The following is a continuing account of the stories from the 15 years, ending in 2005, while operating On Belay Outdoor Adventures in Minnesota. There is no order, and some would say no reason to these listings. Some stories are well known and only mean something to a very few, but most are short reminders of events that began in 1991. I will add and update them here and there as I get a chance.
I was urging a client to try harder on a now closed TF classic, when a somewhat confusing conclusion made it's way down from this nervous novice climber. "I can't get the crutch move, my forceps are killing me."Up in Smoke
During the drive to the "shore" with clients for a get-a-way climbing trip I looked over and saw an older woman slumped low in a Buick station wagon on 35N. Smoke was pouring out her window and I mentioned that she is probably some "old lady" headed for her nickle night at a casino around here. Then from the back of my van a voice..."that's my mom, and she is going to the casino to meet my dad when he gets off of work. They spend the entire Friday evening at the nickle slots and then go home in the morning."
In "tooterville" any thing is possible.
"I don't mean to bother you, but did you know that none of your group has double-backed their harnesses," I asked somewhat discreetly while conducting a class..The young scout guide that was next to me gave a funny look, and finally after seeing me mention it to the gathered parents that were watching their children clip into their unsecured harness with a locking biner, he came over.
"Hey these don't fail till 120lbs of force and these kids only weigh about 70 or 80, plus it is alot faster when you have a large group."
Now, in a very loud voice to my people, " I want every one to move off to the side while climbing next to this group. I don't want our day to be ruined by having someone earning a badge by falling on them."
Parents then insisted that the guide explain, but he just moved to another area, and they probably got the explanation there...........or not.
The "tipping point."
"Help, my boy friend was hit by a rock."
"Do you think he needs any medical assistance", I replied.
"I think so, I will show you where he is."
I was on the Wisconsin side with a group of scouts doing A/C and a few other climbs so I was unsure in which area the problem was. Seems to me, at first, that being hit by a rock meant being hit by a rock, from above I thought. I turned the group over to another guide, followed her over a ridge and there about 20 feet up a steep hill-side I saw a head facing down the embankment looking skyward and two legs pointed to the same general direction. I detected a slight moan as I approached and I began feeling "that rush."
I scrambled up closer to him and then immediately asked his girl friend if she knew how to get out of there and call 911? Sorry most people did not have cells that year. She did and I sent her away for help.
"Hey buddy, you all right."
An ashen face rolled his eyes and from his inverted position he replied, "I don't know."
"Help is on the way. Let me see what I can do before they get there."
By then I was already thinking to myself, no way is he going to make it and I really doubt there is a damn thing I can do about it.
This rock that "hit him" was actually laying across his chest while pinning his arms and slicing into both of his thighs. His head was about 40 degrees down the slope and that "rock", was actually a boulder about the size of a small jacuzzi. He had been there about 10 minutes before I arrived and I thought If some doesn't get here soon I will be the person that gets to watch him die.
It was the spring and the slopes are well known to be damp, muddy and some what loose at that time of the year. He had decided, or was asked, to poise for a photo-op on top of this large embedded rock, he climbed on top of it, it spit out and knocked him over and then slide down over him. The only thing that was missing was the stripped socks and pointed shoes for effect.
Obviously this was going to be a hand holding affair, not much else I could do. I did grab a couple of fallen logs and was thinking about relieving the pressure, but the image of a torrent of blood coming from his trapped legs or the sight of the boulder sliding further and nipping his head off put an end to any heroic notions. So I opted to shim it a little in hopes that would prevent those somewhat ghastly options unfolding before me.
The sirens rang out a little later and I heard the help approaching. I had been there almost 30 minutes now and I was running out of things to say. The fireman and rescue crews got there, they worked for 15 minutes to jack up the boulder, shim and then slide him out, but it didn't work. They then called for a "jaws of life" and a couple of portable compressors and a lot of iron bars to try to free him.
He passed out, was attended to by an EMT, the jaws were used in reverse to gain a little clearance, blocks were added and slowly he was slide out alive but very unstable. Just before he was put on a stretcher one of his legs dropped over the side and if it wasn't for his crimped pants, mud and someone supporting it I am sure it would have landed next to the rescuers.
