There we were! Climbing under a full moon!
Just a quick note of interest to any legal-minded people: Do not climb at night without the supervision of people really really trained in such things. If you see heat lightning in the distance, break your anchor down immediately!
So the amazing S and I have been threatening to climb a local perennial favorite climb, Harvest Moon, by the light of a full moon. Fitting, no? The theme! The symbolism! The potential for things to go wrong!
And last night, all our dreams came true!
After several complicated discussions that have nothing to do with this story, I wound up getting to S's house just after nine o'clock, to have dinner with her and her two housemates. I mean, once it gets dark it's not like it's going to get any darker.
The food was fabulous--so good!--and the company fun and the libations flowing and before we knew it, it was 11 o'clock and we were loading gear into the car. It wound up being three of us, S and I and her younger housemate, who climbs for the Army and who I've climbed with before.
S lives maybe 10 minutes from Harvest Moon, and we watched the weather with anxious eyes on the way over, even though the heat mist had mostly disappeared by that time. It had been about 85F during the day, humid and overcast, but that had mostly burned off, and the big thunderstorm rumored for the evening had reportedly turned and headed for Montreal.
And my goodness, the darkness. Despite the full moon it was Dark out there in the forest. In addition to being rural and sparsely populated*, we have no billboards in this state, so the Dark it was intense. Which is when S confessed to a sort of intense fear of the dark, which she was confronting solely for the purposes of this climb.
Okay see, cards and flowers? Nice. Someone sacking up and bearding their personal demons for you? Priceless.
We were a little surprised to find another car already at the crag when we pulled in, but we figured it was either someone up there camping, or someone doing another route with the same intent we had, but if they were on Harvest, we joked about there being the potential for a smackdown. And then S' housemate mentioned he'd brought his gun.
We thought he was joking.
Nope. Not so much. Apparently the Army does not do as much unarmed night-climbing as we had imagined, because he also said he usually did this sort of thing with super nightvision goggles on.
Note: we had no night-vision goggles. If we encountered moose or bears or porcupines**, I think the plan was to offer them a beer.
So we tromped along the path to the base of Harvest, and left Army Housemate at the base of the climb to shoot anything that wasn't S or me or a rope being tossed from the anchor-point, and headed up the trail. S was our designated anchor-builder and I was along, I think, mostly for amusement-value, because we both know very well that my anchor-building skills do not extend to doing it in the dark***.
From the top of the climb, you can see all the way across the valley, not just to the mountains on the other side but the next line of mountains behind those. From up there looking down, the cars on the highway looked like tiny determined fireflies, all following the same path from point A to B, turning from pale stars to red embers sliding away in the darkness. It was a gorgeous view, even with clouds obscuring the full moon for most of the view, and even when we heard something that sounded specifically like something crashing through the undergrowth behind us, shortly followed by another crash from the base of the cliff.
The former was dealt with by singing loudly to the tune of an old chocolate-bar advert, and the latter by yelling down to the bottom to find out whether Army Housemate had shot at anything. No? Fabulous!
Then just as I turned to check S's water-knot, I thought I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye, way across the valley. The water-knot looked perfect, but I had indeed seen a flash--quickly joined by a second and a third as heat lightning lit up the sky over the mountains on the other side of the valley.
Which is when it started to sprinkle with rain.
And within the space of maybe two minutes, the amount of time it took me to get on rappel, the skies opened. So at that point, we had to bag the whole thing. I got to rappel down Harvest under a full moon, S kicked one of her irrational fears squarely in the nutsac and Army Housemate.....got to stand around in the dark for an hour, drinking beer and waiting to shoot things.
Good times.
The moral of this story? If it has one, I think it's that everyone needs friends who will tromp around bear- and porcupine-filled woods in the middle of the night with beer and handguns.
(I didn't say it was a good moral.)
*That's right, third least populous state in the Union. And watch your back, South Dakota, once we start slaying our elderly, we'll catch you right quick.
