I take back all the bad things I have said about Television

Because I had no idea that things like THIS were being broadcast. HOLY SHIT! I know where I'll be on Monday March 13 at 11pm.

Yesterday marked the official beginning to Outdoor Climbing Season 2006. Mikey, Rob, Forrest and I went up to Rumney, NH yesterday to soak up the 50 degree sunshine from halfway up the sides of cliffs. It was so amazing and wonderful. I seriously feel like it's been winter FOREVER. To be outside, in a T-shirt and NOT be cold was just incredible.

We started off slowly, warming up on some short easy stuff at the Main Cliff. Then Forrest and I went off to try some two pitch stuff farther on. As usual, the guidebook was ambiguous and we had to choose between scrambling up a muddy, vegetated gully and climbing up to the crux of an adjacent 5.10c and then traversing back over to the moderate 5.7 that we wanted to climb. I gave Forrest the first lead because he seemed more confidant about finding the right route and, let's face it, I'm a bit chicken climbing into the unknown after a slothful winter of sitting around eating bon-bons.

He lead the climb without incident and I followed up while marvelling how he'd been able to place gear without totally losing his shit like I was about to. It was a fun climb nonetheless and after I ungracefully flopped onto the ledge where F. was anchored, I felt just about ready to lead my pitch. I was like, it's bolted, I can see the line, it's only like 5.8, no problem.

I had somehow forgotten that I am completely out of the climbing zone. (See above, re: bon bons) I managed to fall off on the FIRST MOVE after one of my feet slipped. Then I did it, like 2 more times just to make sure I made a total fool of myself. I did finally reach the FIRST BOLT, clipped it and realized I was sweating like a whore in church. Things went ok, until I had clipped 4 bolts and then looked around and couldn't see the anchors anywhere. The guidebook had said it was only 4 bolts to the top, but I couldn't see anything that looked like a place to anchor. I hollered down to Forrest and he said he saw some chains about 30 feet up from where I was. No. That couldn't be right. Could it? I looked up and confronted a HUGE ROOF and an overhung wall. 5.8 my ass! I shouted down that I was going to do some reconnaissance and see if there was something else around because there was no way in hell I was climbing THAT.

Turns out the anchors for our climb were a bit up and to my right following an easy climb up to a large ledge. All I can say is, thank goodness, because I had totally left my cojones at home. I rigged my anchor and belayed Forrest up. We took a few minutes to congratulate ourselves (well, I mostly congratulated Forrest who wasn't a complete baby like myself) and then rigged our rappel. We rapped down without incident, except that Forrest had lost his watch and asked me to look for it on my way down. (We didn't find it.)

We ended the day over at the 5.8 crag where I actually completed Romancing the Stone (5.10c) after goading a young Dartmouth professor into leading it so that I could climb it on TR. Still, I felt somewhat accomplished because my arms were totally jelloid and I flailed significantly less than the last time I attempted that climb. (Not to say that there wasn't any flailing, just LESS flailing.)

So, it seems as though the climbing season has begun and I can look forward to many weekends of dirtbagging, eating mass quantities of food and maybe even some actual climbing. The rest of you can look forward to a Schooligan whose arms are too sore and tired to throw things at you.