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The Erratic "Rocks, like louseworts and snail darters and pupfish and 3rd-world black, lesbian, militant poets, have rights, too. Especially the right to exist." - Edward Abbey It's been several hours now, my break is long over, and my boss has got to be wondering why I am taking a long lunch on the fourth day in a row. I'd tell him I was looking for a phantom boulder, but that still wouldn't explain the half of it. It started like most worthwhile adventures: With a rumor and a whisper. It lay dormant and aged, as good things often do, and resurfaced months later like an old friend I've been meaning to track down. So I decided that I would dedicate my free time to finding it, however long that might take. My morning runs have brought me to those woods and the headlamp-lit dog walks after work have found me at the edge of park after park, and wood after wood, county-wide, knowing that it lay somewhere, on some forsaken piece of public land: The Erratic. I am finding it hard to explain this obsessive search to non-climbing friends. And somehow, I don't think the details of the quest will justify another two-hour lunch. How do I explain to my wife the growing pile of shoes at the back door destined for the garden hose and a good thorough washing, all because I never look before jumping into 'dry' riverbeds; and never mind the two pairs of ripped jeans. Maybe one of the cadre of ticks the dog has acquired after chasing deer back to their beds could help me explain... I somehow have to justify the gallons of gas and the torn pages of the DeLorme gazetteer that has yet to help me unlock this secret? Damn, that boulder has gotta be around here somewhere. Uprooted and reseated by millions of pounds of sliding ice to rest exposed on all sides to a new environment, erratics are hit or miss boulders which are often much too small to provide much more than a seat. From time to time, the size and shape of an erratic make for superb climbing, the kind of beatific movement that is buffed and polished by the shift and the push of glaciers. The product of an era long past, erratics hold a geodesic beauty, and they always make for moves and problems worth looking for. Beaten hard and iron-tough, their faces resemble Clint Eastwood in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" Clint Eastwood - unique cracks, fissures and countless minute imperfections of a wind-blown and weathered visage that speaks of unknown hardship.
I remember the first erratic I found - a tip from a friend who had always wanted to check it out got me hot on the trail. It took a solid day, sunup to sundown, on the mountain bike. It lay on the backside of a ridge, backwards to everywhere it should have been. I was winding my way through thorn bushes, pulling along the bike that I had found only cumbersome in the deep growth of underbrush. When I came to a clearing, waist-high in prairie grass, I remounted the bike and slowly pedaled my way up and in the direction of the truck, looking forward to applying hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin to my scratched limbs. It stood blood red in front of me, just 300 yards into the clearing, and not even a half-mile from the car. I had circled it all day, to find it in the waning light of dusk. I dream of the problems that I might unlock if I ever find this particular boulder for which I quest-will it contain long moves off thin, crisp crimpers, or require a ballet of foot moves to position for a deadpoint assault up overhanging tuff? The discovery may end up being far less than expected, or far finer. I could find it covered in chalk, covered in graffiti, or covered in moss. I know only two things: It's somewhere in a park in this county, and rumor has it that it's big; or at least big enough to warrant a search. So I'll find my way back to the truck, change yet again and toss mud-caked shoes and soiled jeans into the back and think of another good reason why I was late, knowing full well that if I find it tomorrow, on Friday, there is no way I'll be back to finish the afternoon's work. Well, at least not the work at the office. I'm sure the erratic will need some degree of work…and I'll have the entire weekend to dream up a good excuse for my boss. |
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