Was it the coldest Gunksfest ever?  The darkest, the
foggiest?  I wouldn't know, but these thoughts came to
mind as snowflakes piled up on small holds while I
belayed Gabe.  Late in the day, he had volunteered to
break down the anchors on Frog's Head, and was now
making his way up into the gloom in leather boots and
thick gloves.  Unable to jam, or use footholds less
than five inches wide, he resorted to wild stems and
heel hooks to gain height ledge-to-ledge.  I admired
Gabe's adventurous impulse and perverse refusal to take
off the gloves.  Among snowy heads below him, a
consensus was building:  getting close to pub time.

Gunksfesters, all 8 of us, owned the Trapps on Sunday.
An elderly man with a German accent had cautioned me
against climbing as I hiked to the cliff, saying that
even football players could not grip the ball in such
weather.  I joined the climbing party late, to see Gabe
and Dana already starting up their most-of-the-day epic
on Easy O.  Dawn, Julie, Steven, Scott and Alex were
climbing, belaying or hanging about cheerfully at the
base.  They had ropes on City Lights and Maria Direct,
impressive signs of energy in the cold.  Scott was
working on Redirect; Alex had just done City Lights and
looked psyched to climb again.  I borrowed Dawn's rack
and led Frog's Head quickly, before anything went numb.
Lowering off, I knew that would be my day's main
achievement.

Toproping was low-pressure and humorous; how seriously
could we take it, in this cold?  Frozen fingers gave a
fine reason to fall off, and it seemed that even sticky
rubber would not stick.  Well-dressed belayers stayed
warm, though, and spirits were high on the ground.
Maria Direct and Pas de Deux saw much action; this was
clearly Big Fun.

New snow covered rocks and trail as we hiked out.  Over
beer and cider at Bacchus, conversation sailed from Red
Rock to Red River, and the foibles of all climbers who
weren't there.