Adventures in Rock Climbing

As soon as people learn that I grew up in New Paltz, the next comment is often, “So, I guess you’re a climber.”  I explain that when I was young, rock climbers tended to be these Teutonic looking men in lederhosen carrying heavy coils of hemp rope along Route 44/55.  It wasn’t a “thing” yet.  

This is how I avoid telling them that, even if I were being chased by a wild carnivore and my only escape was scaling a sheer cliff, I’d probably end up as lunch. . . by choice.  I’d rather be safely ensconced in some critter’s digestive tract than risk plunging to my death amid outcroppings of limestone and quartz conglomerate.  Just a quirk of personality, I guess.

This image of Millbrook Mountain is an attempt to show that even us cowards can appreciate the beauty of the Shawangunk Ridge. (Click on it to enlarge.)

You know,  maybe I should pick up some rope, quickdraws and carabiners and. . . . Nah.