Purgatory Chasm
There's something ancient about climbing and scrambling over boulders and hills made of single million pound rocks a piece
120 feet above the chasm floor, feet dangling over the edge, sun on your face, May Fly�s knowing it�s April staying in bed
it�s primal until the stench of burgers and baby powder from the families picnicking and dragging toddlers where they�re too young to be wafts to your nose - it's not offensive - it just seems out of place at the very first
I don�t remember any of that when we used to climb there
we used to rock climb - granite face and crack climbing birdbeaks we were morally opposed to brain buckets above us our climbing shoes killing our feet figures of eight rappelling half ropes my favorite harness digging snug against my thigh haul bag on the floor a double fisherman's knot extending 
our rope fifi hooks nut tools sounding like a men�s joke lunch in a cooler we'll forget to eat water lots of water always water head craning below overhand knots - our rack hardly needed just a few carabiners and webbing, and me protected by Matt my climbing partner tied into a single figure-eight or an air traffic controller used to belaying my life while I'm 80 feet above him - both of us taking turns trusting our lives to a few tapered wedges a couple hex�s and at least one bomber around a tree�
we used to climb all day long.
