PASS3GE

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 13:18:09 -0700

R3TUAL

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 12:52:50 -0700

Present Day Pictures

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 12:58:42 -0700

sym

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 14:12:46 -0700

a self portrait...

pry this open...

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 16:25:28 -0700

SPARK

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 19:07:26 -0700

escape

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 19:56:55 -0700

VIII

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 20:38:43 -0700

Memiors of an Alaskan

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 17:13:01 -0700

Chapter One - My Lantern ------------------------------ I must have been four because when I was five I got an X-Wing Fighter. And even though a lot was expected of me as child I dont believe that at three my parents would have given me a lantern for Christmas. A tiny kerosene lantern, coated with red enamel, maybe eight inches tall, not counting the handle. It had a rag wick and a little dial to move it up or down to control the illumination. I was so proud of that lantern. It had its very own hook, drilled into one of the log beams that made up the ceiling of our little cabin. My mother or father would hang it there so I could read or draw by its light but mostly I would just sit and admire the lantern. My lantern. But its true purpose was far more practical than simple reading or writing. Winter nights in Alaska can be cold and with no moon, dark as coal. I would pull on my Sorrels and my parka. Pull on a wool hat and mittens and holding my lantern high overhead I would venture out into the twenty below air. My breath would freeze before me as I crunched through the often times knee high snow to the old outhouse. The little red lantern illuminated the frozen terrain around me in an eight-foot diameter bubble of light that no evil in the universe could possibly penetrate. I would pull back the frozen curtain that served as a door and set my lantern on the plywood seat, next to the hole. With my mittens I brushed the crystals of frost from around its edge and using an old block of wood as a stepping stool I would climb up and do my business as quickly as possible, eyes never leaving my lantern. Minutes later I would be back in my very warm bed, blankets wrapped tightly around me, everything silent except my parents breathing across the room and the occasional pop of spruce form the barrel stove. My lantern sat next to me on a table, dialed down as low as can be, the last thing I saw as I drifted off, back to sleep. Yes, I think I was four. Chapter Two - Dave's Cowboy Hat ---------------------------------------- It is summer 1979, probably late June or early July. I sit at the door of our teepee fiddling with an old bone, some string and a few carefully chosen rocks, fashioning a crude weapon. I will be six in a few months. My father is still alive but only for a couple more weeks. I can hear my brother David, three years younger, splashing in the small creek below our campsite. He is washing his dirty white felt cowboy hat and singing to himself, something by Waylon Jennings perhaps, he used to love that song, Mammas dont let your babys grow up The adults are away, re-staking the horses to new feeding ground, they do this twice a day. They have taken my youngest brother (at the time) Andy with them; he is almost a year old and beginning to walk. The air is very still, barely a breeze; a few small birds peck around the two-week-old campsite for bits of food. I look down the gentle slope to the creek where my brother sits, perhaps twenty yards away and my heart stops. The creek is perhaps six or eight feet wide at most and shallow. Barely a toddler even Dave could cross it safely. And across from him sits a young bear. A brown bear, probably young enough that its mother is close. And I might be five but I know its the mother thats dangerous. I rise slowly and say nothing. Dave doesnt see the bear, he continues to sing blissfully and wash his cowboy hat. It doesnt look any cleaner. I walk very slowly towards him, eyes never leaving the bear that just sits on its haunches, regarding my young brother with what looks to me like curiosity. My heart is pounding faster now. I can smell it. Musky and a hint of berries. I am halfway there. It hasnt moved an inch and Dave hasnt seen it yet. I look around. No sign of a mother, but that means nothing. And Im there. Eight feet from this young bear with my brother between us. Holding my breath and wondering how Dave didnt smell it too I reach down and take his hand. He jumps a bit, I surprised him and he turns to me with his large brown eyes and rosy cheeks like a cherub in a renaissance painting. Holding his hand tightly now I raise a finger to my lips but make no sound. Shh And I pull him back up the low grade of the hill. The bear still hasnt moved, still looks curious and David still clutches his cowboy hat. We walk backwards all the way up and a few feet from the mouth of our tee pee the bear turns slowly and ambles off, casual as can be and disappears into the thick brush beyond the creek. Was that a bear? Dave asks in his lisping cherub voice. Yeah, be quiet I say and pull him into the tee pee. Half an hour later when the adults come back they dont believe us. Maybe it was a fox. No? Maybe a wolverine then? No. I was only five but I knew it was a bear. Chapter Three - The Third Time I Almost Died ---------------------------------------------------- I tug on the rope