"Running Ragged"


Today I did something I absolutely shouldn't have. I went
climbing.

I don't know why you're still reading this. Or rather, I
don't know why I'm still writing this. I definitely
shouldn't be up at this hour, as my body desperately needs
to rest.

But I promised John a report since he whined about the
dearth of literature on Ragged Mountain.

You see, I've only got 24 hours left before I leave for
Peru, and I haven't packed yet. A wiser man than I would
have spent today taking care of the many tasks that need to
get done before I leave. My errands are legion.

But instead, I drove out to New Haven, CT to spend a half
day climbing with John Peterson. As with any Peterson
outing, the plans were made in a mad slapdash frenzy of
frantic last minute activity.

The negotiations started at 10 AM with an innocent email
from him in my inbox. By noon, I was out the door and on the
road. From my house in NJ to his in CT, it took about 2
hours and 15 minutes.

Immediately, we were off to the crag. First stop was a cliff
named Cat Hole. The approach was short and sweet, and soon I
was firing up Pegasus, which was my introduction to `trap
rock', This stuff is apparently hardened lava flow and it's
great to climb on. Abundant features abound, and the
friction is good too.

A quick walk off (no convenience bolts here, ha ha!) and
we were back at the car, headed to Ragged Mountain.

The approach there was short as well, and soon we were
gearing up for The North End. John announced that he would
get the first pitch, while the second was mine.

Now whenever I climb with John, this is a common occurrance.
He tells me who gets to lead what pitch, and that's that.
Normally, I'm fine with it, but I can never tell whether
he's hogging the good stuff for himself, or whether he's
letting me have a shot at it.

The first pitch looked somewhat fun, until John started
climbing it. Watching him grunt and groan his way up made me
less than enthusiastic. Once I got on the rock, however, I
thought it was great fun, and started wondering if I should
call John a bastard for claiming the pitch.

The next pitch, however, made me realize that in fact, I was
getting the best of the route. Fifteen feet off the belay
ledge with no gear in, and the next move is a dicey traverse
to the left. John claims that I can get protection in a
crack that proves to be stubbornly recalcitrant. After
balancing on thin edges for a few minutes, I manage to wedge
in a trashy #00 TCU. Yuck.

I commit to the exposed traverse, and when I'm past it,
spend a few more minutes backing up that trashy cam. Yow.

The rest of the route is casual, and soon we're off to the
last route of the half day -- Unconquerable Crack.

John explains that it's been his nemesis for a while, so of
course, I want to climb it. I'm making pretty good progress,
but near the end, the fatigue is starting to set in. Halfway
through the second crux, my foot slips, but I catch myself,
and downclimb for some more rest.

I find out later, that in the spirit of friendly
oneupsmanship, John was rooting for me to take at this
point. I didn't quite feel the same way.

Anyhow, I work through and soon enough, I'm on top. Huzzah.

As I belay John, I idly wonder what it would be like to have
to catch him if he fell. He's a large fellow, weighing in
around 230 lbs.

I find out soon enough, as I get popped off my feet and
yanked towards the edge of the cliff about a yard before I
can catch myself. The rope is running across and digging
into my crotch, and now I'm wishing that he wasn't such a
fat bastard.

After what seems like an eternity, the pressure on the
rope (and due to the transitive property, my crotch) is
released.

John's head pops over the edge of the cliff, and the rest of
his body follows thereafter. Another walk off, and we're
back at the bottom. No more climbing for us today, as he's
catching flak from his wife. Oops.

After an eventful dinner with his family, I'm speeding back
to NJ to try and get some more errands done, and then sleep
blissfully for a few short hours before a final frenetic
burst of crazed controlled panic.

Ragged Mountain is a cool place. Go climb there. 

Are you happy now, John?