Leafstorm
03-04-2008, 07:57 AM
“Dried fruit?” A yellowish-gray piece of dried something was being offered to me by a young man. He and his brother and sister were sitting on the sidewalk with their backs against the front of a shop where they sold clothing or jewelry or electronic toys that none of us could afford. Despite the warm weather the three of them wore soiled parkas and hiking boots with crampons attached to their soles. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
Huge backpacks were leaning up against the wall beside them. I could tell they weren’t local street people. They had a scruffy and damp appearance, like they’d just emerged from a foggy alpine forest, even though it was a perfectly dry and sunny day, and there wasn’t an alpine forest anywhere near downtown. <o:p></o:p>
“Thanks,” I said, taking the piece of dried fruit. “What is it?” I held it in front of his face for a moment so he could scrutinize and identify it, but he only shrugged, so I ate it. <o:p></o:p>
“Lemal,” I said, shaking the man’s hand. He remained seated, so I sat on the sidewalk with them and accepted another piece of dried fruit – this one orange with pinkish spots. <o:p></o:p>
“Abseil,” said the man. “This is my brother, Rappel, and my sister Glissade.” <o:p></o:p>
“Your parents were mountaineers,” I said. <o:p></o:p>
“We grew up near <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Mt.</st1:PlaceType> <st1:PlaceName>Baker</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>,” said Rappel, who appeared slightly younger than Abseil, and seemed to have a bit of frostbite on his earlobes and the tip of his nose. <o:p></o:p>
“What town?” I asked, “I’ve been to <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Washington</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>State</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.”<o:p></o:p>
“We grew up on <st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Mt.</st1:PlaceType> <st1:PlaceName>Baker</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>,” explained Glissade, who tossed her piece of dubious looking dried fruit to the pigeons that had gathered around us, “not near it.” I nodded and suppressed an urge to go after the fruit. <o:p></o:p>
“We had another brother,” said Abseil, staring into his plastic bag of gorp, “named Bivy. He was the youngest.”<o:p></o:p>
“Bivy didn’t like to climb,” said Rappel. “He preferred to stay at home, in the tent, reading gardening books. He wanted to have a garden, but we never did. Too much snow.” <o:p></o:p>
“Bivy hated it,” said Glissade, “all of it. But you can’t hate the mountain . . .”<o:p></o:p>
“Because it will hate you back,” finished Abseil. Glissade had tears in her eyes and couldn’t talk. <o:p></o:p>
“First we lost Bivy, then Dad and Mom lost concentration, and then we lost them,” said Abseil. “And so we bailed.”<o:p></o:p>
“The city has its cruxes and crevasses, too,” I said after a moment. <o:p></o:p>
Abseil looked me in the eyes. “Can’t be any worse,” he replied. “Can’t be.” He looked away. <o:p></o:p>
A long silence followed. Not entirely silent, though. Abseil rummaged through his backpack as if trying to find something he’d lost, Rappel used his Swiss army knife to scrape dried mud off his crampons, and Glissade hugged herself, trying hard to self-arrest, weeping softly. <o:p></o:p>
“I know an artist,” I said, “he’s got a large studio. He’d probably let you stay there for awhile.”<o:p></o:p>
“Thanks,” said Abseil. “Yeah, that would be nice.”<o:p></o:p>
“The only trouble,” I said, “is that my friend does huge hyper-realistic paintings of people having sex on famous bridges: the Brooklyn Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, London Bridge, Khaju Bridge, Dong Minority Covered Bridge, Monet’s Waterlily Pond bridge, truss arch bridges, pontoon bridges, stressed ribbon bridges, Roman aqeducts, step stone bridges, Inca rope bridges, Nash Bridges, Jeff and Beau – ”<o:p></o:p>
“That’s not a problem,” interrupted Abseil. “But is he o.k. with pets?” <o:p></o:p>
At that moment something furry poked its head out of the opening in Abseil’s backpack, and I realized that he hadn’t been rummaging to find something, but had been feeding a juvenile hoary marmot. <o:p></o:p>