About a year or so later I found out that he was still working on re-hab but they had saved his leg. There were many people that helped to rescue him. But, funny thing. I never did get that customary "thank you card" you receive when you may have helped save a life. This wouldn't be the first time for that over the years. I'm just glad that I was able to make a little difference that day.
Carlton Peak UFO.
While climbing and hiking around the base of Carlton Peak an unfamiliar noise caught my attention. It was the voice of my teen son giving out a pain-full yelp. It was a sound that I really never heard that much, because like his Mom and Dad it took a fair amount pain to elicit any reaction in our family. I scurried around the corner and saw him holding his head. The first thought was something, most likely a rock spit off the summit and whacked him. There was no bleeding but a welt was forming and that made us all feel a lot better. But as we were standing there we spotted an apple near on the ground and we were pretty sure where it came from and what it was that hit him in the head.
Being a little emotional at that time I started a charge up some class 4 gully, trying to reach the top, and hoping to run into whoever threw it. The North Shore Trail runs around the base of Carlton so at any time there are hikers, climbers and day-trippers in the area, as most know.
Cresting over the top, and in full blown angry, plus breathing like a 2 pack a day smoker I came face to face with........She had a 2 month old baby and on his back was another young'en. They were both about 23 and it was explained to me that the kid didn't like that piece of fruit, so Dad unknowingly gave it a heave over the side and onto the top of my son's head.
An apple doesn't seem like that dangerous of an item to be hit in the head with, but that conclusion was beyond the point at this time. So without details. The lesson is that if you don't want some "old fart" charging up a hill and getting deep into your face, don't throw anything, I mean anything off the top in a climbing or hiking area.
As a little side story. While descending the dirt trail that leads to the quarry parking lot, a young client that was with our group starting bolting down the steep trail. Out of control she fell forward, took a little tumble, and landed on a freshly cut twig sticking out of the path. Trail maintenance had been there recently and trimming with a machete was the common practice.
That twig, being about 5 inches in length, went into leg the total distance and just missed hitting a vital artery. By chance we had a doctor with, and he took the time to tend to her and then take her to a near-by clinic. She also got lucky.
When guides go wild.
I was standing near "the column" in TF when I heard a short and somewhat uninspired "rope down" from the top of the set. That was followed by "a string" hurling down, half of it landing in a tree and the other portion was near the base of the climb.
Under my breath, "I hate these ass-holes that just toss a rope off with a little detached bleep." That doesn't do much good in my mind. It seems more akin to saying "look here" and then slapping you in the face with a pie, kind of a climbers sucker punch is how I would describe it.
While looking up to maybe get a glimpse of who was on top, out stepped a figure onto a ledge with a enormous pack on his back that was festooned with enough gear for a couple "Tower parties." He kicked out and was on rappel. Down he sped till he stopped at the top of the column, pulled his half rope out of the tree and then launched backward to "rap" the last 20 feet with vigor. It seems he had a group and they were being taught "how safe and under control" it could be on rappel.
Well, within feet of tossing himself off the column ledge and heading for the "turf" he quickly managed to notice that the other rope end was not even close to being equalized and it was rapidly reaching his break hand. Unable to stop he gallantly proclaimed while flying free off the end of his short rope, "Don't worry I'm a guide." He flew through the air and landed on his back with the pack helping to cover his ass and then rolled down the hill towards the river while onlookers looked concerned and I burst out in laughter. I wasn't worried, he was a guide.
Daisey Mae, Poncho Bob and the home of the "Feathered Serpent."
Recently the climbing of the "Castillo" in Chichen Itza has been closed. Supposedly it was because about a year ago an unfortunate lady, in her 80's, fell to her death. But also it has been reported that the immense foot traffic on that world famous edifice over the years has worn down steps and backpacks etc. are scrapping against the interior (on top) and causing more damage. Tourists are now finding, usually right before they are delivered there after a long ride from points around the Yucatan, that they cannot climb the "Castillo." So keep that in mind when you travel to Piste. This really doesn't come as any surprise here. Over the past years I can name many structures that I have been on in all regions of Mexico, taken a look and moved on only to find that they are no longer accessible. On that note. I agree that the traffic is too high and has contributed to entropy of the whole system. It's the little things you don't see that are the concern.
