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layton

best of cc.com The Tale of Pinchy

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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.

  • Rawk on! 1

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Is shit singular, or is it a mass noun?

 

Thanks for raising an interesting philosophical question.

 

Oh, and your shit kinda sounds like Gollum. Probably intentional?

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i'd like to tighten this up to 500 words.

 

any good ideas. i am a very bad editor.

 

Fecal Hoarding on Cuttroat Peak:

Climbed the Cauthorn Wilson or something. I'm totally fucking drunk.

 

Made an alpine start. It was too damn early and the coffee wasn't strong enough.

 

Necro led a easy WI-4 pitch and belayed me from a tied off shrub and sunken ice-tool.

 

The snow was soft, and the climbing was hard. I had eaten a jumbo steak burrito and forgotten to shit in the morning. The turtle's head kept poking out and looking around.

 

On the summit only the fact that Justin had his camera out kept me from leaving a big, steaming cairn.

 

After making a couple of raps I climbed ahead of Justin and got down quickly. Something was knocking on the door of my ass begging to be let out. I dropped trou and squatted. What followed can only be described as reverse sodomy. A huge brown python coiled itself painfully out of my anus, streaked with blood, and expired messily in the snow. This was a better magic trick than pulling a rabbit from a hat. There was no way I could have contained an elephant turd like that within my elfin body. I took several pictures to show my friends.

 

The descent from there back to the truck went slowly because I was walking unusually bow-legged.

evils3d.gif

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ok, i sent it to alpinst after some helpful revisions from Jordop and Catbirdseat (thank you guys!).

 

Feel free to petition alpinst to include this article at submissions@alpinist.com ...politely (that means you polishbob)

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and here is the revision before i spellchecked it:

 

 

 

"The Gates to the Outerworld"

 

I forced Master to awaken at 2am and hypnotically suggested that he quaff the regurgitated coffee vile he had brewed hours earlier to help coax me out of my early alpine start slumber. Such was our odd relationship.

 

But the coffee wasn't strong enough to generate my emancipation. However, I knew my time was near. On the approach, each crunch from the hard snow sent parastalic waves of anger through me, each jolt tried to jostle me from my moorings.

 

As dawn broke below the route, my arch nemesis "Pinchy" kept me at bay as Master haphazardly climbed well above his so called partner. While Master sent showers of ice and snow onto his cursing friend, Pinchy held me from my destiny and began the day-long battle between us.

 

Alas, I cried, Master hast forsaken me! Thoughts of imminent death were all my master could think of as he struggled to live through the rapidly melting and delaminating 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 his control on Master.

 

Master's so called partner led an easy ice pitch and belayed Master and I from a tied off shrub and sunken ice-tool. I was beginning to force my way into Master's consciousness but the ghastly sight of that belay, and Master's next lead, all but destroyed my will. Pinchy quickly regained control.

 

Master prayed to his god as he scrunched Pinchy tighter and tighter, his death fall potential increasing with every sketchy move. 80 degree slush and powder snow barely held his feet, nary his useless ice-tools. Every inch was a mile and every step was a step towards the grave for yours truly. Would I ever experience the taste of freedom and witness the sweet smells, sights, and sounds of the outside world that I had only experienced in my previous existence as a jumbo steak burrito? Master could not use his tools on the near vertical slush-mare! The sun's rays oscillated down onto the snow almost audibly, heating up the slopes at an alarming rate. Master punched the snow with his hands and packed in more snow until it became dense enough to swing his tool into. And 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 belay shrub.

 

At last, a cam, a pin! Master was off belay! Such relaxation caused my power to become almost overwhelming and my noxious gases of joy escaped from his churning bowels. The oppressive heat almost overcame him. Soon, I cried, soon!

 

But on the summit Master tried with all his might to keep me at bay. There was little room and he was emabarrased 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 kind can possibly have, and my horrible master was denying me this fate. Oh! Cruel Master!

 

But surely Master would have no excuse to ignore me now that the fear was over, I thought. He quickly began a long downclimb, feeling my urgings no doubt. His partner however, took much longer, all the while cursing Master’s good name! His partner called him reckless for descending so fast unroped! But this was my doing. Master would finally have to stop and wait!

 

The plan worked, Master finally stopped at the bottom! 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 of which my tribal leaders of yore had told me during my rite of passage through Master's G.I. tract. I steamed and coiled upon the snow, breathing for the first time the cold, clear mountain air.

 

I was buried that 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. My story is a universal tale of battles between man and mountain; good and evil; and between my kind and Pinchy, gatekeeper of the outerworld.

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If Alpinist doesn't want it you should try Good Housekeeping or maybe Country Quilts

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uhhhhhgggghhh.!!!!

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

ggggggggggghhwfffthhbbbtttt!!!!!!!!!!!

 

BUMP!

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Every year your shit re-emerges like some beautiful pink tulip in full May bloom

 

tulip-1715.jpg

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On 4/17/2005 at 7:48 PM, Dru said:

 

Hey, Katie Ives, here's the article in question I just talked to you about. I believe getting this published will earn you grant money from Make A Wish Foundation as it is a much-requested last request of many a dying little boy and girl

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Should hit up Luke over at the Climbing Zine. They are always looking for shit to print these days.

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