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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 11, 2017 - 05:27am PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 13, 2017 - 01:23pm PT
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thebravecowboy
climber
The Good Places
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 13, 2017 - 05:11pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 14, 2017 - 05:37pm PT
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Fritz
Social climber
Choss Creek, ID
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Jul 14, 2017 - 05:56pm PT
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Darkest Idaho road.
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Jul 15, 2017 - 09:22am PT
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stevep
Boulder climber
Salt Lake, UT
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Jul 15, 2017 - 10:08am PT
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Dirt roads on Earth, Ed. Didn't you get the memo ;-)
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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Jul 15, 2017 - 12:14pm PT
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10b4me
Mountain climber
Retired
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Jul 18, 2017 - 01:04pm PT
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Jul 23, 2017 - 05:25am PT
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thebravecowboy
climber
The Good Places
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 23, 2017 - 05:34am PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Aug 29, 2017 - 11:49pm PT
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Aug 31, 2017 - 09:15am PT
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Sep 10, 2017 - 08:49am PT
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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Sep 10, 2017 - 08:59am PT
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Gallatins...
Pretty rough drive in a Raptor but that didn't faze the Bozeman hipsters in their Civics! LOL!
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thebravecowboy
climber
The Good Places
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Topic Author's Reply - Sep 10, 2017 - 09:15am PT
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I am so going to miss this driveway.
I tried to explain to the elk the impending fusillade of drunkenly-launched metal projectiles. I bugled back, snuffed and snorted, challenging the bull in front of his harem; he and his favorite female sauntered off into the meadow. 12 hours later the first gunblast sounded. Good luck, elks.
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Sep 10, 2017 - 09:56am PT
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~~~~
at some point in my climbing career it dawned on me that without gobs of orange on my getup, or ballistics in my bag,
i could neither forestall assault nor return fire should i happen to make a cameo appearance in the crosshairs of an eager sportsman.
it might have been the day we played peekaboo with a couple of curious goats high in the montana crags.
when we returned to the approach vehicle we had left in the wide spot where the peaks shined above,
a posse of goat hunters was assembled there. the interrogation began with "seen any ... GOATS???"
our rapid response in a convincing chorus of three: "NO!"
it was a proud moment of unanimity in dirtbaggery
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