Almost Heaven,West Virginia

It started off like any other climbing trip. Last minute details and getting up way before daylight and my optimal time of around 9 . Fill the tank, memories of driving on empty lost in the mountains of West Virginia praying the next town on the map had a gas station. Sausage cheese croissaunte for breakfast. About an hour into the trip I get settled into driving and the tunes are handy. John Denver is singing Almost Heaven,West Virginia...Blue Ridge mountains...Shenendoa River....It's great to be headed for Seneca again. All day long climbs were you forget to stop to eat because one pitch leads directly to a dozen more, route finding adventures, sometimes the cracks are only a couple feet apart. Trad climbing heaven on bullet hard sandstone with incredible views of the river valley and tiny town far below.
I already had beta (route details) about the climb I wanted to do and this time I intended to do it rope soloing(alone with gear). My buddy that gave me beta also handed me some odd looking hooks. He grinned and said"You might need these". It was going to be a brilliant first ascent of a leaning pinnacle. Some pitches would follow an aid seam so I was prepared to suspend my body from tiny pieces of gear in a seam the width of a dime.
I camped at the Princess campground and had another breakfast that couldn't be beat at the U Motel. I needed to fill the buhda belly cause lord knows when I would stop to eat again.
The approach hike is not bad, a bit of wandering around trying to find the base of the pinnacle, for 2 hours. There went my alpine start. The first pitch was unremarkable but it sure felt good to touch white sandstone again. Hanging from hand and fists shoved into the crack and locked with a twist, super sticky rubber soles on my feet kept me on sutle edges on the rock, sometimes shoving my toes in the crack and twisting till it hurt. I got in a groove by the second and third pitches. I had my system working and everything was right in my little world up on that monolith. I knew the aid pitch was ahead. I built a 4 piece anchor and cleaned my last pitch, jugged back up the rope and broke out lunch. It was 4 oclock and the afternoon sunshine felt grand on my skin. It was 85 in the shade and I was soaked with sweat. I dried off in the breeze from the river. Somehow I manged to spill tuna juice in my shoe putting away lunch.
I got to the aid pitch and racked on the tiny gear. 3 pieces on a biner all disorganized. I'm mr.65% when it gomes to keeping things neat. Heck most of my stuff is always right where I left it the last time I used it. The trick is remembering where I used it.
I plugged a green cam in the crack and clipped my aiders in, I slowly ease my wieght onto it and it holds so I give it a small bounce test. It's good and I do the same thing 20 more times. I smell something akin to rotting fish. The tuna juice. I doused it with gym chaulk. Still stinks but now it smells like that white powder too. I look back and I'm several hundred feet from the base of the pinnacle. Funny how you get so focused on the moment while climbing that you forget to look around. That's for breaks on ledges.
It's an- in the moment- type sport and it's all about me. A few more pieces of gear up and the crack disappears. It just stopped right there. Gone. I spot some small holes above. Maybe I can exploit those to gain altitude. Then I remember the hooks. I stand up high in my aiders. My last gear is at my waist with all my weight and some additional forces on it, I reach out high and right with the funny looking hook and I just manage to snag the hole with it. I pull test it and suddenly it pops free, I'm tumbling over backward and my last piece pulls out. I'm falling awfully fast and watching as my gear unzips from the crack, going pop pop pop pop pop ,With that horrible scratchy noise they make when they blow out. The little lobes going upside down like an umbrella in a hurricane. Finaly one piece holds and I come to an abrubt halt on the rope a hundred feet below where I was. I'm dangling in space trying to collect my wits when I see the whole top of the pinnacle I'm on slowly then faster toppeling over. "That can't be good" I think to myself, and suddenly I'm headed earthwards at 28 feet per second, per second until terminal velosity. I hit the ground with a dull thud and 40 thousand tons of bullet hard sandstone hit me a few seconds later. It wasn't like in the cartoons where Tom slithers out from under all flat and kids laugh. Nope I was a goner. Deader than them 4 guys chiseled into Rushmore. Mrs. Ynot always says "Go toward the light!" so I did and soon found myself at the Pearly Gates. Looked kinda Off White to me but I'm a painter. St Peter was there checking us in. Both of us. The other fella told me he was in a horrible industial accident and half of Chicago was on fire. I looked around... there was only me and him and I wasn't flat anymore. Do you suppose 15 thousand Chicagoans went to that other place?
St Peter looked splendid in his robes and his beard was alot longer than mine. He looked me up in the Book and informed me he had all my stats and just needed to know how I bit the big one.
Well.... I pulled a mountain of rock over on top of myself. Falling didn't hurt a bit but the landing was a bit sketchy I informed him. He hardly raised an eybrow. OK you're good to go, he tells me and the gate opens. Sure enough heaven is endless sandstone with lots of people with wings flitting about.
Who needs to climb when you can fly? I made a mental note to bounce test my wings before I left the ground.

this story is dedicated to my good friend Sister Jane OBrien who suggested I write another tall tale. I was a bit leary about writing the first one but so many climber friends comment on it when I see them and laugh about it that I indulged my readers again.