Once upon a time, some sad SOB's come up with the idea to go rock-climbing in December in Northern Pennsylvania. Destination: Mt. Hancock bouldering on lake Nockamixon.
Hardy mofos drive for a while, listen to mediocre music, get lost near climbing-grounds. Decision is made to ask for assistance at conveniently-close state-park office. Secretarial staff give climbers map and direction. But, wait, alas! Also informs climbers that climbable rocks are within legally-limited hunting grounds and that hunting season is extant.
Indomitable climbers are not cowed, but accept orange plastic vests with sincere thank-yous. Climbers push-on to parking lot, hike a score of minutes, find acceptable rocks. Actually, awesome rocks!
Climbers settle contently at foot of happy rocks, sip thermos-coffee, prepare for action. Father of climber calls, notifies ignorant climbers of impending weather - foul, hurty weather.
Immediate climatological response: snow bombs and hail. Snow concoctions fall light and fluffy, but so humongous that a single one, upon impact, explodes and showers on unsuspecting rock-climbers' eyes - temporary blinding occurs. Hail builds up on ledges and in cracks, making foot-holds suicidally slippery (20ft up, without rope) and hand-holds intolerably cold. Shoes must be worn without socks, hence feet rapidly deteriorate to the point of no-feeling. Hands crack and bleed and cry.
Stoic climbers climb on, as best they can. Wet leaves and rock become ice-covered, extraordinarily precarious. Climbers wander and explore, climb some, find sweet cave-likenesses and graffiti (Steve 1989!), suffer in silence like cold-tempered Scandinavians. Eventually the climbers decide that the fun is expired. They return home, satiated.
Hardy mofos drive for a while, listen to mediocre music, get lost near climbing-grounds. Decision is made to ask for assistance at conveniently-close state-park office. Secretarial staff give climbers map and direction. But, wait, alas! Also informs climbers that climbable rocks are within legally-limited hunting grounds and that hunting season is extant.
Indomitable climbers are not cowed, but accept orange plastic vests with sincere thank-yous. Climbers push-on to parking lot, hike a score of minutes, find acceptable rocks. Actually, awesome rocks!
Climbers settle contently at foot of happy rocks, sip thermos-coffee, prepare for action. Father of climber calls, notifies ignorant climbers of impending weather - foul, hurty weather.
Immediate climatological response: snow bombs and hail. Snow concoctions fall light and fluffy, but so humongous that a single one, upon impact, explodes and showers on unsuspecting rock-climbers' eyes - temporary blinding occurs. Hail builds up on ledges and in cracks, making foot-holds suicidally slippery (20ft up, without rope) and hand-holds intolerably cold. Shoes must be worn without socks, hence feet rapidly deteriorate to the point of no-feeling. Hands crack and bleed and cry.
Stoic climbers climb on, as best they can. Wet leaves and rock become ice-covered, extraordinarily precarious. Climbers wander and explore, climb some, find sweet cave-likenesses and graffiti (Steve 1989!), suffer in silence like cold-tempered Scandinavians. Eventually the climbers decide that the fun is expired. They return home, satiated.
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