That was certainly the longest descriptive passage I've ever written regarding landscape. It reminds me of how boring the pages and pages of descriptions of moors, heath, and roads are in "The Lord of the Rings." So that was my literary tribute to Tolkein. ;)
I think while reading LOTR, my mind would go numb but I continued on because the sparse passages in which the plot actually was advanced were riveting. And being slightly OCD, I would go to the encyclopedia to look up what a moor or heather actually was (and yes, I flunked my physiology test the next day).
But it all paid off, because I knew exactly what I was looking at in Dartmoor. I think Middle Earth was for the most part, the UK.
Anyway the real reason I went was to do some climbing, which I had never done before. I was a bit apprehensive as the English seemed a bit...well... not the people who ran 1/4 of the globe a mere 90 years ago. I mean, they couldn't start a fire, didn't realize that coal had to be heated to a greater temperature than wood, couldn't seem to find the way on a road map... or a relief map of the moors.
The last point had some frustrating consequences for myself. One day it was too wet to climb so we went hiking through the moors. It was cold, rainy, and foggy; I was relatively comfortable thanks to my gore-tex shoes and jacket. That is I was until getting lost we hiked straight through a bog and I was knee deep in muck. Of course my shoes filled with water and I was miserable for the rest of the 3 mile hike through the cold.
The bog IS a magical place though...I didn't see the Piltdown man or Sutton Hoo, but the water that exudes from the muck is clear and not muddy as if the green heather (which is soft over the bogs) is a giant sponge. On the other hand, the heather where the ground is harder hurts like a bitch as it slashes your calves. The highlight here was seeing a carcass of a lamb, the bones stripped clean and surrounded by wooly hairballs. The werewolf (me?)?? I came to the conclusion there must be some sort of mountain lion....
All that aside, the Brits REALLY knew their stuff when it came to climbing. They were talking about it with a precision that I would more associate with neuroscience than bounding rocks. Figure-4 holds, rope tension, pressure points...hex-nuts that fit into fissures.. the intellectualization was impressive I can't say it was Greek to me.. but maybe Chinese (which is what Greeks actually say when something is incomprehensible).
I quickly gained confidence in their abilities... these were the people who administrated from Canada to India.. and felt secure enough to dangle my 14 stone 10 lb (2 stone less than when I arrived I might add) from a pink rope attached to a rock by a guy who tried to start a fire by throwing lit, twisted newspaper scraps onto coal and dousing it with lighter fluid.
I was a bit scared when I first looked at the rock. From the base, it doesn't look like there are ANY holds at all. The nature of the texture of granite seems to cloak and sort of relief in the rock. But I squeezed my ass into the harness and began my ascent. As if by magic, I started to float upward, my feet adhering to rock as if I were spiderman!
But then about halfway up, there was nowhere else they would stick. In vain I moved laterally back and forth across the rock moving every direction but up. It was at this point that I noticed just how windy it was. The wind overwhelmed every one of my senses as the flapping of my coat and howl of air was all I could hear, my eyes began to water, I began to feel cold, I couldn't breathe through my nose, and my tongue went numb. My coat was beating against my body with such force I felt that if I let go of the wall, my motion would be horizontal across the valley rather than vertical to the earth.
The wind was so all-encompassing I began to visualize Boreas materializing and tearing me from the wall and smashing me into the scattered rocks below. It was at this point that my fear provoked an instinctual response and I raised my leg quickly to a 30 degree angle from my head (something I thought was not even possible for my body to do) and latched my foot into a crevice... from that position I managed to shimmy up several feet, slamming my knees into the wall with every panicked jerk of my body, until I reached some more closely set holds and proceeded uneventfully to the top of the rock face.
Then I sat down and was rewarded with a spectacular view. I've described it in detail...so I won't belabor it any further. But the view reinforced the sense of accomplishment, artificial though it was, of having scaled the mountain (now it is a mountain no mere rock!). And I sat there for a good five minutes contemplating the mysteries of the universe while the belayer (the dude holding the rope below) impatiently waited for my descent.
Finally, it was time to come down. Naturally, I would climb down... it must be much easier than climbing up, and after all, I had mastered the mountain. But that is not how it is done, since when you're at the top you are winched into the belayer at the bottom by the exact amount of rope that covers the distance between you. So he instructed me to let go and he would slowly let me down. Once again panic struck and just couldn't do it. Simple physics..I outweigh this guy 2:1... its a pulley... I'll crash to the ground and he'll fly to the top of the rock.... I tried to climb but couldn't get anywhere. For one thing, I couldn't see where I was putting my feet, for another the rope made it nearly impossible.
So there I was, master of the mountain, wide-eyed and panicked, being lowered in jerks as I was constantly swinging myself back to the rock to hold on between every spurt of downward motion.
The rest of my runs that day followed more or less the same pattern with no discernible improvement in my ability. Still, it was a largely enjoyable experience, and I owe it largely to the members of the society who enabled me to do it with their expertise (and also to God and JRR Tolkein...and maybe werewolves).
The climbing was almost as artificial as a wall... one can easily get to the top of the rock face approaching the rear face of the moor with its gradual slope. Still, there is something of an interesting intellectual component (of which I'll be honest I took no part...this has more to do with the "lead climbing"..the first dude up the rock that puts up the rope), and any activity that activates one's instinct in such a way that allows one to feign survival is bound to evoke primal euphoria.
