The Best Vacation Ever

I've been rained off climbs before, but never the same climb twice. 

Babs wasn't feeling well -- stomach thing; probably from the fish the previous night.  Maybe seafood served on paper plates isn't such a bright idea.  Falls into the "discount sushi" category.  Anyway, she hung with L & T.  Wilson bailed as his feet had so many blisters they were starting to resemble bubble wrap so it was Susan and me.  It was another hot one, although this time calling for severe thunderstorms with possible hail.  Not a time to be up high so we headed for the North End of Cathedral, home of some high quality single pitch 30 meter gems.  Easy to top rope, easy to bail if things go bad. And it's 5 minutes from the car.

Susan started things off with Kiddie Crack, a sandbag 5.7 that granted access to the top of the cliff.  She bitched and moaned for the entire 80 feet (first the awkward start, then the gear, then the sun) but nevertheless led it in superb style.  I followed and set up a sweet little 5.9 called Birds Nest; a perfect finger crack.  As Susan ascended, the skies darkened and the wind picked up.  Serious tree bending gale accompanied by dark ominous clouds to the north.  She continued, slow and steady, and I looked around for dead or dying trees that might fall.  She neared the halfway point and the rain was horizontal; I was still dry on the ground, she was soaked.  Nearing the top, the gods decided to let us know just who was in charge and let loose a bowel loosening thunderclap and accompanying lightening flash.  "I SAW LIGHTENING", she screamed, "LOWER ME, LOWER ME".  She weighted the rope and water sprayed from the sodden rope as I fed it through the belay device.  Once on the ground we changed shoes, stowed gear as best we could and ran for the truck.

Things cleared quickly, as they often do with summer storms so we headed  back to the cliff base to dry our gear and see about retrieving my gear (about $300 worth) from the anchor.  After about an hour (during which time Susan remarked her gear with pink nail polish) the rock dried as much as possible given the late hour (the sun was behind the cliff).  My turn.  The crack was damp, the face was slicker than snot and the climb was hard.  About a third of the way up, and two falls the skies again dumped, only this time biblical squared.  Our rucksacks were already packed so once on the ground we again dashed for the truck, my gear still nestled in the gentle bosom of the granite face.  Lonely, awaiting my return another day.

We headed for camp, hot showers, dinner and beer.