**Yes, porcupines. Ours is a nature state.
***For the record, I was clipped to a bolt at the top with a sling and a locking carabiner, which S checked. Twice.
So the amazing S and I have been threatening to climb a local perennial favorite climb, Harvest Moon, by the light of a full moon. Fitting, no? The theme! The symbolism! The potential for things to go wrong!
And last night, all our dreams came true!
After several complicated discussions that have nothing to do with this story, I wound up getting to S's house just after nine o'clock, to have dinner with her and her two housemates. I mean, once it gets dark it's not like it's going to get any darker.
The food was fabulous--so good!--and the company fun and the libations flowing and before we knew it, it was 11 o'clock and we were loading gear into the car. It wound up being three of us, S and I and her younger housemate, who climbs for the Army and who I've climbed with before.
S lives maybe 10 minutes from Harvest Moon, and we watched the weather with anxious eyes on the way over, even though the heat mist had mostly disappeared by that time. It had been about 85F during the day, humid and overcast, but that had mostly burned off, and the big thunderstorm rumored for the evening had reportedly turned and headed for Montreal.
And my goodness, the darkness. Despite the full moon it was Dark out there in the forest. In addition to being rural and sparsely populated*, we have no billboards in this state, so the Dark it was intense. Which is when S confessed to a sort of intense fear of the dark, which she was confronting solely for the purposes of this climb.
Okay see, cards and flowers? Nice. Someone sacking up and bearding their personal demons for you? Priceless.
We were a little surprised to find another car already at the crag when we pulled in, but we figured it was either someone up there camping, or someone doing another route with the same intent we had, but if they were on Harvest, we joked about there being the potential for a smackdown. And then S' housemate mentioned he'd brought his gun.
We thought he was joking.
Nope. Not so much. Apparently the Army does not do as much unarmed night-climbing as we had imagined, because he also said he usually did this sort of thing with super nightvision goggles on.
Note: we had no night-vision goggles. If we encountered moose or bears or porcupines**, I think the plan was to offer them a beer.
So we tromped along the path to the base of Harvest, and left Army Housemate at the base of the climb to shoot anything that wasn't S or me or a rope being tossed from the anchor-point, and headed up the trail. S was our designated anchor-builder and I was along, I think, mostly for amusement-value, because we both know very well that my anchor-building skills do not extend to doing it in the dark***.
From the top of the climb, you can see all the way across the valley, not just to the mountains on the other side but the next line of mountains behind those. From up there looking down, the cars on the highway looked like tiny determined fireflies, all following the same path from point A to B, turning from pale stars to red embers sliding away in the darkness. It was a gorgeous view, even with clouds obscuring the full moon for most of the view, and even when we heard something that sounded specifically like something crashing through the undergrowth behind us, shortly followed by another crash from the base of the cliff.
The former was dealt with by singing loudly to the tune of an old chocolate-bar advert, and the latter by yelling down to the bottom to find out whether Army Housemate had shot at anything. No? Fabulous!
Then just as I turned to check S's water-knot, I thought I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye, way across the valley. The water-knot looked perfect, but I had indeed seen a flash--quickly joined by a second and a third as heat lightning lit up the sky over the mountains on the other side of the valley.
Which is when it started to sprinkle with rain.
And within the space of maybe two minutes, the amount of time it took me to get on rappel, the skies opened. So at that point, we had to bag the whole thing. I got to rappel down Harvest under a full moon, S kicked one of her irrational fears squarely in the nutsac and Army Housemate.....got to stand around in the dark for an hour, drinking beer and waiting to shoot things.
Good times.
The moral of this story? If it has one, I think it's that everyone needs friends who will tromp around bear- and porcupine-filled woods in the middle of the night with beer and handguns.
(I didn't say it was a good moral.)
*That's right, third least populous state in the Union. And watch your back, South Dakota, once we start slaying our elderly, we'll catch you right quick.
**Yes, porcupines. Ours is a nature state.
***For the record, I was clipped to a bolt at the top with a sling and a locking carabiner, which S checked. Twice.