Furry little hands gripped a piece of dried fruit. The young marmot’s eyes and ears were small and dark, and the fur on his face brown and black. He stared at me for a moment before he resumed gnawing on his treat. <o:p></o:p>
“This is Nub,” said Abseil. “He’s an orphan like us. Lost his parents in a scree slide. Bivy cared for him.” <o:p></o:p>
“Won’t be a problem,” I said. Nub paused for a moment and let out a long whistle. I tried my best to imitate him, which made Abseil, Rappel, and Glissade laugh – so I did it again. <o:p></o:p>
“What do you do,” Abseil asked me, “here in the city?”<o:p></o:p>
I thought about this for a moment, trying to remember, or trying to forget. “Same as you folks, really: climb, fall on my ass, pick myself up, start over.”<o:p></o:p>
“A Yabo start,” said Abseil. “Starting a climb from a sitting position. Deliberately to fit an extra move into the climb. Or after a free-solo belay.”<o:p></o:p>
“What’s that?”<o:p></o:p>
“The quickest way to the ground.” <o:p></o:p>
I stood up. “I want to show you guys something. I think you’ll like it.”<o:p></o:p>
They shouldered their packs and we walked for awhile until we came to an open square, enclosed by old brick buildings, in an older part of the city. The wind picked up and it grew cold when we entered the square. Flakes of snow fell on us. <o:p></o:p>
“The city abandoned this place years ago. But it’s not been totally abandoned, as you can see.”<o:p></o:p>
“They’re beautiful,” said Glissade. She and her brothers gazed at a group of seven polar bears that were lounging in the center of the square. <o:p></o:p>
“They came here a few years ago. The city leaves them alone. The police tell people to stay away, but folks get curious, you know. So a child, or a bum, or a stupid tourist with a camcorder – or someone who’s just had enough of everything – is eaten once or twice a year. I guess the city figures it’s fair payment for fucking up their habitat.” <o:p></o:p>
“Just had enough of everything,” repeated Glissade as she stared at the bears. A couple of them raised their heads and gazed back at her. She looked at Abseil and Rappel. They both nodded. <o:p></o:p>
“We’ll stay here,” said Abseil. They started walking out into the square. Some of the bears stood up and eyed them curiously, warily, or hungrily. <o:p></o:p>
“This isn’t a good way to end a climb!” I said, not moving from where I was. <o:p></o:p>
“We’re not,” said Glissade. <o:p></o:p>
I wanted to turn and walk away. Though I’d never witnessed a whipper, a screamer, or a leader fall like they had, I’d seen enough disasters to have no stomach for any more. But something about the look in their eyes – not confidence, but something beyond that and way more mature – made me stay and watch. <o:p></o:p>
They walked right up to the bears and Abseil and Rappel starting putting up a tent. Glissade stepped up to an enormous male and held out her hand, offering a piece of dried fruit. I closed my eyes so as not to watch him bite off her skinny arm like a pretzel stick. When I opened my eyes a moment later she was petting him on the forehead while he chewed the treat. He tilted his head so she could scratch behind his ear. <o:p></o:p>
Suddenly every polar bear head turned and every set of dark eyes fixed on Abseil’s backpack. Now I thought for sure the bears would collect the entrance fee to their campground. Nub had poked his head out again. He too froze, his eyes like black quarters. <o:p></o:p>
The same huge male, one of the largest of the world’s largest carnivores, sniffed the furry little morsel nose to nose. The bear lowered his great head. Nub placed a tiny paw tentatively on the thick white fur. Seeing that it was safe, he clambered up onto the bear’s head. Having obtained the summit, Nub stood on his hind legs and savored the new vantage point. <o:p></o:p>
I was wishing I’d had the camcorder that I’d picked up here a few weeks ago – abandoned, I guess. It was at home. <o:p></o:p>
Home. I watched Abseil, Rappel, and Glissade a little while longer, and they looked like maybe they’d found it. No, probably not. Likely just a bivouac on a vertical wall to somewhere. But with plenty of carabiners, rope, dried fruit, and friends nearby.
