OLD CHIMNEY

The first rays of the morning sun gave the world a dream-like quality as it glanced off the cold, granite surface into Kenny’s light blue eyes.  He squinted as his eyes traced the outline of the awesome formation of angular stone, which clashing with the receding shadows of dawn appeared larger than life.  Exhausted by the rugged terrain Kenny had already encountered, he expelled clouds of warm air, which quickly disappeared into the icy atmosphere of the blue, gray morning.

 

Kenny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of dark glasses his father had given him.  Up in the high granite country, because of the thin atmosphere and the magnifying characteristic of the granite crystals, the rays of the sun were like millions of sharp tipped arrows that could partially blind the unprotected eye in a matter of hours.  Kenny, having especially sensitive eyes, was well aware of this.  His father had instructed him many times on the importance of his dark glasses, as well as, many other bits of information to make pinnacle climbing both safe and exciting.

 

Turning again to the spire of stone, Kenny began scrutinizing every crack, niche, overhanging ledge, or any other possible outcropping that might later serve as a foot or hand hold.  As his father had often told him, “The most critical moments of a climb are not those spent actually climbing, but the time spent memorizing every peculiarity of the rock just prior to the ascent.”  Kenny, pushing a swath of blond hair off his face, turned his back to the pinnacle and walked to where he had left his pack.  Trying to fill his mind with the details of his plan of attack, Kenny could not repress the thoughts that gnawed at his brain.  Despite all his precautions and preparations he had violated the most important safety rules of climbing, Kenny was alone and no one knew where he was.  To be alone while participating in something as dangerous as this type of climbing was, as Kenny well knew, indefensible.  Reaching his pack, he leaned over the bundle and began pulling out various gear setting them on the ground.

 

No one knew Kenny planned on climbing that morning, especially attempting Old Chimney.  It went without saying around Kenny’s house that Old Chimney was off limits at least until, as his father would say, “Until Kenny was a little older.”   As he continued to take equipment out of his pack, he thought about home and the family just getting up.  His father would notice the missing gear and think his son had gone off to hike around some of the small peaks near home.  They would never guess that he had gone to conquer Old Chimney.  

 

With a confident expression on his young face, Kenny began sorting through the equipment lying before him.  Yes, he knew he was wrong being there.  What he was about to do was extremely dangerous and even more so because he was alone, but he wanted to prove to his father, to his friends, to everyone that he was, despite his years, a man.  Old Chimney, with its tremendous size and great height, was truly a conquest that could be accomplished only by and experienced climber using proper equipment.

 

Kenny slowly fed the rope through his youthful fingers checking for possible damage.  He then coiled it up and slung it over his shoulder, grabbed his pack and started toward the base of Old Chimney. In his youthful exuberance, Kenny failed to notice his knife had fallen out of his pack.  Kenny began experiencing sensations his father told him he had felt six years before when he climbed Old Chimney.  He was a little nauseated and weak, the back of his neck tingled and his mouth was dry.

 

His desire to climb Old Chimney had been born in his father’s den where they had their “man to man talks.”  The room was festooned with various prizes, from the head of a Canadian moose to a three-foot high golf trophy.  Kenny’s father had acquired them all.  He was a sportsman in the truest sense of the word.  Never had Kenny know his father not to meet a challenge, even if only to climb a small peak or the monumental challenge offered by Old Chimney.  Old Chimney was legendary in the region where Kenny lived.  It was not just an extraordinarily high pinnacle, as Kenny’s dad had told him, it represented every challenge an accomplished climber strives to achieve.  Many would be conquerors had died on the treacherous face of the monster.  Kenny was proud his father had been one of the elite few who had reached the summit.

 

In the den, there was one wall void of any objects except a black-framed photo off set in one corner.  It showed a man perched high atop Old Chimney.  The fellow looked like an insect in comparison with the huge spire of gray rock.  Kenny knew the photograph was his father, and he also knew that someday his father hoped a picture of Kenny would also be displayed on the wall, Kenny atop Old Chimney.