and glance back over my shoulder, down into the darkness below. I can't see the bottom but I know it's close. I look back up at Todd, crouched on the small shelf of snow and a few feet above me. "This is ten", I say and lean back. It sounds like a gunshot and I've never been shot at but as if by some primordial instinct I drop prone. I look up at Todd and his eyes are so wide I think they could swallow his face, And the second thing I notice is the smell, shattered granite smells a lot like gunpowder. Or maybe its that they both smell like death. But let's back up. Thirteen hours ago we were at the top of this unremarkable pile of rocks. It might only be half the size of the massive Denali looming over us to the north but we thought we were on top of the world when we got there. Tired and thirsty, eleven thousand, three hundred feet above sea level, we had embraced and spent maybe five or ten minutes admiring the view. We could see for hundreds of miles. Forty hours before that we had run out of fuel for our stove. A potentially fatal miscalculation. We wanted to go light but took it to far. Inexperience maybe, but a mistake like that can kill you. Up here without fuel there is no water. And this is some of the hardest climbing either of us have ever done. The hardest anything either of us have ever done. And Todd's been to war. Last night I spent two hours chopping a shelf out of the ice on the side of some cliff, I tied all my gear off and packed my water bottles full of snow and slept with them. I shivered all night but in the morning my body had meted maybe a cup of water. Precious water. I haven't been hungry yet, not in two and a half days without food. But thirsty, so thirsty. Without water your blood thickens and your muscles cramp and become useless. When we ran out of fuel we never considered going back down, it wasn't even an option. We had a quart of water each and a full belly. It would have been two dangerous to backtrack, downclimb and rappel the way we had come up. We knew we had to go up and over, down the other side. We never dreamt it would be this hard. We got off route, it started snowing and when we should have been back at basecamp we still werent at the top. So thirsty. We climbed through the snow. Both leading sections of rock and ice that pushed our bodies and our minds to the limit. We lost three pitons cause I buried em to far into the rock for Todd to remove. He never even tried. Now, a day and a half later we could use those pitons on this rappel. All we know is that its ten rappels, maybe twelve to fifteen hundred feet. Sometimes we downclimb short sections, sometimes we dangle on the end of the rope, swinging back and forth in the blackness, looking for something to create an anchor with for the next rappel. We take turns going first. Its hard and scary going first. You dont know whats below. You just hope youll find something good before you run outa rope. And here we are on the tenth. Its my turn to go first. Since Todd went first last time he made the next anchor and the first thing I ask when I arrive is how is it? He beats it with a gloved fist, Bomber dude. I can still hear those words. And it looks bomber. A massive fin of granite that he tied several nylon slings around. Ran the rope through and clipped in, waited for me to come down and see what lies below. It drops off steep, undercuts even. But we know this is probably the last one. For the first time since the summit we are smiling. "This is ten", I say, and lean back. And it snaps. This giant piece of prehistoric granite, it weighs as much as a small car and were both tied to it. My heals are hanging over the void. To this day I have no idea how I didn't go. I have no idea how I somehow pitched my weight forward and didn't disappear into the darkness below, pulling Todd with me and killing us both. His eyes are so huge in the light of my headlamp and all I can hear is my heart, pounding in my ears. But the worst part is that that broken piece of rock was our only anchor. And here on this little ledge there is nothing else but a shallow crack, maybe half an inch deep. We don't say much and Todd pounds in an aluminum stopper. It only goes halfway in. Looks like I can jerk it out with my hand but its gotta support the over 250 Lbs of me, my pack. And gear. There is nothing else. So I do it. It's all we can do. Its too steep and we are two exhausted to be able to climb back up and find something better. Todd unclips and sits without an anchor on the little ledge. He isn't so sure it will hold either. I gently lower myself off the ledge and make my way slowly down. A foot slips and I pendulum wildly to the side. I am sure the stopper will pop but it doesn't. Forty feet down I'm not at the bottom but I find a better anchor. I tie in and yell for Todd to come down, we'll set up here and go again. Six hours later we ski into basecamp. The sun is just coming up. Todd collapses in front of the Tent and I watch snow collect on his Gore-Tex suit as I hurry to take off my skis. I have a mission. Water. Ten minutes later he comes into the cook tent and I hand him the first quart bottle of water. He chugs half of it and hands the bottle back to me. I empty it and start melting more snow. Todd heads to the sleep tent to unpack his down bag. I just sit there for about a minute and then I vomit all the water out between my feet. I've never been more miserable than that moment. We spend the next day slowly re-hydrating and eating and sleeping and we fly out the day after that. There on that ledge, when that anchor broke, that was the third time I know I almost died.

Staley