I won't rush out and get rock shoes just yet...but it's something I'd like to try again...
I think while reading LOTR, my mind would go numb but I continued on because the sparse passages in which the plot actually was advanced were riveting. And being slightly OCD, I would go to the encyclopedia to look up what a moor or heather actually was (and yes, I flunked my physiology test the next day).
But it all paid off, because I knew exactly what I was looking at in Dartmoor. I think Middle Earth was for the most part, the UK.
Anyway the real reason I went was to do some climbing, which I had never done before. I was a bit apprehensive as the English seemed a bit...well... not the people who ran 1/4 of the globe a mere 90 years ago. I mean, they couldn't start a fire, didn't realize that coal had to be heated to a greater temperature than wood, couldn't seem to find the way on a road map... or a relief map of the moors.
The last point had some frustrating consequences for myself. One day it was too wet to climb so we went hiking through the moors. It was cold, rainy, and foggy; I was relatively comfortable thanks to my gore-tex shoes and jacket. That is I was until getting lost we hiked straight through a bog and I was knee deep in muck. Of course my shoes filled with water and I was miserable for the rest of the 3 mile hike through the cold.
The bog IS a magical place though...I didn't see the Piltdown man or Sutton Hoo, but the water that exudes from the muck is clear and not muddy as if the green heather (which is soft over the bogs) is a giant sponge. On the other hand, the heather where the ground is harder hurts like a bitch as it slashes your calves. The highlight here was seeing a carcass of a lamb, the bones stripped clean and surrounded by wooly hairballs. The werewolf (me?)?? I came to the conclusion there must be some sort of mountain lion....
All that aside, the Brits REALLY knew their stuff when it came to climbing. They were talking about it with a precision that I would more associate with neuroscience than bounding rocks. Figure-4 holds, rope tension, pressure points...hex-nuts that fit into fissures.. the intellectualization was impressive I can't say it was Greek to me.. but maybe Chinese (which is what Greeks actually say when something is incomprehensible).
I quickly gained confidence in their abilities... these were the people who administrated from Canada to India.. and felt secure enough to dangle my 14 stone 10 lb (2 stone less than when I arrived I might add) from a pink rope attached to a rock by a guy who tried to start a fire by throwing lit, twisted newspaper scraps onto coal and dousing it with lighter fluid.
I was a bit scared when I first looked at the rock. From the base, it doesn't look like there are ANY holds at all. The nature of the texture of granite seems to cloak and sort of relief in the rock. But I squeezed my ass into the harness and began my ascent. As if by magic, I started to float upward, my feet adhering to rock as if I were spiderman!
But then about halfway up, there was nowhere else they would stick. In vain I moved laterally back and forth across the rock moving every direction but up. It was at this point that I noticed just how windy it was. The wind overwhelmed every one of my senses as the flapping of my coat and howl of air was all I could hear, my eyes began to water, I began to feel cold, I couldn't breathe through my nose, and my tongue went numb. My coat was beating against my body with such force I felt that if I let go of the wall, my motion would be horizontal across the valley rather than vertical to the earth.
The wind was so all-encompassing I began to visualize Boreas materializing and tearing me from the wall and smashing me into the scattered rocks below. It was at this point that my fear provoked an instinctual response and I raised my leg quickly to a 30 degree angle from my head (something I thought was not even possible for my body to do) and latched my foot into a crevice... from that position I managed to shimmy up several feet, slamming my knees into the wall with every panicked jerk of my body, until I reached some more closely set holds and proceeded uneventfully to the top of the rock face.
Then I sat down and was rewarded with a spectacular view. I've described it in detail...so I won't belabor it any further. But the view reinforced the sense of accomplishment, artificial though it was, of having scaled the mountain (now it is a mountain no mere rock!). And I sat there for a good five minutes contemplating the mysteries of the universe while the belayer (the dude holding the rope below) impatiently waited for my descent.
Finally, it was time to come down. Naturally, I would climb down... it must be much easier than climbing up, and after all, I had mastered the mountain. But that is not how it is done, since when you're at the top you are winched into the belayer at the bottom by the exact amount of rope that covers the distance between you. So he instructed me to let go and he would slowly let me down. Once again panic struck and just couldn't do it. Simple physics..I outweigh this guy 2:1... its a pulley... I'll crash to the ground and he'll fly to the top of the rock.... I tried to climb but couldn't get anywhere. For one thing, I couldn't see where I was putting my feet, for another the rope made it nearly impossible.
So there I was, master of the mountain, wide-eyed and panicked, being lowered in jerks as I was constantly swinging myself back to the rock to hold on between every spurt of downward motion.
The rest of my runs that day followed more or less the same pattern with no discernible improvement in my ability. Still, it was a largely enjoyable experience, and I owe it largely to the members of the society who enabled me to do it with their expertise (and also to God and JRR Tolkein...and maybe werewolves).
The climbing was almost as artificial as a wall... one can easily get to the top of the rock face approaching the rear face of the moor with its gradual slope. Still, there is something of an interesting intellectual component (of which I'll be honest I took no part...this has more to do with the "lead climbing"..the first dude up the rock that puts up the rope), and any activity that activates one's instinct in such a way that allows one to feign survival is bound to evoke primal euphoria.
I won't rush out and get rock shoes just yet...but it's something I'd like to try again...
posted by akrites @ 10:56 PM
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