Once upon a rockclimb dreary, while I floundered, weak and weary,over many hard and crimpy moves that almost made me soar.
While I trembled, nearly crapping,
suddenly I dreamt of rapping,
instead of falling, arm’s a flapping,
rapping to the valley floor.
"Let’s bail this epic" thus I muttered,
"let’s rap right to the valley floor!"
"Only bail, and climb no more!"
Ah, distinctly I remember,
it was in the bleak September,
And each separate, desperate pitch,
kicked my ass upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
vainly I had fought to follow
Splintered cracks that caused me sorrow,
but not my partner Leonard.
The bold and well-honed cranker
whom the devil named Leonard,
fearless here forevermore.
And the sickened, churning brewing,
of my guts before their spewing,
filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart,
I stood repeating,
"Let us get our butts retreating!
Rap down to the valley floor!'—
Deep into that abyss peering,
long I stood there, gripping, fearing,
Visualizing screamers no-one ever whipped before;
Come on Dude, let’s save our asses!
This is not Grandes Jorasses!"
the only other word I mentioned
was my frenzied plea for "Tension!"
This I yelled, and his echo countered back,
the word I feared he said was "Slack!"
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back up to the belay turning,
all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I dreamt of rapping,
to save my life and pants from crapping,
rap down to the valley floor.
Finally then I made the belay,
when, with hardly any delay,
Up there climbed my macho partner
of the old school days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he;
not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with quiet disdain,
he clipped into the bolt belay,
Perched upon a ledge of shale,
mocking me in my dark hell,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this old hardman was frowning,
at the fear in which I was drowning,
By the grave and stern decorum
of the countenance he wore,
"Though your chest is ripped and hairy,
why must we do climbs so scary?
Ghastly, grim, and ancient wall rat,
living like a climbing whore?!"
"Tell me what your ego game is,
on Grade V’s with rock this poor?"
Quote my Partner, "One pitch more!"
"Bullshit!" said I, "the climb is evil!
Bullshit still, if sport or traditional!
If we send this climb or rap and bail,
hang on gear, or aid and nail,
Desolate and fully daunted,
this is not the fun I wanted!--
On this climb by horror haunted,
tell me truly, I implore,--
Are there -- Are there -- brews in store?
tell me,--tell me, I implore!"
Quote my partner, "One pitch more!"
"Bullshit!" said I, "the climb is evil!
Bullshit still, if sport or traditional!
I’m quite finished, no more pitches!,
I won’t climb with sons of bitches,
Tell this soul with sorrow weary,
what’s so fun in flail and fearing?
Will you score a red-hot maiden,
just by climbing like a whore?
No one here will even pay us, greet us, like us,
much less lay us!"
Quote my partner, "One pitch more!"
And my partner, never flinching,
his stubborn buttocks still is sitting,
on the belay ledge, far above the valley floor;
I had to leave his ass up there,
I lost my mind, was so damn scared,
And the headlamp from him streaming
throws light upon the valley floor;
I took my rope and rack to bail,
just survive, admit I flailed,
and I rapped down to the valley floor.
I hope his eyes will see the morrow,
and that SAR his chalk will follow,
and yet I hope and pray
that his vengeance won’t be sore.
If I offer some repentance,
I already hear his sentence,
to amend for rapping down,
after climbing once so poor.
He will get me on the sharp end,
if I want to make his amends,
he’ll demand and I will quote him,
we will just climb "One Pitch More"
