Fun with My Family!

Okay, here's the background: My family has a reunion coming up this summer and we're trying to collect some of our family stories before then. Well, I am trying to do it. There is a decided lack of enthusiasm from other parties. (Or perhaps just less time!) I have been going through the stuff I have and getting everything onto the computer. Such fun! And tonight I am scanning my brother Adam's tales, and it has made me laugh out loud. That is my bar for sharing. If it makes me laugh out loud, I must share (which is why I plug thepioneerwoman.com all the time!). So, since I have completed the work of getting this tale computer ready, I shall now post it for your viewing enjoyment. Here is Adam's story, one of his many near-death exploits:

The date: some time in late April to early May 2001.
The place: Provo, Utah.
The people: Me...Just me.

With just days to go before making the flight from Salt Lake City to Anchorage, Alaska I was anxious to try to keep myself in reasonably good condition as to make myself as attractive as possible. So I ran. At this time after the Winter 2001 BYU semester had ended, and 1 was living off campus with Miranda and Dan. So it was from their house on 200E 248N that this journey began. I left with no real destination in mind, but quickly headed away from campus and towards the mountains. If you are familiar with Provo you might remember the famous "Y" mount. That's where I headed. I eventually found myself near 7 Peaks Water Park at the base of a formidable shale hill.

Picture this with me- A 90-foot high rock wall jutting up at about 75-85 degrees, getting steeper towards the top. In the middle of this wall there is a spot worn from water erosion that is full of good handholds that also gets narrower at the top. Above this the mountain leveled out and it was then just a hike up the mountain to get to the "Y". I, at first, had no intentions of climbing this, but the realization that if didn't go now it would be another 2 1/2 years before I'd ever make it to that famous BYU landmark encouraged me to go. Thus the climb commenced. Armed only with a worn down pair of running shoes, an old t-shirt, my running shorts, and my wit I started up the face, dreadfully unprepared. The first 30-40 feet was a cakewalk. There were many firm places to set my feet and hands, and my morale was still at Invincible Mode. Before I continue I'd like to give you a little back ground about shale, I think it's a kind of limestone that forms in layers. It's not very sturdy and it falls away in sheets. Meaning that you may have a good place to stick your foot for a moment, but after you apply pressure a large chunk of rock may rip out of the face, almost always making the place smoother and harder to climb. I'm sure by now you can see the problems that this caused. Now let's continue.

As I steadily climbed upwards, my pace decreased drastically. Not only was it getting harder to find a firm place to hold on to, but also the need for them was ever greater because of the increasing angle of the cliff. I'd also begun to get sloppy and found myself almost twister style (left hand on red, with right foot on yellow....) only 15 feet from the top. Off balance, out of reach, and slipping I was rather stuck. At this point I had two choices. I could either attempt to throw myself the remaining 5 yards to the top, and hope I make it, knowing that if I don't my body will tumble the 75 feet, bouncing off the wall to the bottom; or I could start a slow, controlled descent from where I was currently stationed with the hopes that by the time gravity overcame the friction between my shoes and the rock that I'd be far enough down that I could only be semi-horribly maimed. I actually had a third thought come to mind.

It was a slightly less realistic thought, but my mind clung to it in desperation. I fully expected a Spanish swordsman to come to the edge of the cliff offer me a rope or a tree branch or something. As you can imagine in this I was sorely disappointed. However, I did wait several minutes in hopes of this. I think you now have an understanding of how bad my situation was. I was starting to get just a little scared, but the realization that I needed to go on a mission gave me some hope, "I can't die yet." I thought.

It finally dawned on me that Anigo Montoya was not going to appear, and that I could not propel my body straight up 15 feet. I had to go down. Slowly I flipped myself around so that my back was to the wall, my feet facing down, and I began the descent. Going up is always easier than going down, and I'd made the journey even more of an odyssey by destroying all of the foot holes on the way up. Bad luck. The first few feet were very, very, very slow going. Knowing that if you move to fast, or without thinking that your body will fall helplessly 8 stories before crashing to the ground has a way of captivating your mind and making you think very hard before each move. Thus I began to move my left foot down, grab hold with my right hand, Oh!! Stay strong with left hand, slowly lower, watch out that rocks loose!! Careful it's really slick here...

Unfortunately, despite all my efforts, this pattern only continued for about 5 feet, Some how; it escapes my memory, I made an error. Shocking yes, but it happened. While lowering myself down the rock I was clutching for support- gave way beneath me, I pressed in with my feet to try to stop my fall; but it was futile. Luckily I had anticipated this, just not so quickly. As the rock I held broke off, and the slide began, I pushed my bum off the rock while stretching my hands out to try to slow me down and, with luck, stop completely. I then used my Adidas running shoes as skis while I shot down the mountain. You'd be amazed at how fast a 180 lb boy can get going. Just think "bobsled team" minus the protective bobsled.

As quickly as it began it was over, almost instantly I'd covered the 70 feet and was at the bottom. Just before impact I stood up as if running down the face of the cliff so that the transition from going down at 80 degrees to moving 180 degrees wouldn't shatter my legs. It worked. My downward moment was absorbed by the forgiving gravel and changed into forward movement. For a second I was stunned. I was alive! I looked quickly at myself. Yes, I still had all of my major appendages. Arms, legs, hands, still intact. Butt, bruised or broken. Shoes, still runnable. Me, alive. Me, happy, very happy.

As the initial shock wore off and I was able to inspect myself closer, I noticed several gashes in my hand from the rocks, but all in all not bad. I was able to run the mile or two back home without incident to receive competent medical help, a hot bath, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. While doing so I discovered several scratches on my butt, but my shorts weren't torn (happy day, clothes don't heal) and a few other cuts, but nothing compared to the dismemberment I should have faced. It was a good day. So the moral of the story is when you go rock climbing bring a Spaniard with you.

Yes, this is my baby brother and his fabuous wife!