Some years ago I had a client and friend that took a couple Mexico camping trips with me. On the day our group went to Chichen Itza we wiggled our way through the gate and made a sprint to the great court yard all the while bumping into hordes of other tourists, like us, looking for a place where we could breath our own air and have a view that was more than the back of an other's head.We made it, divided up and set a meeting time to have me show them a few "hidden" gems at the site. Later everyone showed except Bob. Now I had already coined him "Poncho Bob" early in the trip. Bob had somewhat of a singular mind. He did enjoy the diversity of the people and the crafts of Mexico, and most locals thought he was a national, abet an albino one, but when it came to making a purchase, there were too many options. So ponchos became his world. It wasn't that his ponchos were "un-worthy" of owning, it was just that most of us figured it was just one step off of collecting sombrero's, one is about enough on any trip, or at all. That didn't stop him. Thus he became "Poncho Bob."
After waiting for a while I made my way back to the entrance hoping that he would be there having a "cooler." Just as I went through the gate I saw him in the distance, dealing on a poncho just outside the grounds.
"Hey man, what's up?"
He turned and grinned at me and said, "Not much, but I got tossed out of the ruins."
"Oh yeah. Why was that?"
"Well the guards starting following me around and stopped me and told me I had to leave." They said 'no es Cancun, no es Cancun.'
It took me a moment to digest but not much longer. You see Bob had his own style. I would describe it as all black in the states and all skin in Mexico. Picture a rail thin man with frosty white hair and a "Mexicans" deep tones combined with an over all shape that looks like it would slip into a "one hitter." Now after that, bare his chest, put on some "docs" and top it off with "Daisy Mae shorts' that were trimmed so high that it seemed he was wearing only white pockets being supported by a thin belt. It depends what generation you come from when you mention the "Daisy Mae's" but the usually unflappable guards at Izta did come from either one of them. Those shorts were beyond their tolerance, so out he went, with "no es Cancun" ringing in his ears.
I'm not saying that he didn't have a nice ass, although it was so small that it didn't require a dividing point, it is just that this was a ceremonial site and cleavage was still OK, for the obvious reason's, but having shorts hiked up enough to have your balls the only visible contour on your body wasn't appealing at Itza. It was alot more humorous when it happened and it was one of those "had to be there" things but I will never forget the rest of the day as we walked around the town. I was busy enjoying watching other's look at his "twiggy" rump that was covered by what looked more like a jock strap with pockets and raising my eye brows along with them when we glanced at each other. Later the shorts were left to the beach and the ponchos did come in handy on the cool evenings.
A sketch of a "time piece" reported to be over 6000 years old. By international agreement 1 second is the precise interval it takes for an atom of the element cesium to make 9,192,631,770 vibrations.
In Nov of 1991, after taking two trips to Guatemala the previous couple of years, our family decided to take a six week long driving trip into Mexico with our VW combi. Mona had a month or so off and Chase, at nine years old, was taken out of school and away we went. Crossing the border At McAllen, TX we headed to Monterrey and Saltillo and then through the high desert till we reached San Luis Potosi and then Queretaro. Our first ruins were at Tula and then we camped in a field in the mountains near Pachuca. In a field of cattle we actually set up a couple top-ropes at the nearest rock out crop and did a little climbing.
We thought we had seen it all, but while in the reading room at Chichen Itza I spotted this mustachioed man with eyebrows that belonged on a British stage actor. He had a somewhat defiant but friendly piercing grin and was busy paging through a book of sketches of Stephen's and Catherwood's travels in the area. That encounter with Hector was to be instrumental in setting a path that has lead our family to the involvement with the people, places, art and culture of Mexico and in particular the Yucatan. And as a completely unexpected bonus we had the fortune to also meet Jeanne P. Hunt, or JP, and to know her as a unique, talented and tender person.
I was obviously staring at him and then suddenly two dark orbs peered over his "cheaters" and said "hola." I replied, and then he said something in Spanish to which I just said...uuuuhhh. Our chat started out as one might expect, in English, and soon it became evident to me I was about to meet a person that had vast knowledge of the subjects I was most interested in and this was a great opportunity for me. He told me that he had a small shop in Izamal and to stop by anytime. Well anytime ended up being that next evening. 
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Always, the food.
The visit to Xcalacoco.
