hand, the feeding hand, is gonna feed the rope to me.” I drew my teeth across my bottom lip. “Got it?”
He popped my shoulder with his fist. “Joe, trust me.”
I swallowed. “What?” Held myself up on the side of the Explorer as I pulled the rubber and chain set of MICROspikes over my boots…they wouldn’t serve as well as full on crampons for ice climbing but they fit in a little corner of space and went on a heck of a lot quicker.
“Dude, trust me.” His face was all earnest. “I won’t let you fall, you know that.”
Took a deep breath and then another. Finally, I answered. “I trust you. I do.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” Kabe snorted. “Getting me subpoenaed and all.”
“Look, Kabe, I’m bad at the whole boyfriend thing.” I started working the belay rope around me. Threaded it through my right, strong hand, and wrapped it under my forearm and over my bicep. “We’ll talk that out later. But I know, down here,” put my fist right up against my sternum, “you’d never let me fall…if you could help it.” And that were the honest truth. I trusted Kabe, sometimes, more than I trusted myself. I’d let him belay me into hell itself if I needed it. This weren’t quite that.
For a steep but not vertical slope—and when I was wearing thermal undershirt, uniform shirt and thick, departmental issued jacket—an arm rappel technique would serve well. The rest of the rope went ‘round my back and then I reversed the twist on my off, down-slope, arm. “We got to work all the rest out.” I reminded him. “But I would hang on a frog’s hair as long as you held it.”
“I’m right here.” Kabe smiled before he sat down and twisted the ropes around his legs and torso like I told him. “I won’t let you fall.” I got the sense those words meant worlds beyond the syllables. “No matter how pissed at you I am that you get me served and then bail on round two to take phone calls.” Then he laughed, looking up at me with those big eyes of his. “I even let you get my butt all sloppy and wet.” I caught the double meaning…it weren’t all about him sitting in roadside slush.
We didn’t have time to hash things out right then. Had to pull through the work and come back to the rest of my life later. “On belay?” I barked the question to him as I stepped to the edge of the drop off.
Sure and confident, the standard answer came back to me, “Belay on!”
After one deep breath, I went over the lip. Like I figured, it weren’t a full rappel situation, more of a steep slope covered in rime. Even with spikes hitched to my boots, I smeared my feet relative to the grade to gain as much friction as possible on my descent. The more those little metal teeth had to grab into the better my chances of not having to utilize plan B …in this case Kabe saving me from a dynamic, free-fall exit out of this walking rappel. The hill meant slow going. I couldn’t rush, a mix of snow/ice and a few patches of verglas—the rock visible through the sheaf of ice and spindrift snow—coated the surface and made it treacherous.
Slipped a couple of times. Managed to arrest my slides before they became falls with Kabe hard on the belay rope, a little bruising as the line tightened around my arms and not too much wounding of my pride. I finally made it down to the car: an older model, little Japanese made thing with two doors and a backseat. The car’d come to rest on all four tires, facing down-slope and with the front part of the passenger side smashed against a tree. I tied the rope off at about chest high on a tree away from where the car came to rest.
Quick scan told me the only occupant appeared to be the driver. She was conscious, moaning some, but her eyes were open and she tracked my movements as I came up along the side. I tried the door but it wouldn’t budge. “You all right there?” The driver’s door sported some damage, heck the whole car did. Looked like she’d been playing bumper cars
He popped my shoulder with his fist. “Joe, trust me.”
I swallowed. “What?” Held myself up on the side of the Explorer as I pulled the rubber and chain set of MICROspikes over my boots…they wouldn’t serve as well as full on crampons for ice climbing but they fit in a little corner of space and went on a heck of a lot quicker.
“Dude, trust me.” His face was all earnest. “I won’t let you fall, you know that.”
Took a deep breath and then another. Finally, I answered. “I trust you. I do.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” Kabe snorted. “Getting me subpoenaed and all.”
“Look, Kabe, I’m bad at the whole boyfriend thing.” I started working the belay rope around me. Threaded it through my right, strong hand, and wrapped it under my forearm and over my bicep. “We’ll talk that out later. But I know, down here,” put my fist right up against my sternum, “you’d never let me fall…if you could help it.” And that were the honest truth. I trusted Kabe, sometimes, more than I trusted myself. I’d let him belay me into hell itself if I needed it. This weren’t quite that.
For a steep but not vertical slope—and when I was wearing thermal undershirt, uniform shirt and thick, departmental issued jacket—an arm rappel technique would serve well. The rest of the rope went ‘round my back and then I reversed the twist on my off, down-slope, arm. “We got to work all the rest out.” I reminded him. “But I would hang on a frog’s hair as long as you held it.”
“I’m right here.” Kabe smiled before he sat down and twisted the ropes around his legs and torso like I told him. “I won’t let you fall.” I got the sense those words meant worlds beyond the syllables. “No matter how pissed at you I am that you get me served and then bail on round two to take phone calls.” Then he laughed, looking up at me with those big eyes of his. “I even let you get my butt all sloppy and wet.” I caught the double meaning…it weren’t all about him sitting in roadside slush.
We didn’t have time to hash things out right then. Had to pull through the work and come back to the rest of my life later. “On belay?” I barked the question to him as I stepped to the edge of the drop off.
Sure and confident, the standard answer came back to me, “Belay on!”
After one deep breath, I went over the lip. Like I figured, it weren’t a full rappel situation, more of a steep slope covered in rime. Even with spikes hitched to my boots, I smeared my feet relative to the grade to gain as much friction as possible on my descent. The more those little metal teeth had to grab into the better my chances of not having to utilize plan B …in this case Kabe saving me from a dynamic, free-fall exit out of this walking rappel. The hill meant slow going. I couldn’t rush, a mix of snow/ice and a few patches of verglas—the rock visible through the sheaf of ice and spindrift snow—coated the surface and made it treacherous.
Slipped a couple of times. Managed to arrest my slides before they became falls with Kabe hard on the belay rope, a little bruising as the line tightened around my arms and not too much wounding of my pride. I finally made it down to the car: an older model, little Japanese made thing with two doors and a backseat. The car’d come to rest on all four tires, facing down-slope and with the front part of the passenger side smashed against a tree. I tied the rope off at about chest high on a tree away from where the car came to rest.
Quick scan told me the only occupant appeared to be the driver. She was conscious, moaning some, but her eyes were open and she tracked my movements as I came up along the side. I tried the door but it wouldn’t budge. “You all right there?” The driver’s door sported some damage, heck the whole car did. Looked like she’d been playing bumper cars
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