29-January-2002
Alexander Chiang

"Snow Red"

"Come hell or high water, we're going climbing this weekend," I
declared in the second week of January. Guess it sounded like a dare
to the weather gods, and they responded with gusto.

I'd not been to the Red before, which was strange considering it's
but a short six hours away from the endless fields of corn and
soybeans in east central Illinois.

So plans were made, and Friday found the four of us, standing around
my battered beloved Saturn with over 210K miles on it, performing
enough work to earn a Master's thesis on space optimization.

Piled in like a clown car full of oily sardines, the drive flew by.

Six hours later while refueling, we learned from some locals that the
forecast called for approximately 6" of snow overnight. Whoops.
Luckily, we were well-stocked with denial and optimism. Or at least I
was.

Tents pitched at Roadside, we set about trying to make Fire, the Giver
of Heat and Provider of Warmth. We, Humans, set out to defeat Mother
Nature and laugh heartily at her attempts to chill our bones with
bitter biting wind.

We failed miserably.

Until our Savior showed up with His miraculous Holy Chain Saw of Glory
and magnificent Axe of Light. Really. And He providedeth us-eth with
many lovely dry pieces of sweet-smelling pine to last us through the
night. Boy Scout leaders are great.

Waking up to the as-promised 6" of snow drained my supply of denial,
but I had had the foresight to pack extra optimism. I also found the
emergency stubbornness tucked away in my wallet saved for just such an
occasion.

At the crack of noon, we slogged to the base of the crag. A beautiful
dihedral named Roadside Attraction greeted us coyly. Dripping wet like
she just stepped out of the shower, and with a thin blanket of snow
draped round her delicate parts, she beckoned demurely to come hither.

Enchanted, I grabbed for my protection and gave in to my lust. She had
it all and was willing to give it all up. Long sections of perfect
hands, a few portions of offwidth, a layback or two, and even a dainty
little roof. I grunted and groaned more than a few times in response
to her wetness, and she just kept on dripping. 

Too soon, as always, it was over. Spent, I came down and cleaned up
after myself. 

The others started taking their turns, and most everyone was satisfied
by the time the sky decided to drizzle a cold steady rain on us.
Soaked through and through, retreat was made towards the huge tarp the
Boy Scouts had left.

Countless bottles of beer later, revived by a rip-roaring fire and
protected by the tarp, we claimed success. The Red is fantastic, any
time of year.