dan2see wrote:But if you eat right, you shouldn't throw up in action.
My buddy Burl eats right. He pukes in action, or just after, often enough to make for some funny stories.
Burl and I run in and climb Matthes Crest. We get done way early and are back to the deli by 1 PM on a summer's day. We eat a delicious lunch of veggie burgers and fries and head off to Daff Dome for a run up Crescent Arch.
I lead P1 and Burl takes that slick initial corner pitch with the little bit of OW at the bottom. Its a shoulder scum move pitch - do it right and it flows. Try to lieback or jam it and prepare to suffer. Burl jammed it and got scared between placements.
Of course all this played out as usual... out of sight. I just sat there on the ledge smoking things and playing with my piddle.
I feel the rope tugs - off belay. Then softly on the breeze I thought I heard something.
I throught I heard something...
So like I follow the pitch, yo?
Ten feet below the belay -
"Dingus, watch where you put your hands bro. I sorta puked."
Yall know Daff dome, up there in Tuolumne Meadows? Ever do Crescent Arch? If so you may recall all of the lovely golden polished grante up there - literally golden in color?
Remember what we had for lunch? Veggie burger, fries and LOTS OF KETCHUP. Now what color do you think that regurgitated mess took on?
CamoPUKE! It could not be seen, but it could certainly be felt and smelt. OMG it could be SMELT!
We ate like Kings. Burl puked like a king too. There were pools of puke behind every little wrinkle on that ledge. Every bucket had puke in it. every stance coated with shiny mucus puke. Bits of fries and fake burger were everywhere.
And the smell... OMG the SMELL!
So I climbed with care and did 5.10 moves where no moves existed at all... to avoid the puke stained holds. Standing next to Burl at the belay I said
"I'm not tying in man. Just give me the rack and I am outta here!"
"Ok man, sorr..."
"NO BURL, NO!" I exclaimed in alarm. "LOOK AWAY BURL! LOOK AWAY!" Puke breath on top of all that was more than my cast iron stomach could handle and I gurgled some bile up the back of my throat. That was as close as I came to sympathy puke that day... in the back of my mouth, GOLLUM!
There is a roof above that belay with a couple of thin moves protected by thin wires. Thankfully a breeze rescued me as soon as I started climbing - till I got to the roof. There the updrafts backed up and swirled and a cloud of pukiness enveloped me till I escaped into the next portion of the dihedral, where I smelt it no more.
I came 'this close' to puking on the lead - it woulda been projectile too. Very close.
Later, on the summit, summit doob outta da way and all, Burl was calmed down and we were CCCCC business as usual.
We were the last climbers on the Arch that day and descending with the setting sun.
"Burl, I sure do feel sorry for the first leader tomorrow, coming up that pitch."
Can you IMAGINE? You're jazzed cuz you raced up into the shadows of DAFF Dome for a cold morning start. You're FIRST on one of the most popular Meadow's routes, a LAYTON KOR route to boot.
You smoke that corner, doing the shoulder scum thing and you reach up to the finishing holds, your hand comes down in some sticky fluid, you pull your hand down and stare at brown goo, and then the smell hits you...
OM fucking GOD!
We laughed all the way to the valley. Burl's puked a lot. I farted once and caused him to puke, true. I got more. Way more.