Belayed by the Reaper
|Date: Aug 2010
Submitted by: Iain Miller
And Sho, having spent several years ensconsed in the murky world of vertical academia, sprinkled with a never ending quest unto the journey to eternal enlightenment, it came to pass that the passage to nirvana would be at an end?
Arrived at the entrance to Shambala at an unsociable early hour and prepared the toys for this was to be a journey deep into the inner self.
"And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, come and see, and I saw, and behold I saw a white horse. I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts and I looked and behold a pale horse and his name that sat upon him was Death, and hell followed with him."
Paddled out from the wee storm beach for 500m out unto the deep, passing through several old friends along the way, sentinals standing guard at the gates to the abyss. Continued for another 500m across open seas to arrive at the sea ward face of the mighty Toralaydan Island. The object of my desires was the "Baltic Spire" a twin headed Basalt spire at the seaward end of the southern face of Toralaydan Island. This particular stack sits in one of the most dangerous locations that has ever been conjured in the minds and souls of the unholy alliance of Death, Satan and Grand Master Neptune.
Paddled another 100m out to sea to face the beasts from a nautical perspective and sat looking back towards the 20m channel between the 80m seaward face of Toralaydon island and The Baltic Spire. The might of the North Atlantic was being funneled between the two land masses causing major tidal conflictions and a stream of continual 6 footers were being thrown onto my proposed harbour on the sea ward face of the spire. Sat for ages in the wee dingy watching the pounding heart of the ocean and realized at this juncture that Death was now in attendance, emotions were in the upper statosphere with cascades of white light poured through the ever darkness as I commenced the journey unto inner self.
Paddled into the gulf stream and rode a 6 footer to crash land high on the slabby seaward face of the beast, grabbed a jug and rolled out the boat as it was pulled away by the ebbing wave, holding on as the cordlette went tight on my other wrist. Waited a moment as another wave brought the boat and toys back up to me and crawled, hauling the boat and toys up to a dry recess above the rage.
"That'll do Donkey, that'll do!"
Rigged a tri-pointer for the boat and toys, changed clothes and climbed up the most immaculate basalt slab to the Northern summit of the beast.
And thus "Icon" was born, the most perfect V. Diff climb that it is possible to imagine, immaculate rock, UBER dangerous location, surreal surrounds and a true sense of utter commitment to the task in hand.
Alas what now, I pondered as I sat upon the stack in this most atmospheric of locations, many options for the return journey were planned and dismissed as foolhardy, and so, the only viable option was to down climb to the boat and prepare to exit the beast and into the rage.
Rigged the drybag on a 60m half rope and threw it as far as I could out to sea, approx 90 seconds later it was beside me again, having traveled back in on the monster rollers. Threw the drybag out a second time.
"Gathered for a sacred rite, subconscious minds allied, call upon immortals, call upon the elders to intersperse, free us of our human waste, rid our earthly lives, make us at one with the darkness and enlighten us to your ways." Sang the hymns of the ancients as the white legions of the damned crashed through the channel.
Ran down the slab, dingy in front of me and jumped over and into the next roller, landed in the trough behind it and hauled along the half rope to my fast approaching drogue. Cleared the rage and paddled like a bastard out onto the open sea and kept paddling for about 300m and lay back in the boat as the angels of the light carried it south to return to the entrance to Shambala.
And sho, another oustanding day out in the natural unrelenting beauty of the great outdoors was at an end.
In hindsight and in quiet contemplation I pondered the possibility as to whether this was indeed the juncture of astral plains that comprise the heart and soul of Utopia, and I have come to the conclusion that I may be wrong.
And thus the journey continues...................... :-)
04 Oct 2010
:-) Foolish is as foolish does, Brother Cooper! :-)
04 Oct 2010
Spirituly speaking: One wonders how far one can get up one's self to find the truth? Only mucking about, great adventure Iain. Congrats on passing your MIA.