Huge backpacks were leaning up against the wall beside them. I could tell they weren’t local street people. They had a scruffy and damp appearance, like they’d just emerged from a foggy alpine forest, even though it was a perfectly dry and sunny day, and there wasn’t an alpine forest anywhere near downtown. <o:p></o:p>
“Thanks,” I said, taking the piece of dried fruit. “What is it?” I held it in front of his face for a moment so he could scrutinize and identify it, but he only shrugged, so I ate it. <o:p></o:p>
“Lemal,” I said, shaking the man’s hand. He remained seated, so I sat on the sidewalk with them and accepted another piece of dried fruit – this one orange with pinkish spots. <o:p></o:p>
“Abseil,” said the man. “This is my brother, Rappel, and my sister Glissade.” <o:p></o:p>
“Your parents were mountaineers,” I said. <o:p></o:p>
“We grew up near <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Mt.</st1:PlaceType> <st1:PlaceName>Baker</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>,” said Rappel, who appeared slightly younger than Abseil, and seemed to have a bit of frostbite on his earlobes and the tip of his nose. <o:p></o:p>
“What town?” I asked, “I’ve been to <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Washington</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>State</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.”<o:p></o:p>
“We grew up on <st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Mt.</st1:PlaceType> <st1:PlaceName>Baker</st1:PlaceName></st1:place>,” explained Glissade, who tossed her piece of dubious looking dried fruit to the pigeons that had gathered around us, “not near it.” I nodded and suppressed an urge to go after the fruit. <o:p></o:p>
“We had another brother,” said Abseil, staring into his plastic bag of gorp, “named Bivy. He was the youngest.”<o:p></o:p>
“Bivy didn’t like to climb,” said Rappel. “He preferred to stay at home, in the tent, reading gardening books. He wanted to have a garden, but we never did. Too much snow.” <o:p></o:p>
“Bivy hated it,” said Glissade, “all of it. But you can’t hate the mountain . . .”<o:p></o:p>
“Because it will hate you back,” finished Abseil. Glissade had tears in her eyes and couldn’t talk. <o:p></o:p>
“First we lost Bivy, then Dad and Mom lost concentration, and then we lost them,” said Abseil. “And so we bailed.”<o:p></o:p>
“The city has its cruxes and crevasses, too,” I said after a moment. <o:p></o:p>
Abseil looked me in the eyes. “Can’t be any worse,” he replied. “Can’t be.” He looked away. <o:p></o:p>
A long silence followed. Not entirely silent, though. Abseil rummaged through his backpack as if trying to find something he’d lost, Rappel used his Swiss army knife to scrape dried mud off his crampons, and Glissade hugged herself, trying hard to self-arrest, weeping softly. <o:p></o:p>
“I know an artist,” I said, “he’s got a large studio. He’d probably let you stay there for awhile.”<o:p></o:p>
“Thanks,” said Abseil. “Yeah, that would be nice.”<o:p></o:p>
“The only trouble,” I said, “is that my friend does huge hyper-realistic paintings of people having sex on famous bridges: the Brooklyn Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, London Bridge, Khaju Bridge, Dong Minority Covered Bridge, Monet’s Waterlily Pond bridge, truss arch bridges, pontoon bridges, stressed ribbon bridges, Roman aqeducts, step stone bridges, Inca rope bridges, Nash Bridges, Jeff and Beau – ”<o:p></o:p>
“That’s not a problem,” interrupted Abseil. “But is he o.k. with pets?” <o:p></o:p>
At that moment something furry poked its head out of the opening in Abseil’s backpack, and I realized that he hadn’t been rummaging to find something, but had been feeding a juvenile hoary marmot. <o:p></o:p>
Furry little hands gripped a piece of dried fruit. The young marmot’s eyes and ears were small and dark, and the fur on his face brown and black. He stared at me for a moment before he resumed gnawing on his treat. <o:p></o:p>
