Another adventure afternoon

Spent yesterday morning clearing trail and pruning around camp while Cindy ran into nearby Petersburg on errands. High broken clouds brought morning sun and soft breezes to our rain-beseiged little camp, a welcome change after a week of daily storms and precipitation. Tiny maples, red and white and chesnut oaks, lady slipper and sassifrass glistened with drops of moisture along the forest floor, spiderwebs spun to diamond in an instant of dewfall, the rich smell of the growing, ancient forest heavy as the mist that swirled in the shafts of sunlight. Stone and concrete foundations peek through leaf and brush derelict ships in a leafy sea, and a shattered length of beam slowly sinks into the earth under a burden of multicolored fungus and moss.

Cindy returns from town with a proud smile and a new inspection sticker, and we grab a quick lunch and head over to the rim in search of the afternoon's latest adventure.

After some wandering and peering, we locate the top of an old trad line of mine, a ground-up indulgence that proved interesting in the short section of crack just above mid-height. A complex anchor and a brief battle with some hanging deadfall and the resultant brush see us in place on a ledge about 20' above the game trail that winds along the bottom of the cliff. The route is partially wet but clean and we set about beating ourselves silly on the steep crack moves up a sharp dihedral (corner) to the awkward exit at the roof, which brings you out of the wetness and onto the shoulder, an easy stemming scramble up a steep slot to the anchors.

Easier said than done.

Cindy makes a mighty effort at the onsight TR, but wet rock and lots of recent weather-related downtime conspire to send her swinging into space. I am impressed by her determination when we trade places and I grunt through the moves more by dint of brute strength and bullheaded stupidity than finesse and superior skill. The line is a sweet bit of coner and crack, but the crack is wide even for my slablike hands, and the face around it is slightly overhanging.

I lower, and Cindy has another go of it, but a banged elbow ona blown chicken-wing jam takes her last reserves and we lower off to make the quick hike back up and around to the anchors. New "No Trespassing" signs remind me of the landowner's story of a recent burglary, and I am again very glad for having acquired and maintained both climbing access and good relations with these folks so many years ago.

Top anchors and gear are soon retrieved, cold adult beverages are soon acquired, and less than an hour later we are settling in to enjoy another fine pasta dinner and an evening of birdsong and forest breezes.