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The Gunsmoke Effect


pope

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Got a buddy who's got that J-tree traverse so wired he can do laps until it's time for dinner. He hangs around camp watching for a car full of gals heading toward Barker Dam, then he saunters down there and works his magic, offering beta, soliciting complements.

Yesterday, I was putting in some laps on Classic Crack, which at 5.8, is probably not going to spit me off. Who knows. Anyway, these babes show up with boys in tow, and one of them starts to tell me how impressed she was that I'd solo up and down the thing, even though she was pretty sure that impressing people wasn't my goal. She said this right in front of her boy friend...which might have been construed as a solicitation in my younger days. In fact, I've met a couple of broads this way, just showing off. Once, I soloed a ridge on the Haystack on Mt. Si, and this gal moved in for the kill. Another time, I did a respectable job on a Squamish Climb (Tack and Blockle, or something), and this gal started demanding my phone number. Gentlemen, I'm a pretty goofy-lookin'guy, which makes me wonder, is there anything to the "Gunsmoke Effect"?

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Freak, the Gunsmoke Man, for whom this Gunsmoke Effect has been coined, is a guy you know around town. I saw him hook up two saucy little numbers in the matter of 15 minutes. Impressive. I'm certain there is something to this!

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Here's a story about "pope". (I don't think he'll mind....) Back when he was a single guy, I was traveling around in his rat-mobile and noticed that he had a wedding ring sitting in the ash-tray. I asks him what wid that? He told me that he'd put it on when he goes into a bar and he meets more women!!! Go figure!!! I've heard this from others, too, so I don't think he came up with this one on his own.

Also: yah, he is kinda of goofy-lookin', but for some reason, he remains a babe-magnet! Maybe he's got special pheromones that are released only by climbing. I've always found climbing to have the almost opposite effect.

Insights?

- Dwayner.

P.S. Me and Donna Top-Step?...purely platonic. Pope, on the other hand, had quite a history with that li'l vixen! (She moved to Boulder about a week ago.)

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Slipping into my Sigmund Freud disguise I note the symbolic linkages between soloing and wanking, and wonder about the perversions of those attracted to the soloist of another sex....

Then there is the difference between climbers, trying to get to the top of phallic towers, and cavers, trying to crawl back into mommy's womb.... rolleyes.gif ooops that should be in the Cave Ridge thread smile.gif

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The effect is fueled by the number chasing, ego-inflating, sport monkey, spray crowd. If your SO is climbing hard that elevates you in the number structure as well, by association. When I was bouldering in Joe's Valley alot (like 2-3 times a week) I had quite a few of the upper mid-range problems wired..to the point that I would climb one, down climb the adjacent one and climb through a third and harder one to link the three. Two of these were "area classics" and there was sure to be a small group gathered at the base. I had passed by earlier on my way to a remote corner to boulder alone. I heard one spray-lord in full effect, and later while working on a problem I hear him screaming from at least 300 yards away. I just couldn't resist, and on my way out I stopped in...Now at this point in my life I was SCRAGGLY. Hair about half dreaded and nasty, beard touching my chest, filthy fleece top with fire burn holes, slippers with gaping holes in the tops from toe-hooking, crash pad that smelled like stale beer. I took a seat to wait for the two who were qued up to take their burn. Someone spoke in their spray-worthy greeting, something to the effect of "hi there, there are some really good 2's and 3's right aorund the corner there". I just nod my head, and notice that the chicks with these spray monkeys are HOT. One of them is spraying as loudly as the guys. Well, the problem is finally empty and has yet to be finished by one of their crew. I chalk, sit down at the start, tentatively grasp the holds and look up the problem...a stream of beat starts pouring forth (and poor beta at that). I smile to myself and cruise the first, downclimb the second, and by the time I launch up the third all the "C'mons" "CROSS!!"s in fact all talk whatsoever has ceased. I traverse off the third and grab my pad, sit down and open the backpack for a mid-morning malt liquor. As soon as the crew had finished miming the sequences and qued up again, whadya know...a little hottie pulls up some pad space with me. It's a funny game, but if you're playing with the ego, there are no rules....

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