NuclearNed
Raconteur
The good old manhood has taken yet another blow square in the jimmy.
A couple of weeks ago, the wife and I were on vacation in Utah, at perhaps my favorite place in the whole wide world, Zion National Park. Zion National Park is similar in many ways to the Grand Canyon. The park contains spectactular canyons and cliffs carved out of red sandstone by the Virgin River. It is a hiker?s paradise, although some of the trails are fit only for goats and other creatures that don?t mind precarious heights. In particular, one trail named ?Angel?s Landing? has been described on the internet as the scariest hike in America. Convinced that I was up for the challenge, I talked the wife into hiking this one with me.
Mrs. Ned has absolutely no fear of heights. She can prance around on the tiniest toehold of a cliff with no apparent concern or worry whatsoever. I tend to believe that something deep inside her female brain has been jostled from its proper place. I like to refer to it as her "complete lack of common sense." This is the same woman who I?ve seen trip over her own feet as she crossed a level, obstruction-free street, but put her in the wild with death at stake and she?s thinks she?s Sir Edmund Hillary.
Angel?s Landing is a 5-mile round trip trail that has two distinct parts. The first part of this trail (i.e. the ?easy? part) is a hair-raising series of steep switchbacks that snake their way up a vertical canyon face. A hiker on this part is exposed to the void at every step. Even though my soft male parts had retreated to somewhere deep within my torso, I was still able to warily make my way up to the top of the mesa. Then at the top I got a good look at the ?hard? part. This second part of the trail follows the top of a narrow fin of rock to an overlook, which is the end of the trail. Both sides of this fin are completely vertical to the canyon floor far below, and parts of the fin are only 2? wide. One side has a 1000? drop. The other side drops only 800?. Only. The park service has helpfully positioned chain handholds along certain sections, but oddly enough not in the worst parts. I guess the government fully supports natural selection.
When I did some technical alpine climbing a couple of years ago, my fear of heights never really kicked in. Even though danger was always present, I felt like I always had options that would save my life in the event that something unfortunate happened. For example, I was always roped up with my team, all of whom were trained to arrest the entire team in a fall. In the worst parts of the climb, I was clipped into the mountain. And finally, I always carried my ice axe, and a comfortable knowledge of how to use it to stop myself from a serious spill.
Even though Angel?s Landing allows a hiker no margin for error, they also would find that in a fall they have several options. For example, I imagine that many people would opt to petition some deity to miracle their ass away from the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming rate. Some people would probably find time to allow their trousers to weigh anchor on the farewell voyage of the Stinky Steamer, while the rest of their body plummeted to the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming rate. Still, others here at ATOT would believe that 1 or 2 seconds would be enough time to attempt to crank one final one out, while falling to the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming? you get the idea.
So I was done. I sat down in a relatively safe place and started hoping against hope that I had packed a bottle of vodka. Even the promise of a million bucks and an unlimited, non-expiring pass to the Playboy mansion wouldn't have been enough to get my legs out on that fin of rock. I looked up to chuckle and remark to Mrs. Ned how I was glad she wasn?t stupid enough to step out there, but to my horror she was already several strides onto the fin. I watched in dismay as she scrambled up to a position where forward progress was impossible, so she stopped and turned around towards me. I would rather have been out there in peril myself than to watch the love of my life clinging to the side of a mountain by only a fragile-looking chain. My inner child wet his pants, began sucking his thumb, and then smoked something for his nerves.
Then an anxious prayer was answered, and miraculously she slowly made her way back to me. She explained when she got back: the camera that was hanging from her neck was dragging the rocks. She was afraid it would get damaged, so she was going to leave it with me and head back out.
I begged her to not go. I was literally on the verge of tears. I pleaded. I whined. I resigned all my dignity and grovelled. She finally relented and said ?If it means that much to you, I won?t go.? Deep inside, she fully realized that her takeover bid on my testicles was now complete.
