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THE RAINMAKER |
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By |
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Ray Purcell |
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| I always thought it was real cool how in the old cowboy movies when the cavalry's riding along with the Indian Scout, it was ok to call Native Americans Indians then, and the scout crouches down close to the earth and says something like an Irishman, and an Italian guy with a monkey passed this way two hours and forty six minutes ago.� Well it's my habit to exaggerate, but anybody who remembers those old movies or has been to the Lone Pine Film Festival knows what I'm talking about.� It's what my friend Scott calls mountain sense, or street smarts, or a little voice.� Anyway, some people just seem more attuned.� Perhaps it comes from a sense of the subtle rhythms and nuances of your environment; regardless it imparts a clear survival advantage.� Orland Bartholomew had it when he spent three months skiing solo from Mt. Whitney to Yosemite Valley in 1928.� Christopher McCandless didn't have it when he starved to death in a broken down school bus in Alaska in 1992.� |
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| I myself discovered an extremely subtle and previously unreported phenomenon that I'm positive predicts rain if not a freaking awful storm.� The first time I experienced this phenomenon was last July.� My daughter and I had planned to go to Yosemite Valley with the plan to climb Royal Arches Route.� Most people told me that it would be hotter than hell and I didn't doubt it.� My daughter, whose now 19 (gasp), and I do a trip every year, and this was the only weekend she could get off work.� Oddly after some of the hottest days of the summer the weather forecast called for cooling.� The heat just sucked as we drove through the Central Valley and it didn?t seem to be letting up any as we got higher.� Oddly there were a few sprinkles as we were passing through Chinquapin before descending into the valley. |
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| The full moon was startlingly bright and fully illuminated Half Dome as we exited the tunnel before the scenic overlook.� Arriving at Camp 4 no sites were to be found (DEERR, holiday!) but the ranger graciously offered to arrest me so that I could spend the night in the Valley jail while my daughter got an emergency campsite.� Bloody bastard was flirting with my little girl.� We slunk off to bootleg a site at the backpacker's camp, which felt a little creepy since every car parked in the valley over night now has some kind of assignment sticker: friggin fascist police state.� It was hot and humid all night having reached 96 degrees that day and we slept on top of our bags all night. |
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| After a clammy night, we qued up bright and early for one of the precious legitimate campsite in Camp 4.� I've freeloaded and bootlegged my share but doing it with your kid feels some how irresponsible, and the prospect of getting busted in the middle of the night is just too mortifying. Besides learning how to stealth camp is best relearned by ones offspring, forbidden pleasure, stolen fruit and all that.� Those assembled with us, also hoping for a legit patch of Camp 4 dirt, resembled the United Nations General Assembly having suddenly fallen on hard times.� |
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| There were Australians, Finns, Japanese, and Germans waiting for the kiosk to open.� A couple of German guys were next to us in line so we started chatting to pass the time.� Just two fellas seeing the national treasures of the US before returning to college, you know the Grand Canyon, Hawaiian beaches, Las Vegas casinos and brothels.� I caught one of them flashing one of those cute little smiles at Courtney- bloody bastard's flirting with my little girl.� Of course we ended up camping right next to these guys.� Perhaps fathers shouldn't road trip with their daughters after the age of ten. |
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| We were setting up our tent and the sky was rapidly clouding over, and not the typical afternoon lingers for a few hours and then goes away Sierra stuff.� Then it started to rain, and thinking back that was when I first became aware of something gnawing at the edge of my awareness.� It was one of those odd ephemeral feelings.� A kind of image that replays in your mind; an I won't leave you alone kind of observation that nags at you from your subconscious until you acknowledge it.� Then the vision crystallized, it was Jim Bridwell, and he was walking back to the Camp 4 SAR tent hovel from the bathroom, and just before the rain started.� It rained three solid days after that.� All the locals were talking about how weird it was too.�� The monsoon was the topic of conversation at Degnan's Deli: I knew why. |
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| My suspicions were confirmed over the Thanksgiving Holiday.� Over the Summer I had been pimping my friend Matt about going to Joshua Tree to climb in the fall, after all it's about the best weather of the year-right.� Well Matt must have played a cunning game of brinkmanship, one worthy of Henry Kissinger, because he negotiated two days from his wife and youngest daughter.� In fact it was beginning to be an auspicious line up of events: my friend Geoff and his friend Anne from New York were going to be there; Matt with his kids and a mutual friend Dwayne; even my son Sean agreed to get up before noon on a day off to come along. |
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| The wind had blown like hell across the Mojave Desert Thanksgiving Day, opaque dust clouds sifted across the freeway and trucks pulled over in the lee of overpasses because their trailers were fishtailing across lanes.� But the next morning dawned a fine intensely blue desert day when Sean and I headed out from Palmdale.� We arrived in the park after two hours of pleasant driving. First thing we headed for Hidden Valley to check the back of the campground sign and see where Geoff was since he was supposed to have gotten there earlier.� Score, we had a campsite! |
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| From the new and expansive parking lot we could see that all the nearby climbs were anthills.� So we headed out to Wonderland of Rocks from Barker Dam.� Far fewer people were evident as we walked up the washes toward Lenticular Dome.� Of course everyone was camped out at the bottom of Mental Physics, which should have come as no surprise.� Since I was feeling large and invincible, I roped up to do the line to the left, Dazed and Confused 5.9 ***.� I was dazed and confused when I saw how high off the deck the first bolt was.� This climb is worth every * for it's little dime edges and subtle nubby face moves.� After Sean flashed it, following a disgustingly lengthy hiatus from climbing, we hung around to see if we could get on Mental Physics.� Unfortunately the sun was setting over the Astro Domes and we wanted to get dinner on before it got to dark. |
