Our goal was to climb Moby Grape (5.8): a musical line of eight to nine pitches of mostly crack with a few slabs at the top. In fact, had we actually climbed this route then I was going to have what I think would have been one of my best posts (we're still climbing it someday, so stay tuned). But as has been the 2008 New England summer weather, this past weekend was every bit as predictably unpredictable. It seems that this summer is the summer of heavenly discontent. Let it be clear, for history may want to look back on these past few months in particular, that there is no threat of drought in the Northeast, and, in oddly such precious times of energy scarcity, there has been no shortage of the biggest godly hint of where to find naturally occurring electricity: the sky. It seems as if every day for the past two months have had the same weather pattern of mild temps, high humidity, and a plethora of "scattered showers with pockets of severe lightening possibly mixed in." This isn't the Midwest, people. This is New England, and we simply don't get the same weather forecast for two months straight, let alone days with above-the-normal-amount lightening strikes, water funnels, and tornadoes! Well, it wasn't really supposed to happen at Cannon on Saturday either (finally).
"Ratherbe" and I made a straight shot up from Boston to Franconia Notch after work on Friday in search of the famed free campsites just north of the cliff. We kind of knew where they were, but didn't know what to expect when we got there. When we did arrive, we found all twelve or so taken, and, according to one camper tucked nicely in his tent with his growling dog close by, the sites weren't shared-use. As far as Franconia Notch goes, there aren't many campgrounds. Lafayette, the only public campground in the area, is often full even a few days in advance, and this is probably owed to its proximity to a lot of world class hiking (the famed and weather prolific Franconia Ridge meets the AT en route). It was also several miles back in the opposite direction from our current location, and just, by a mile, on the other side of Cannon on what sort of amounts to a one-way stretch of road. Even if we got lucky and found a spot there, we'd still have to drive south to get there, south again in the morning in order to turn north, just so we could turn south again to get back to Cannon. Since it was late, and because we knew Moby Grape was as classic of a climb as a classic can get and, as a result, have a conga line on any given day, we wanted to get up extra early to beat the crowd. While I'm not a bandit camper (my super-secret campsite at Cathedral isn't really illegal, as I could easily find an appropriate site away from the water), "Ratherbe" noted that it wasn't unusual for cars to be left overnight at trail heads, and the fact that we'd likely be up early both lent the idea of finding a spot about 20 feet into the bushes just to crash. With a little luck and searching, we finally found a place that was somewhat flat and close to the appropriate size for my tent. We probably killed a fern, but I think that death balances out by the bizarre dream I had that night of a stream of drunk campers walking past our tent on the animal trail that led back to the parking lot. I remember specifically how they all had headlamps and were saying things like, "what the fuck are these guys doing here?" I even awoke partially convinced that the bar around the corner would serve breakfast if we wanted it, but was quickly swayed to understand that, no, there hadn't been any campers with headlamps walking past our tent and, no, there definitely were not any bars in the immediate area (with immediate probably being roughly defined as within the nearest 10 miles or so, let alone just around the corner on the animal path). I guess it must have been the mushroom I slept on. Anyway, sleeping a few feet off the trail apparently wasn't much of an issue, because as we packed our stuff the next morning, we decided to walk around the parking lot in search of other options for the future (just in case the legal ones were taken again). The first thing we noticed was that there was one camper, an apparent proud Scotsman as "Ratherbe" and I are (at least in heritage or name) had set up his tent, ahem, right in front of his car. "OK," we said to each other. Apparently being less obvious isn't so much of an issue. The second thing we noticed was that there was, in fact, another nice spot to pitch a tent just off the parking lot in the woods. We know this because we saw another tent already there. Having stored this valuable information, we hopped in the car and drove south to the Profile Lake parking lot (why this lot is only signed with a "Trailhead Parking" sign I'll never know. Echo Lake even has a sign that says "Echo Lake". Why does Profile Lake not get the same respect?).
Well, we knew were in a bit of trouble with our goal of climbing Moby because, as we awoke very early in the morning, we noticed that the rain that wasn't supposed to hit until 8am and last only an hour had begun somewhere around 4am and hadn't let up by 8am. Hmmmm... we thought, this doesn't seem right. I guess what was ringing in my ears was an e-mail conversation I had with another climbing friend about climbing Moby the same day. He wrote back and stated, and I'm paraphrasing here, "There's no way in hell you'd get me on that cliff during the summer!" I didn't really understand why he was saying that, but I figured as the heavy mist settled on the car in small, but noticeable beads, that he had probably chosen correctly and enjoyed his day at Rumney instead. As it were, there were two cars in the parking lot while "Ratherbe" and I ate butternut rum muffins and hemmed and hawed about what we were going to do. Rumney? Naw, the sharpness of the rock hurts "Ratherbe"'s finger. Cathedral? Too far. The Kang area? No clue of what's even available to climb? Echo? Definitely too wet. Artist's Bluff? Not likely worth it. Shit! What were we going to do? Not knowing what to do, we turned our attention to our comrades who were all racking up to see what they were doing. We didn't know one of the parties, but we did know one of the guys in the other party. I will call him "PhotoSR" because his son is kind of famous photographer in the climbing world.
