01 PM on Tuesday, December 26, 2000, Dawn, Steven, and fifty of the best climbers in the world will climb the reknown "High Exposure" route of The Gunks. Upon reaching the famous third pitch, a giant Boeing 777 airliner will fly over the cliff, dropping free tickets to many Alguard-Cherry expeditions. Simultaneously, two of the Alguard-Cherry tour buses will race toward each other, one up, one down, the winding mountain road, and meet at the hairpin turn at the exact instant that Dawn, Steven, and the fifty climbers crest the summit. Then all of the base camp staff will pass gas at the same time, and someone will light a match. Then cut to commercial.
BE THERE! BE THERE! BE THERE! RSVP. BYOB.
I casually threw the invitation to my son Colin.
"Whadda ya think?" I asked.
"I don't have a big enough rack," he said.
I smirked. I knew what was under the tree, even then. Even then.
On the 26th of December we arose before dawn (and possibly before Dawn) and shoveled down the breakfast gruel. Then we set out for the Gunks, our gruel-fetish sated.
What we saw when we finally arrived at base camp can only be described as "hardly the sort of thing you would expect for the very cold day after Christmas at The Gunks."
There were swarms of people everywhere. A forest of tents sat covering the denuded ground. Big screen TV sets, laptops, ox roasts and used nitro glycerin littered the landscape. There was nearly an acre of Buddhist monks chanting over Christian grave sites in the parking lot. Pakistani soldiers patrolled the perimeter, but they all spoke perfect English. Men in long trenchcoats hawked bootleg Metolius cams by the road.
"What the hell!" I exclaimed.
"Dad, it's just a climbing expedition," said Colin.
He's so up-to-date with the new technology. I'm a proud, proud dad.
Steven Cherry leading Laurel (5.7)
"So glad you could make it!" he said. "We're about 35
climbers short of having 50 of the world's average climbers
here. Would you care to fill in?"
"I'm honored." I said. "Is there a paycheck?"
"Can I lead?" asked Colin, his new hardware gifts gleaming
in the rack. (Colin now clinks like a climber.)
"Oh, yes, yes! You'll fit right in! Now let me point
out the rest of the team. Over there you will find
DawnJulieMarcKarlAlexLeonKeithAyaMarkGregJohnandEric. And
we've invited Emmet and Barb, two homeless brokers from
New Paltz to join us. You got it? Now you two just set
up a top rope at Easy O and we'll be right along."
It was not cold at first. In fact, it was balmy, like a
spring day in February, in Murmansk, but not so fishy
smelling. Colin and I parked at the foot of Easy O
and prepared to climb. It would be Colin's FIRST lead.
But I'd be trying to get over the first move, which is
an offwidth undercling layback finger jam smear mantle.
Or that's what it seemed to me. I could not get off
the ground.
"Are you ever going to start, Dad?" asked Colin from
his belay station on the GT ledge. How the hell -- when
the hell did he get up there? Oh, I had belayed him
earlier. My mind was whirling with the 5.273 problem I
faced. I had forgotten.
Suddenly Steven appeared again.
"Down already?" he asked.
"Good plan," he said. "Mind if I go up and check his
placements and his anchor?"
It seemed reasonable to me, given the damnable
clingover layjam back saddle I was trying to mount.
Soon the two lead climbers were down again. Colin
had not only finished his first lead, but had also
gotten good marks on his protection.
"Wait here," said Steven. "I'm sure that others will
want to top rope Baby or something nearby."
He trotted away.
We waited. We played a few rubbers of bridge. We
lunched. We waited. Time passed. Babies were born.
Old folks died, were buried; mourned. The wind rose.
Colin had a go at Baby. But in the teeth of a hurricane
Southwind, only Gordon Lightfoot could have done it
without gloves, which Colin had not many of, having left
two of them near my feet, one for each hand.
He swung over and stood at my side. The very first hint
of chillybites glowed in his cheek.
"We need someone to have a look at that," I said.
"Do you think they'll send a team for us -- like in
Our Favorite Movie?" he asked.
"No, son." I said. "We're gonna have to bust out."
We descended the South Ridge and slogged back up
the line, through centimeter deep drifts of ice and
snow. Our dogs died, one by one, and we et 'em.
The Crowd at the Uberfall, photo courtesy Tom Cikoski
SO THAT WAS IT! Steven and Dawn would CLIMB IN THE TROpictures
while we held off the heathen swine in Murmansk! WE'LL
SEE ABOUT THAT! Well, they were paying for it, after all.
"Would any of you care to use the top rope we have set
up at Baby?" I asked, modestly.
The silence, except for the clinking of the belly dancer's
finger cymbals, was deafening.
"The 777 is late," said Steven graciously. "Just be patient."
Then from the crowd stepped Greg. Greg is from California,
and thus is bored with mindless balmy hedonism. And, he's
not on one of the seven active top ropes now, and he's never
done Baby, and he's a really nice guy. Hurray Greg!
After a brief round of HUZZAH!s we slog back. Greg takes to
Baby (a "classic Gunks crack") like a duck to a TV commercial.