“This is Nub,” said Abseil. “He’s an orphan like us. Lost his parents in a scree slide. Bivy cared for him.” <o:p></o:p>
“Won’t be a problem,” I said. Nub paused for a moment and let out a long whistle. I tried my best to imitate him, which made Abseil, Rappel, and Glissade laugh – so I did it again. <o:p></o:p>
“What do you do,” Abseil asked me, “here in the city?”<o:p></o:p>
I thought about this for a moment, trying to remember, or trying to forget. “Same as you folks, really: climb, fall on my ass, pick myself up, start over.”<o:p></o:p>
“A Yabo start,” said Abseil. “Starting a climb from a sitting position. Deliberately to fit an extra move into the climb. Or after a free-solo belay.”<o:p></o:p>
“What’s that?”<o:p></o:p>
“The quickest way to the ground.” <o:p></o:p>
I stood up. “I want to show you guys something. I think you’ll like it.”<o:p></o:p>
They shouldered their packs and we walked for awhile until we came to an open square, enclosed by old brick buildings, in an older part of the city. The wind picked up and it grew cold when we entered the square. Flakes of snow fell on us. <o:p></o:p>
“The city abandoned this place years ago. But it’s not been totally abandoned, as you can see.”<o:p></o:p>
“They’re beautiful,” said Glissade. She and her brothers gazed at a group of seven polar bears that were lounging in the center of the square. <o:p></o:p>
“They came here a few years ago. The city leaves them alone. The police tell people to stay away, but folks get curious, you know. So a child, or a bum, or a stupid tourist with a camcorder – or someone who’s just had enough of everything – is eaten once or twice a year. I guess the city figures it’s fair payment for fucking up their habitat.” <o:p></o:p>
“Just had enough of everything,” repeated Glissade as she stared at the bears. A couple of them raised their heads and gazed back at her. She looked at Abseil and Rappel. They both nodded. <o:p></o:p>
“We’ll stay here,” said Abseil. They started walking out into the square. Some of the bears stood up and eyed them curiously, warily, or hungrily. <o:p></o:p>
“This isn’t a good way to end a climb!” I said, not moving from where I was. <o:p></o:p>
“We’re not,” said Glissade. <o:p></o:p>
I wanted to turn and walk away. Though I’d never witnessed a whipper, a screamer, or a leader fall like they had, I’d seen enough disasters to have no stomach for any more. But something about the look in their eyes – not confidence, but something beyond that and way more mature – made me stay and watch. <o:p></o:p>
They walked right up to the bears and Abseil and Rappel starting putting up a tent. Glissade stepped up to an enormous male and held out her hand, offering a piece of dried fruit. I closed my eyes so as not to watch him bite off her skinny arm like a pretzel stick. When I opened my eyes a moment later she was petting him on the forehead while he chewed the treat. He tilted his head so she could scratch behind his ear. <o:p></o:p>
Suddenly every polar bear head turned and every set of dark eyes fixed on Abseil’s backpack. Now I thought for sure the bears would collect the entrance fee to their campground. Nub had poked his head out again. He too froze, his eyes like black quarters. <o:p></o:p>
The same huge male, one of the largest of the world’s largest carnivores, sniffed the furry little morsel nose to nose. The bear lowered his great head. Nub placed a tiny paw tentatively on the thick white fur. Seeing that it was safe, he clambered up onto the bear’s head. Having obtained the summit, Nub stood on his hind legs and savored the new vantage point. <o:p></o:p>
I was wishing I’d had the camcorder that I’d picked up here a few weeks ago – abandoned, I guess. It was at home. <o:p></o:p>
Home. I watched Abseil, Rappel, and Glissade a little while longer, and they looked like maybe they’d found it. No, probably not. Likely just a bivouac on a vertical wall to somewhere. But with plenty of carabiners, rope, dried fruit, and friends nearby.