And so we were finally there, and we inched our way from one end to the other. My hands were so stressed out that I had to have my wedding band re-polished after it was over. But we made it without mishap, and lived to tell the story. Now, I am no mountain climber. What we were doing that summer day was merely stress hiking.
Mountain climbing is another thing entirely.
And it has dramatically changed over the years. In the 1930s a mountain climber wore hobnail boots that would scrape at the granite. His partner would have a frayed hemp rope hooked around a rocky corner. If he screamed to his partner, chances are, his screams would go unheard in the high wind. If he was in trouble, the climber would pulls out a soft iron piton, stuff it into a crack, and pound it with an alpine hammer.