billcoe Posted February 22, 2007 Posted February 22, 2007 Silent woods, damp and quiet. Slowly the three stalk through the forest. Spotting from afar, slide alder and thick prickly undergrowth no joke. Directions, time and senses easily lost. A fired bowl amongst friends, the stillness broken by a lighter flick. A cough. Soon the brush confrontation again. Tag a tree, orange plastic glows. The Twilight Zone grows near. Unseen. Quiet. Out of the forest, a rock slide, a clearing. Relief… then disappointment. Nearly an hour spent. A friend calls from the woods. A logger. Too many trees too much brush. The long trip back. Chainsaw. Cut toss dig. Cut toss dig. Exhausting exhilarating hours. All day. Darkness….the Twilight Zone revealed. Quote
Kevin_Matlock Posted February 23, 2007 Posted February 23, 2007 A fired bowl Well..... I guess this explains the post. Why does it seem that so many climbers are such chemical hounds? Gets pretty freaking old seeing your belayers firing up while/before you start a pitch. Bill... being one of the elder statesmen around here that usually offers sage info, I woulda pegged you for the "argument against". Sorry to harsh your mellow, just struck a chord this morning and I haven't entirely woken up yet. Quote
Kevin_Matlock Posted February 23, 2007 Posted February 23, 2007 Bill, sorry my bad. Your poem makes it sound like you were reliving some 'experiences'... like, you know. But more in general to the masses then: why does it seem that climbing tends to pull out all the cheech-N-chong rejects coming down from a recent bob marley concert? Is this limitted to the crag crowds? I guess, who really cares anyway; don't mean to hijack the thread. Nice way to work the creativity with the poem! Quote
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