There are some days and moments that etch themselves in memory for no other reason than the beauty of their simple existence. "Rope!" ... "Clear!" In crisp early morning solitude, a lone climber rappels to the base of the day's first climb. A distant jet slips away, its muted roar shrugged off by the quiet of the forest below. Master Gil has come to join us. "Hey, Gil, watcha say?" "Oh I dunno, let's try that 11c again."
Like all moments, precious or not, this one also fades away as crowds congregate at the base of the cliff. Fairly soon, Summit Rock is tied up like some vast sandstone present. Disappointed late-comers head off elsewhere with a sigh. Victor is introduced to the irresistible Tree Surgeon. The other die-hards amongst us attempt variations (the first curseless ascent, the first bloodless ascent are popular). Lisa shows the laddies (Brian and Bill) a thing or two. The mysteries of rope clipping are explored. Eyes open wider as self-unclipping is demonstrated. Heida, having somehow gotten shorter since her last foray onto the University of Santa Clara 5.7 sport climb, shrugs and climbs up to the first clip where she had previously just stood up on tiptoe. Later in the day, Karl struggles for the third time on the crux of an overhanging 5.10c. Gil, with his usual impeccable timing, calls out...   "Hey, I gotta go!   ... can I take the anchor down now?" Flustered, Karl peels off and goes for a ride. Again. But justice prevails and Gil slinks home late with a good excuse.