She has promised to let me look at them, from time to time.
A couple of weeks ago, the wife and I were on vacation in Utah, at perhaps my favorite place in the whole wide world, Zion National Park. Zion National Park is similar in many ways to the Grand Canyon. The park contains spectactular canyons and cliffs carved out of red sandstone by the Virgin River. It is a hiker?s paradise, although some of the trails are fit only for goats and other creatures that don?t mind precarious heights. In particular, one trail named ?Angel?s Landing? has been described on the internet as the scariest hike in America. Convinced that I was up for the challenge, I talked the wife into hiking this one with me.
Mrs. Ned has absolutely no fear of heights. She can prance around on the tiniest toehold of a cliff with no apparent concern or worry whatsoever. I tend to believe that something deep inside her female brain has been jostled from its proper place. I like to refer to it as her "complete lack of common sense." This is the same woman who I?ve seen trip over her own feet as she crossed a level, obstruction-free street, but put her in the wild with death at stake and she?s thinks she?s Sir Edmund Hillary.
Angel?s Landing is a 5-mile round trip trail that has two distinct parts. The first part of this trail (i.e. the ?easy? part) is a hair-raising series of steep switchbacks that snake their way up a vertical canyon face. A hiker on this part is exposed to the void at every step. Even though my soft male parts had retreated to somewhere deep within my torso, I was still able to warily make my way up to the top of the mesa. Then at the top I got a good look at the ?hard? part. This second part of the trail follows the top of a narrow fin of rock to an overlook, which is the end of the trail. Both sides of this fin are completely vertical to the canyon floor far below, and parts of the fin are only 2? wide. One side has a 1000? drop. The other side drops only 800?. Only. The park service has helpfully positioned chain handholds along certain sections, but oddly enough not in the worst parts. I guess the government fully supports natural selection.
When I did some technical alpine climbing a couple of years ago, my fear of heights never really kicked in. Even though danger was always present, I felt like I always had options that would save my life in the event that something unfortunate happened. For example, I was always roped up with my team, all of whom were trained to arrest the entire team in a fall. In the worst parts of the climb, I was clipped into the mountain. And finally, I always carried my ice axe, and a comfortable knowledge of how to use it to stop myself from a serious spill.
Even though Angel?s Landing allows a hiker no margin for error, they also would find that in a fall they have several options. For example, I imagine that many people would opt to petition some deity to miracle their ass away from the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming rate. Some people would probably find time to allow their trousers to weigh anchor on the farewell voyage of the Stinky Steamer, while the rest of their body plummeted to the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming rate. Still, others here at ATOT would believe that 1 or 2 seconds would be enough time to attempt to crank one final one out, while falling to the crunchy, painful death that was approaching at an alarming? you get the idea.
So I was done. I sat down in a relatively safe place and started hoping against hope that I had packed a bottle of vodka. Even the promise of a million bucks and an unlimited, non-expiring pass to the Playboy mansion wouldn't have been enough to get my legs out on that fin of rock. I looked up to chuckle and remark to Mrs. Ned how I was glad she wasn?t stupid enough to step out there, but to my horror she was already several strides onto the fin. I watched in dismay as she scrambled up to a position where forward progress was impossible, so she stopped and turned around towards me. I would rather have been out there in peril myself than to watch the love of my life clinging to the side of a mountain by only a fragile-looking chain. My inner child wet his pants, began sucking his thumb, and then smoked something for his nerves.
Then an anxious prayer was answered, and miraculously she slowly made her way back to me. She explained when she got back: the camera that was hanging from her neck was dragging the rocks. She was afraid it would get damaged, so she was going to leave it with me and head back out.
I begged her to not go. I was literally on the verge of tears. I pleaded. I whined. I resigned all my dignity and grovelled. She finally relented and said ?If it means that much to you, I won?t go.? Deep inside, she fully realized that her takeover bid on my testicles was now complete.
She has promised to let me look at them, from time to time.
