A group of friends and I were staying at the old BLM sites outside of the meadows. Getting back late from a trip to Clark, we noticed all our camp chairs missing. The campers next to us yelled over, " you might as well join your chairs!"
Roger and a group of climbers (all of whom I had read about in a book or in old issues of MOUNTAIN magazine) swapped us the use of our chairs for enormous amounts of scotch. Over the next week we ran into the group at various climbs in the Meadows and always around the fire in the evening. The debates raged over quality and quantity of scotch, climbs, nations, cars, women, and fire wood. These guys burned any wood they scavenged. One creosote soaked log had driven us all back except for one of Rogers crew. All of us were stunned when a tar glob popped and landed on his leg. He did not move, not a peep out of him...Until he looked up, arched an eyebrow and said, "a lesser man would have flinched,"
Each day their rental van came back with a new battle scar.
We pulled up stakes before they did. I left them with my collection of Beach Boy cassettes and some old chairs. They left me with a love of scotch.
Gentle men one and all.