- Us: So what are you guys doing?
- Random guys: VMC Direct. If not, then maybe Moby. You?
- Us: We were thinking of Moby, but since a lot of it is crack we figure it'll be wet a while.
- Random guys: Huh. Well, I guess we'll find out.
- "PhotoSR": What are you guys doing?
- Us: Well, we were thinking of Moby, but we'll probably pass. You?
- "PhotoSR": Yeah, those slabs up top will get tough with this rain
- Greg (in my head): oh yeah, the wet slabs. Gee, where have I experienced that before? Oh yeah, Epic #1 at the top.
- "PhotoSR": We're heading up WG. That'll be just fine. Were you planning on doing Reppy's? If so, and if it doesn't rain the next couple of hours, you'll be fine on that later on. What did you guys say you were doing?
- Random guys: VMC Direct?
- "PhotoSr" (with a shitty grin on his face): Have fun.
"PhotoSR" and his partner headed off, and "Ratherbe" and I were left contemplating what to do. The weather had stated no rain again after 8am until the late afternoon. That still left us with plenty of time to climb something, but what we couldn't decide upon. Since the mountain was still pretty fogged in, and because the fog was heavy and wet enough to keep my head from staying dry, we decided to go for a drive until either the weather cleared up or we found something to do somewhere else. My first thought was to go check out Artist's Bluff and Echo Crag because I had never been to either.
Artist's Bluff, Echo Crag, and Profile Cliff
We didn't climb at either location, so I don't have any climb-specific information for you. But I can tell you how to get to each one and what to expect once you're there.
The parking for both places is in the same parking lot, the Gov Gallen Memorial lot, which is, during the summer, partially and RV campground and, during the winter, an overflow lot to the Cannon ski area. To get there, I-93 turns into the Franconia Notch Parkway (they are the same road for a few miles through the notch). Regardless of driving direction, take Exit 3 for Echo Lake Beach. Turn left off the exit onto Rt 18 if driving north, and right if driving south. If driving north, continue over I-93 and find the dirt parking lot on the left.
To get to Artist's Bluff, turn right out of the parking lot and cross the street. Once near a guardrail you should find a path heading up to the left. Follow the path up for a few minutes to the base of the 200 foot Artist's Bluff. This cliff, along with another, smaller cliff higher up called Monalisa Cliff, is primarily a beginner's crag. However, there are a handful of 10s and an 11 and 12 here as well.
To get to Echo Crag, take a right out of the parking lot but don't cross the street. Head back over the bridge over I-93 and cross over the north-bound exit ramp. Just as you hit the other side of the exit, look right for what might be a partially hidden and small trail. Follow the trail for several minutes, and don't head left until after you go past the info sign and head up the obvious, man-made stone steps to the base of the cliff. We didn't go very far along the base, but Echo Crag apparently has several dozen climbs, with a good variety of moderate to difficult choices.
There is another crag in this area called Profile Cliff, but we didn't go there. This crag can be accessed, I believe (again, we didn't do this approach), heads up left before the signs on the Echo Crag trail. According to the Sykes guidebook (Secrets of the Notch), this trail spits you out on the left-most edge of the cliff. This guidebook also notes about a dozen moderate-to-difficult routes are at this cliff, as well as nice views of the notch and Vermont.
After a brief scouting trip, we drove around for a bit more, particularly to a town called Sugar Hill, mainly because "Ratherbe" has a wedding to attend there sometime in August and she wanted to know where it was. It was a fun drive, and I think it was highlighted by my note that the kids in this neighbor, the gang, so to speak, were certainly a rough bunch but had a groundbreaking poetic talent that kind of made them cuddly in the end.
When we finally returned to the parking lot a few hours later, we decided that since the fog and wetness had persisted since that morning, and because there was an apparent line heading up to Moby regardless of the conditions, it was best to get on Whitney-Gilman (5.7), the classic, exposed ridge route on Cannon's south end. We had both done this route before, we knew what to expect regarding anchors, gear, and climbing, and we had a fair amount of confidence of the condition of the climb thanks to "PhotoSR"'s comments earlier in the day.