 

Kenny’s father enjoyed sitting with his son telling exciting stories of his many adventures.  As Kenny would listen to his dad dramatically unfold the exploits of a hunting expedition or critical climbing maneuver, the glimmer of a highly polished trophy or the grainy beauty of an expensive rifle stock would occasionally distract him.  Kenny wanted to be just like his dad.

 

He reached the base of Old Chimney and was preparing for the ascent.  Remembering his father telling him that one day he would take a picture of him at the peak, Kenny began to climb.  He knew he was ready.  He had practiced the basics for two years.  Like his father, he wanted to be a great climber.  He did not need his father. He didn’t need anyone.  This was something he had to do on his own, just him and Old Chimney.  Kenny’s father had been the last to scale the giant phallus, and as was the custom, left a flag at the peak.  As proof of his achievement, Kenny hoped to bring the flag down.

 

The first one hundred feet of the climb was relatively easy, just a matter of finding footholds.  But then came a protruding ledge.  Because of his earlier observations, this formidable obstacle did not surprise the boy.  Much to his delight pitons had already been driven into the granite surface.  Kenny believed that they were no doubt left by his father.  He tested to see if they were still secure. They were.  After threading his rope through two of the pitons he swung himself free of the cliff and dangled from the jutting ledge.  The maneuver, though seemingly extremely dangerous and difficult, was for Kenny routine.  He had practiced it many times, however, never alone.  Next, he worked his way from piton to piton.  Reaching the lip of the ledge where the difficult part began.

 

As he hung precariously from the bottom of the horizontal shelf, he groped with his fingers searching for a hold.  In a matter of seconds, he found one.  He then hung from the ledge with just the strength of his fingers between him and death.  While pulling himself up his dark glasses rubbed on the granite surface.  Kenny could feel them slipping from his face, but there was nothing he could do. He had forgotten to secure his glasses with a special strap that would have prevented what now was happening.  He quickly pulled himself onto the ledge.  It was too late, the glasses had fallen.  The blast of unfiltered sunlight at first blinded him.  It didn’t take long for his young eyes to adjust to the bright light. Despite his father’s warnings, he felt they would be all right.

 

Kenny reached over the ledge with one hand, grabbed the end of his rope, and quickly pulled it up.  Next was the vertical wall about sixty feet in height.  Shading his eyes with his hand, Kenny carefully scrutinized the surface, carefully studying his route of ascent.  He then started feeling out each hold with extreme caution.  Rising higher and higher, Kenny wished his father could see him.  It was almost noon; the sun was beating down in relentless waves.  Kenny could feel the heat of the granite scorching his fingertips.  His unprotected eyes, always having been sensitive to bright sunlight, were becoming irritated.  Always optimistic, he was sure they would be ok.

 

At the top of the wall there was a cave like indentation big enough for Kenny to rest in before the final ascent.  As he slowly worked his way up the granite face he was becoming aware of his impaired vision.  Unable to focus clearly, it took him an hour to cover the distance that ordinarily would have taken half that time.  Kenny knew that he was behind schedule when he finally came to the small indentation.  Reaching over his head to find a grip, Kenny heard an unmistakable sound.  It was to late.  The rattlesnake put two deep puncture wounds into Kenny’s forearm, then quietly slid under a rock shelf.  Terrified, Kenny pulled himself into the shallow cave, ripped the pack off his back, and reached for his knife.  It was not there!  Kenny began squeezing the wound trying to extract as much venom as possible.  Almost in hysterics, he desperately tried biting his own flesh to create a better flow hoping to extract the venom, but he succeeded in only inflaming the area more.

 

Now was the time for a decision.  Kenny, his mind madly trying to disavow the actual severity of the situation, decided it would be faster if he climbed to the summit.  The other side of the spire was steeper, but would be easier to descend using the rope.  He tore a piece of cloth from his shirt and tied it around his forearm, then shuffled to his feet.  In the process he accidentally kicked the glove he had removed off the ledge.  To distressed to care, Kenny began to desperately climb.  It didn’t take long for his exposed hand to blister from the intense heat of the sun soaked granite.