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| I was disappointed to not find Geoff when we got to the campsite at Jumbo.� So Sean and I settled in to make a dinner of fettuccini in a sun dried tomatoes Alfredo sauce with mushrooms and olives.� After a serious helping of pasta washed down with nice Bordeaux we enjoyed the desert night around the fire.� Having listened to the coyotes howl and getting quite sleepy we settled down for the night.� Just as I was getting quite nestled in Geoff looms up thumping on our little camper shell.� Since he was pretty tired too we agreed to forego the reunion until the next day. |
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| After a not-too-early start and a traditional breakfast of LBDs (little brown donuts) Geoff and Annie headed off to the ever-popular Double Cross.� I asked Geoff to save us a place in line and we headed out not far behind.� I was amazed to find Geoff and Anne had gotten right on one of Joshes most popular 5.7****, and Sean and I were next!� I was just loving the morning and strolling up Double Cross when Matt, the kids and Dwayne showed up- along with every other climber in the park.� After rapping off the climb Sean and I sauntered over to the Blob where Geoff had lead, quite proudly I might add, Hobbit Roof 5.10d**.� Looking quite the awkward roof I was content to climb on Geoff's top rope.� While the roof's what attracts the eye it's the face below that's the real crux.� |
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| After that climb we split up agreeing to rejoin for lunch. So next Sean and I went over to the east face to do the Buissonier 5.7***.� I've long ago decided that climbs at Josh get stars for each curve they throw at you and this was no exception.� Buissonier follows a broad left curving right facing hand crack, which is a puzzling layback and hand jam lead that's just great fun.� The down climb is an even greater thrill; caving down with chimney moves to the bottom we gathered up our gear and headed off to lunch. |
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| It happened as we were walking into the new and expansive Hidden Valley Parking Plex.� My heart skipped, I felt sweaty and faint, my head spun, he was there.� Yes, standing outside the new vault toilets, it was Jim "The Bird" Bridwell.� A pawl had fallen over the scene and I thought I'd heard the very banshee wail it's horrible cry, but it turned out someone had fallen off of Double Dog Leg.� I felt slightly nauseated through lunch, though it might have been the vaults.� Fortunately, I was able to fight off the funk and we headed over to Echo Cove Rock's South Face. I dared not reveal my sighting of the very Cerberus lest my friends confirm their suspicion that I am quite mad. |
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| Having gang roped the entire wall we climbed happily through the afternoon, everyone but me in blissful ignorance of the earlier portent.� Then it happened, starting like the Foen over the Eiger, the winds crescendo overtook us as a great wall of enveloping dark nothing spread over us like a cheap suit.� From my vantage climbers were fleeing the spreading maelstrom as thought the very apocalypse had begun in this very place.� Sean and I caught a ride back to my truck and hauled ass back to Jumbo.� Having spread a tarp off the back of my truck the rain again overtook us and we decided to screw the hot dinner.� But it was too late for everyone else.� Unable to set up camp in the buffeting gale of sideways rain some fled to town to eat, some for the night, some called it a week and went home- there was no dishonor. |
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| Sean and I had put too much work into our shelter or we too would have bailed for Thai food but settled down instead to salami, cheese and Ritz crackers.� We solemnly sipped beers while the odd fellow in the next campsite did a kind of seated Ti Chi on top of a boulder in 40-MPH gusts.� Not long after we settled into an uneasy sleep, the kind one might experience on a port-a-ledge hanging off of Fitzroy in Patagonia- although I really have no actual idea.� I awakened to a start thinking the very devil had come to claim me, not that I didn't deserve it, but it was Geoff thumping on the truck and claiming to be the ranger. |
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| The next morning it still sucked outside, cold and windy.� Matt's daughter Stephanie, who has a natural beauty and easy smile, except when she's whining at her brother, graciously made pancakes for the entire group.� Having breakfasted Anne, always sage in these matters, declared we'd be nuts not to go down to Indian Cove, or something along those lines.� So, we all packed up and caravanned off seeking milder climbs. |
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| Indian Cove while slightly overcast was calm and much warmer.�� We found Dwayne, Matt and his kid's love'in life on some top rope problems at Campfire Crag.� I really like Matt because he's so enthusiastic about everything he does, particularly climbing.� He acquired the disease about a year ago and his older kids, that's Stephanie previously mentioned and Grant, are similarly infected.� The other thing I like about Matt is that while he could be heading off to indulge in his own hobbies he genuinely seems to love having his kid along and seeing them have fun. |
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| It was really crowded in Indian Cove, probable with people like us escaping the weather in the higher part of the park.� I found a cool left curving finger crack and set a top rope.� After Sean and I did the route Matt's son Grant got on the thing and as usual did bloody well, the little cuss.� Geoff showed up with Annie after having done some multi-pitch route and Annie set about finding something to lead.� On about noon it was time to brave the holiday traffic home so we split leaving Annie to her lead, and Matt and his crew to their projects.� It had been a great weekend with good friends and a badass storm.� So if you see Jim Bridwell outside a toilet stake down your tent and zip up the fly cuz yer in for a blow.� |
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| November, 2001 |
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