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OK, i fixed some MAJOR errors (i was REALLY REALLY drunk when I 1st wrote this trip report), but i'd like to tighten this up to 500 words. any good ideas. i am a very bad editor. Fecal Hoarding on Cuttroat Peak: Well I'm totally wasted on tequilla from from a post-climb depression/celebration of a succesful ascent of that E.Face Coulior on Cuthroat Peak. I think it's called the Cauthorn Wilson or something. Since I'm totally fucking drunk, I'll give this trip report from the perspective of my feces which I hoarded througout the day: I forced my master to awaken at 2am and hypnotically sugested that he quaff his regurgitated coffe vile he brewed hours earlie to help coax me out of my early alpine start slumber. Well it was to damn early and the coffee wasn't strong enough, and as each crunch from the hard snow sent parastalic waves of anger through me. I knew my time was near as each jolt tried to jostle me from me moorings. Unforetunately as dawn broke below the route, my arch nemisis "Pinchy" kept me at bay as my master haphazardly climbed well above his so called "partner". Sending showeres of ice and snow onto his cursing belay bitch, Pinchy held me from my destiny. Alas! My master hast forsaken me!! Thoughts of imentent death were all my master could think of as he manged to live through the rapidly melt and delaminating crux pitch of ice. Where was I during this insane fight with potential energy, gravity and mortality? I was lurking in the bowels, biding my time, and waiting for pinchy to lose control. Master's so called "partner" led a easy WI-4 pitch and belayed Master and I from a tied off shrub and sunken ice-tool. I was begining to force my way into Master's concsciousness until the sight of that belay, and master's next lead all but destoyed my will. Pinchy quickly regained control. My master prayed to his god as he pinched Pinchy tighter and tighter as his death fall potential increased with every sketchy, shaky, sugar snow over slabby step, slipping, but somehow gaining ground. 60, 70, 80 degree slush and powder snow barely held his feet, nary his useless ice-tools. Every inch was a mile, every step was a step toward the grave for yours truly. Would I ever experience the taste of freedom and witness the sweets smells, sights, and sounds of the outside world that I have only experience my previous existance as a jumbo steak burrito? Master could not use his tools on the near verticle slush-mare! He punched the snow with his hands and packed in more snow until it became dense enough to swing his tool into. Instead of pushing down on the snow, Master would bear hug the snow to keep it still attached to the mountain. Master was looking at a 400' whipper onto the none-to-secure belay, as the sun's pulsing rays oscillated down upon the ever-softening snow pack. At last, a cam, a pin! Master was off belay! Such relaxation caused my power to become almost overwhelming as my noxios gas of joy escaped from his churning bowels. The oppresive heat almost overcame him, as master looked across the sweeping range of the North Cascades. But Master's attention was quikly divered. "Fools!" my master thought when he saw two climbers approaching the entrance gully to the climb below him. I knew that this late in the day would be foolish, even to a turd worming his way to freedom. Master hoped they would turn around or perish. The climbers realized their error in timing, and turned around. Master smirked and brought up his partner. On the summit my master tried with all his might to keep me at bay. There was little room and he was emabarrase to show me to this climbing partner of his. I was writhing and screaming with indignity. To "top-off" the summit is the greatest honor one of my charcter can possilbe have, and my horrible master would deny me this fate. Oh! Cruel Master! Many stupid rappels later led master to a 1,000' long down climb which he downclimbed just fine. His partner however, took about 45 minutes longer, all the whilee cursing masters good name! His partner called him reckless for descending so fast un-roped! But this was my doing. Master would finally have to stop and wait. Master did just that, and squatted while looking upon his downclimbing partner. The sun was blazing. The time was at HAND!!! Pinchy was exhausted and had no power over me anymore. I leaped for freedom into the new world which my tribal leaders of yore told me of during my rite of passage through Master's G.I. tract. I steamed and coiled upon the snow, all the while his partner downclimbed slowly. I was buried this day upon the southern flanks of Cutthroat peak, but i exist still as part of everything. I have become the soil, the water, the air, and the animals. I speak now of a universal tale of battels between man vs. mountain and, my kind vs. Pinchy, gatekeeper of the underworld.

Well I'm totally wasted on tequilla from Casa Que Pasa from a despair/celebration of a succesful ascent of that E.Face Coulior on Cuthroat. I think it's called the Cauthorn Wilson or something. Since I'm totally fucking drunk, I'll give this TR from the perspective of my feces which I horded througout the day... ...I forced my master to awaken at 2am and hypnotically sugested that he quaff his regurgitated coffe vile that he brewed to coax me out of my early alpine start slumber. Cuthroat E.Face Coulior WI4 X, Alpine Slush 6, 4th. Car to car 10 hours (less if neve). This could be it for the season, cuz it was thin thin thin, and it got wicked hot. Each cruch of hard snow from the hard snow sent parastalisis waves of anger through me. I knew my time was near... ...Unforetunately as dawn broke below the route, my arch nemisis "Pinchy" kept me at bay as my master haphazardly climbed well above Necronomican, his so called "partner". Sending showeres of ice and snow onto his cursing belay bitch Pinchy held me from my destiny... ...Alas! My master hast forsaken me!! WI? XXX and thoughts of imentent death were all my master could think of as he manged to live through the crux pitch. Where was I during this insane fight with potential energy? Lurking in the bowels, biding my time... ...Master's so called "partner" Necronomican led a easy WI-4 pitch and belayed me and my carried from a shrub and sunken tool. I was begining to force my way into the concsciousness, but master's next lead all but destoyed my will... ...Master was looking at a 400' whipper as the sun's pulsing rays oscillated down upon the ever-softening snow pack. My master prayed to his god as he pinched Pinchy tighter and tighter as his death fall potential increased with ever hyper-Pan Dome step, slipping, gaining ground...60, 70, 80 degree slush and powder snow barely held his feet, nary his useless tools. Every inch was a mile, every step was a step toward the grave... ...At last, a cam, a pin! Such relaxation caused my power to become almost overwhelming as my noxios gas escaped from his churning bowels... The oppresive heat almost overcame, as master looked toward Colonial, and the sure death that would have taken us if we had huberusly decided to do that mountain today... "Fools!" my master thought as he saw climbers approaching the entrance gully. This late in the day would be foolish, even to a turd worming his way to freedom. He hoped they would turn around or perish. On the summit my master wondered about the 5.7 pitch, and where that was supposed to be since we were already on the summit. My will way strong. I will have my victory. Many horrid, stupid rappels led master to a 1,000' long down climb which he though he downclimbed just fine. His partner however, took about 45 minutes longer while cursing masters good name!!!! Master squatted and looked upon his downclimbing partner. The sun was blazing. The time was at HAND!!! I leaped from the little brown star from which my tribal leaders has told of in my rite of passages through the G.I. tract. I steams and coiled upon the snow, all the while Necronomicon downclimbed... I was buried this day upon the flanks of Cuthroat peak. I write through the drunkeness of the ages, and of the battles of man vs. mountain and my kin vs. Pinchy, gatekeeper of the underworld.