 

Afternoon breezes began to blow as he painstakingly struggled towards the summit.  His sensitive blue eyes were now almost useless, and his forearm and hand were becoming badly swollen.  An ever-tightening knot in his stomach gave notice to Kenny that his time was running out.  He could not last long with snake venom coursing through his veins.  Every move became more difficult than the last; his body now throbbed with excruciating pain.

 

It was near sunset before Kenny reached the summit.  His eyes were partially swollen shut and his arm was all but useless.  Pulling himself to the flat plateau at the peak, Kenny rolled over on his back and gazed at the darkening sky.  A small, black spider scurried across his lips, but he was too tired to brush it off.  The air was becoming bitter cold and the icy winds cut into his flesh like steel splinters.

 

A queer sort of half smile came over Kenny’s face as he laid on the peak, his body now a living extension of Old Chimney.  Kenny, his mind occasionally drifting into disjointed fantasy, tried to mull over what had happened to place him in his present predicament.  Of course there were foolish blunders:  loosing his knife, not turning back after loosing his glasses, kicking his glove over the edge, attempting the ill conceived climb in the first place.  However, he realized that his greatest mistake was the motivation for climbing Old Chimney in the first place.  He wanted to prove he was just as much of a man as his father.  Ironically, he now realized that his motives had been the reason for his failure.  To climb Old Chimney for any other reason than to reach the peak would be the wrong reason.  Kenny was troubled by his plan of proving his accomplishment by removing the symbol of his father’s own success, the flag.

 

Kenny felt as if his body was covered with warm, white clouds, and oddly enough he seemed safe and secure.  At that very moment of comfort and security he felt a sharp pain in his chest.  He slowly opened his eyes and was surprised to see two eyes looking back at him.  Gazing beyond, the sky appeared to be green.  It wasn’t a green sky; it was the ceiling of his bedroom!  It had all been a dream!  Now lay Kenny with the family cat firmly planted on his chest.

 

Sitting up in bed, Kenny attempted to clear his mind.  The dream had seemed so real, so vivid, so clear!  Kenny got out of bed and stared out the window at Old Chimney.  The mammoth stone stood pointing a questioning finger at the sky.  Kenny, turning once again to the comfort of his bed, would some day come to know that to be like his father he would have to find his own mountains to climb.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

This is brilliant - start to finish - and is probably my favourite post by you .. you've made the story blaze with reality! Those paragraphs about the climb were/are first class -, absolutely. I can imagine you typing away, eyes closed, seeing Kenny's every move, stop, loss, thought .. and I was there too, that's the extraordinary thing!

Wonderful movement: ' Kenny reached over the ledge with one hand, grabbed the end of his rope, and quickly pulled it up. Next was the vertical wall about sixty feet in height. Shading his eyes with his hand, Kenny carefully scrutinized the surface, carefully studying his route of ascent. He then started feeling out each hold with extreme caution. Rising higher and higher, Kenny wished his father could see him. It was almost noon; the sun was beating down in relentless waves. Kenny could feel the heat of the granite scorching his fingertips. His unprotected eyes, always having been sensitive to bright sunlight, were becoming irritated. Always optimistic, he was sure they would be ok.'

I hope a great many people review this, they should!

[roarke]

EXCELLENT! I think the best story I've read of yours. Gripping to the very end and then the dream punch. Great climax, perfect building, piton by piton.

You have several typos, and a couple doubled up words, fix those and you could submit this to a sporting or niche magazine.

There are several options to the ending, Kenny dies up there next to the flag his dad planted, rescuers take a picture of it. OR Kenny finds out as he's dying, that the flag was NOT planted by his dad, kinda dark but twists the impression of the dad.... OR, he wakes up and his dad comes in and says "Today's the day to climb Old Chimney..." and is it real or still a dream.

Your self imposed sabbatical/ holiday has done wonders for your writing. Crisp, clear, "cliff hanging," intense, personal, .... All the right stuff.
Bravo.

[W. J. Hall]

Some nice clear descriptions in here, I can almost picture everything you've described.