And little old me gets to belay a total stranger up a classic
Gunks climb! Later, Greg said "That was the best belay I've
ever had up Baby". I nearly bursted with pride.
But all good things must end. Greg had to catch a plane
back to Balmyville. But our time was running out, too.
I had begun to develop symptoms of HAPE -- which you
get by falling into a crevasse or by reading a bad script.
I might have been dying, or I might have been coughing
up a hair ball, it was hard to say.
Either way, we did not have much time.
"Colin," I rasped. "Get the syringes in the bag. They
contain dextromethamphetaclimbyourassoff."
"I don't see any syringes, Dad, but I see some cat toys
in here."
My God! I've left the dextromethamphetaclimbyourassof
syringes with the cat! I'll have to make do with
Christmas cookies!
Did I mention we were running out of time?
I could barely speak because I was trying hard to make
the movie noises that might have sounded like HAPE.
"Colin, (hic, hic)," I said. "Cut me loose (hic). CUT ME
LOOSE! SAVE YOURSELF (hic, haic, hoc)!"
Tom bouldering the start of Easy
"Oh."
We lit our Primus and held a brief strategy session.
No one except Greg had come down our way all day. Well,
to be fair, Steven had come by to tell us to stay alive.
And he had done a bomber job of checking Colin's placements.
But -- where was he?
We needed to find out. Now! Well -- soon, anyway.
We knew that he had to be somewhere near the Uberfall. If
Colin and I could get close enough so that he could hear
our footsteps, or the sound of our inadvertent nitro
explosions, he might just remember Appendix Z of
"Mountaineering, Freedom of the Hills": 1) drain the blood
from one of the other climbers; 2) put that blood into a
giant ZipLoc baggy; 3) hoist it above the snow
line on a tent pole; and 4) blow it to smithereens with
an M-80 or a few Cherry bombs (tee hee!). Good plan.
Colin and I (well, Colin, actually) humped up Easy O again
and broke down the anchor. I, meanwhile, set up and then used
a perfectly pointless rappel on a nearby boulder, just
to show that I still could do it, I mean. Good plan.
At that moment all Hell broke loose. Sirens screamed. Horns
blowed. Klaxons klaxxed. Soon the word of mouth came down.
Aya Kristen Alt (yes, she does exist!)
"Son," I said, rubbing my ample stomach, "This is MY kind
of rescue!"
Instantly I grabbed a passing Buddhist monk to verify that
Bacchus made vegan fare for Steven, and had a clean ladies
room for Dawn. Next I dismissed all of the help at base camp
and told them to expect double wages. Next I split us all into
as many cars as we had come in and told us to go as fast
as possible to the accident site. Next I checked that I
had my credit cards. Then -- we were ON THE CASE!
EPILOGUE
The details of how we all got from our perilous climbs
into the warm confines of Bacchus are best left for the
sequel. (That's how it was in The Movie.) Suffice it to say
that A GRAND TIME WAS HAD BY ALL!
This movie has been cleared by The Mob, and all bribes
to county officials have been paid. [seal]
Please leave the theater NOW.
Steven Cherry came forward from out of the throng.
"Er, ah, yes. I'm unleading in reverse," I said. "Keeps the
young 'uns guessing."
At long last we reached the Uberfall -- gaunt, famished,
exhausted. There we found five top ropes in full swing,
plus two ice climbs, uniformed waiters, iced and hot
drinks, and (for the ladies) Chippendale! And, best of
all, it was NOT COLD! It was positively quasi-jacuzial!
O (5.2), photo courtesy Tom Cikoski
"You're not roped, Dad." he said.
STEVEN AND DAWN AND A DOZEN OF THE FIFTY BEST CLIMBERS
ARE TRAPPED AT THE BACCHUS RESTAURANT!
CREDITS
First ever lead Colin Longest drive (from Quebec) Marc Knows About Unknown Que Climbing Area Marc Has Pictures to Prove It Marc Most Ambitious Lead Mark (Ken's Crack) Most Ambitious Lead Not Finished Mark (Ken's Crack) Most Ambitious Lead Begun Without Rack Steven (Ken's Crack) Route Which Bested Some Climbers Ken's Crack First Time At Gunks Marc, Alex, Leon, Keith Personal FA Julie (Nose Dive) First Ice Climb Greg, Keith First Time Sighted & Confirmed Real Aya Left Brand New Gear On Rack, While Clipping
Old Pin Stuck In Crack Alex Climbed Three-on-One Rope Like VL Alex, Keith, Leon, John Simul Climbed in Random Patterns Alex, Keith, Leon Minty Speed Ascent Alex, Keith, Leon, John Last Ones Down Alex, Keith, Leon, John Didn't Do A Whole Lot Dawn Took Lots of Pic For Web Site Dawn Ringmaster Dawn Hero Steven Did Stuff I Neither Saw Nor Heard About John, Karl, Aya People We Love (If We Only Knew Why) Emmet, Barb Fattest Climber Who Barely Climbed Tom But Willing Belay Slave Tom Heroic Kid Eric Route No One Ever Even Got Near High Exposure Winner Cold Second Place Bacchus