Straining to be Funny on Mt. Stone

In my continuing quest to be a different kind of jester, or just to be stupid…

Howitt Splat Times:

8:20AM, 1580 ft, misty rain, 1 sucker hole, 1 old red Honda, 1 fancy pants Mercedes SUV: “But it will be snowfall once we get above 5,000 ft,” I reassured my partner for the day Don Nelsen.
10:00AM, 4400 ft, misty rain, 2 sucker holes, 3 muddy areas: “But do you see that diffuse glow up over there? That’s the sun,” I re-reassured.

A whole sucker under a sucker hole

Our route or just about


11:15AM, 5800 ft, misty rain, 0 sucker holes, 1 barred gate: “So what if we weren’t allowed access to Heaven through St. Peters Gate. There are worse things in life than knowing we’re going to go to Hell,” I consoled.
11:30AM, 6100 ft, misty rain, 0 sucker holes, 1 precarious BFR*: “Uh, don’t stand below it for too long, Don, else you’ll be forever remembered as Long Gone Don,” I warned.
11:35AM, 6200 ft, misty rain, 0 sucker holes, 1 windy notch: “Where’s the snow? I expected so much more on the ground,” I vexed.

* big friggin’ rock: a rock bigger than a boulder but smaller than a mountain. Shelter Rock in Royal Basin is a BFR.

Don with clean pants donned


11:45AM, 6500 ft, misty rain, 0 sucker holes, 1 wet step: “No let’s go this way. It’s only wet Class 3 but the holds are good,” I suggested.

A fellow assaults the pillow basalts


12:48AM, 6612 ft, misty rain, 0 sucker holes, 1 summit: “It’s going to clear up any minute,” I predicted.
1:20PM, 6612 ft, mist, no rain, 1 big sucker hole overhead, 0 views: “See I told you so,” I grinned.

Levitation or imagination?


1:21PM, 6612 ft, mist, no rain, 0 big sucker holes overhead, 0 views: “Just imagine the view, Don. You can’t have everything in life. Geez! Read Radek's love note again. That'll keep you entertained.” I retorted.
1:25PM, 6500 ft, mist, 1 wet step, 1 trundling Vancouverite: “Can I at least get off the step first?” I requested.
1:50PM, 6100 ft, mist, 1 precarious BFR, 1 poseur posing atop: “Is my hair all right?” I inquired.

Stone surfin’ the big friggin’


2:45PM, 5600 ft, clearing up, 3 BFRs, 1 poseur posing: “Is my hair still all right,” I inquired again.

BFRs is what they ares


3:10PM, 4925 ft, clearing up, 1 lake, 1 out of control Vancouverite: “See how I’m descending this slick, grassy stream bank, Don? I’m taking it slow and enjoying the scenery. Not all of life is about going too fast then soiling one's pants,” I pronounced.

With no angels did we wrangle


3:45PM, 4500 ft, 2 quasi-cool hikers, 1 uncool whiner: “We just spent 10 minutes talking about Dan Howitt. That’s 11 minutes too long,” I pointed out.
4:46:30PM, 1640 ft, warmer, 1 trailhead, 2 bozotrons jogging. “We’ve got one-and-a-half minutes to get down to make it exactly 8-1/2 hours round trip.” I announced.
4:48:00PM, 1580 ft, 2 bozotrons, 2 Warsteiner beers, 1 more Cohp and 2kP conquered: “So that was the Olympics, Don. You are no longer an Olympic-quality virgin,” I proclaimed.
4:49:00PM, 1580 ft, 2 engine compartments: “My engine compartment is bigger than your engine compartment,” Don bragged. "Yeah, well my engine compartment is space-age," I rebuffed. "It has a lot of space and it has a lot of age."

And now, as with every lame comedy routine, I shall wrap this crap up with a song—the late great Ronnie Lane’s Stone will do:

Once I was a stone many years ago
Into a pool was thrown many years ago.
Time passed by, the pool ran dry, excavated was I.
And tempered and beat in a fiery heat,
By the hand of a man, who's name was Dan
Dan the blacksmith.

Once I was a sword, many years ago.
And my blade was broad, many years ago.
Worn with pride, into battle I'd ride at a warrior's side.
And I cut and I killed and was lost in a field,
And I soon did rust, corrode to dust,
Oh my.

Once I was a daisy, many years ago.
In pastures green and lazy, many years ago.
But I was et by a goat who fell in a moat and forgetting to float
He sunk like a lead and stayed until dead,
But was relieved to find just how kind it all was.

Once I was a grub, many years ago.
I lived in muck and mud, many years ago.
But on the very first noon I became a cocoon that resembled a prune.
When the good lord was done in the warmth of the sun.
I shed my skins, and dried my wings, and I flew away.

Once I was a bullfrog, had to struggle for survival.
And once I was a carp and lived in waters ornamental.
And once I was a myna bird, quoting verses from the bible,
Said "pretty boy, pretty boy, St. Luke".

Once I was a mule, a many years ago.
But my master treat me cruel, a many years ago.
By and by I was sick, couldn't move to his kick, so he took out a stick
And hit it right 'cross my back to an almighty crack,
And to his dismay, I passed away, into the blue.

I was born a human baby, many years ago.
I was born unto a lady, many years ago.
All our hopes they were piled on the back of a child that turned out to be wild.
Sent the devil a prayer and caused the parson to swear.
So I took my leave to lie and thieve my way to jail.

I've been tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor.
I've known good times and disaster.
But now I've found a teacher, and the teacher has a master,
The master is perfection, so he'll help us get there faster.
I don't need no proof, because that's the truth, and I'll drink to that.

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