Episode VIII

Testicular Jones & The Temple Of Booze
  

It was an evening of debauchery and vomit. In a string of events that included copious pints of beer, kissing a fish, and yelling "long may your big jib draw!", I found myself inert on Roger's porch at 2 am. I was armed with gin, tonic, and a slouch from hell. The single malt whiskey had disappeared and I had been turned down by the drunken party next door when asking for a cigarette. The party was over. I sluggishly cast about like a teenager for a way to casually dispose of my drink. In a deft maneuver I tipped it and watched it stream down the wrong side of the railing and onto the porch. It seemed unlikely that we would go out the next morning and climb Pipeline for the second time.

I stumbled home and went directly about the drunken business of putting left-over chicken in the oven to warm up. A voice drifted in from the bedroom.

"Did you just put something in the oven?"

God bless the sober. I removed the chicken from the oven, saving us all from a fiery death and nearly fell asleep just walking to the bedroom. I awoke with some caution the next morning, but I felt GREAT.

  

 Steepness before the alcove.

Tossing together some gear, I rang up Roger. In short order we were sitting in the 99er Cafe, watching Roger (with a great anvil tied to his head) try to hold down his breakfast.

Mark, Rebecca, and Matt were waiting at the Squaw pull-out in various states of decay. The vomit count had been notable. We pimped up and headed out. Matt and Rebecca went around to the summit to set up some photos; Mark worked with Roger and I to get to the base of the Pipeline. Less than a month after our first outing, I found myself again on the great, granite sickle. Far above us, Rebecca threatened to shower our belay with barf.

Approaching the crux provided me with less trouble than before: Taping my inside ankle allowed me to actually USE my inside foot. This boon made sliding along fairly smooth.

Crux disaster: snagged up on the lip!

 Testicular Torsion
Leaving the alcove was difficult, but I wiggled up into the growing steepness. The crux was coming on strong and I decided to go for the "gas pedal". I left too early and my heart rate doubled as a wild lurch met only with air. Groaning and calling on Jesus, I fought back into the crack. Grinding higher, I slid up the cam and went for it again. At full extension, my foot settled onto the hold and I swung out. I was jolted to a precarious halt by the 8 foot sling as it caught on the lip of the overhang. With my foot pasted weakly on the wall, I was trapped on the bad side of a rock over. It was dire straits. Whooping, face flushed, I made a desperate lunge to reestablish myself in the crack. Fighting to stay in, I wiggled the cam upwards. It was an extremely unlucky thing that the crack widens just there. I said some naughty, naughty words, hoping God would notice and keep up his end of the bargain. I rattled the friend in horror and Matt became so uncomfortable that he stopped taking photos--a feat in and of itself. I fumbled about and finally reestablished the cam. I settled down as best I could. The second time, the crux passed smoothly, and I was left to fight the pump goggles on the final steepness.

 Finished the work.

Mark Huscroft approaches the final ramp.

Testicular torsion occurs when one of the testicles rotates, twisting the spermatic cord and cutting off blood flow to the testicle. Symptoms include sudden, severe pain in one testicle that may radiate to the lower abdomen; swelling high in the scrotum; nausea and vomiting; and fever. Testicular torsion is a medical emergency...without prompt treatment the testicle can be permanently damaged and may have to be removed.................[BC Health Guide (page 277)]

Heavy breathing and sweating had done much to dehydrate me, and I arrived at the top of the route with a pasty mouth and the dawning of a hangover. I was delirious and in great need of liquid sustenance.

In this second ascent, Roger followed smartly and in great style (four weeks later, in Leavenworth, he would profess to enjoying his first ever squeeze chimney lead, placing two "solid" Big Bros and a small wire. Further proof that the only constant is change). Mark slowly came up to join us, enjoying some parts of the pitch two or three times before moving on. Reaching the ramp and looking up at us, he wheezed a two word benediction:

"Holy fuck."

 Uncle Mikey's Tips: How To Climb Pipeline

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