Whitney-Gilman (5.7) - Six Pitches - Trad - Greg and "Ratherbe" led
Approach: With the cliff to your right, head down the path on the south end of the parking lot. Walk for several minutes past a bridge until you see what appears to be a turnout (widened section of the path) on the left with a medium, flat boulder. Directly across the path, on the right, is a small path that will take you to the base of the large talus field below Cannon. To be clear, this path will get you to WG, but it is a long and difficult hike up what seems to be a never-ending talus field with all sorts of large to medium and small loose rock. Be very careful about walking below anyone else on the talus field. Essentially, take this path up to the talus field and fade up and left to the obvious, thin ridge to your left. The ridge is directly to the left of a dark gully called The Black Dike. Once at the base of the ridge, head up left on what is probably easy 5.5 climbing to what is actually a fairly spacious ledge on the front of the outer face of the ridge. The climb starts here, not at the base of the ridge where the rockfall is.
Now, I have taken this approach twice, each time I've climbed WG. However, I've only come down the descent once (see Epic #2 at the top), and that was after this particular day. Upon meeting the tarred path again at the bottom of the descent trail later in the day, and during the walk back north to the car (to the left), we noticed another obvious path heading up in the direction of WG. This path was marked with a fairly large cairn. It is without a doubt, in my opinion, that this is the actual approach trail for WG. But I must warn you that I have not taken this trail, so I can't be sure. The risk in taking this second trail is two-fold: 1) it is much farther down the tarred path than the approach trail I took and; 2) the talus field is a bitch to navigate as it is without screwing up the actual approach. If you take this trail, and if I'm wrong, you may just very well have added a significant amount of time to your day. The approach I took probably took us a slow 45 minutes from car to the first pitch. Add on another 15-20 minutes from the base of that trail to the cairns, and then the talus field itself. However, if this other trail is indeed the correct trail, then you likely save yourself a seriously annoying approach traverse.
Pitch One (5.5 - we did the 5.6 variation) - 90 feet - Gear Anchor - Greg Led
There are two starts to this route: Normal Start) up the face near the right of the belay ledge and traverse across to the right-facing corner / crack or; 5.6 Variation) head up the lieback crack on the left. Beware of the crack without large gear (a 3.5 cam isn't big enough - we didn't have anything larger, so I can't say what to use). It is a ground fall if you fall in this wider section about 10 feet up. Also beware of loose rock after the lieback where it appears to get easier (it does get easier, but so does the rock become looser). In general, be very aware of loose rock at Cannon, and WG is no different.
After moving through the crack and about mid-way up the corner, step right and fade up right to an obvious belay ledge.
As anyone could have guessed, we weren't the only party on WG. There was another party above us (just getting to the top of P1 as we started) and apparently another party on its way across the talus field behind us. We knew it was going to be busy, so we didn't worry about that, but it was interesting to note the presence of so many other parties and not very much blueness in the sky above. There were patches of periodic blue sky by this point, and patches is an appropriate word to use especially if combine with the word "consistent."
Pitch Two (5.5 - we did the 5.7 variation) - 80 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led
At this point we had to wait a bit because the party ahead of us was struggling to make it up. After the second made a few tries on the 5.7 crack on the left, they decided to bail. I'm not so sure they realized how lucky they were to have bailed at that moment. Once the leader rapped down, "Ratherbe" climbed up and tossed down their rope for them, and they rapped down to the base. It was then that we realized there was another party coming up right behind us.
The 5.5 version climbs the right-hand lieback crack. The 5.7 version climbs the left-hand crack, and that is what "Ratherbe" climbed. At the top of this crack, move left and head up to another ledge. The Sykes guide notes that with 60m ropes, the first two pitches can be combined. We split these up because of the party ahead of us and because "Ratherbe" had led the odd pitches on her previous ascent and wanted to climb the even ones this time around (since I had already led the two most difficult pitches on a previous attempt, which were at the top, this was an agreeable solution to deciding who would lead each pitch).
Pitch Three (5.6) - 130 feet - Gear Anchor (with two pins and an additional fixed nut if you prefer) - Greg led
This is a bit of a tricky pitch with some route-finding skills required. Head straight up above the belay to an obvious slab on the left. Cross the slab to a short but awkward chimney (it has a couple of fixed pins, and the upper one is key if you manage to see it; it does blend into the rock a bit). Near the top of the chimney, step left (this may require a high-step and a mantle) and walk around the corner. I don't recommend climbing the right-hand face at the top of the chimney. You'll see why when you get there (hint: it's kind of blank). From there, head up the left side of the arrete / corner and be careful to test nearly all weight-bearing holds. There are a lot of loose blocks on this particular section. The top is the large ledge with two wide cracks to the left of a left-facing corner.
To this point, the weather was holding up fairly well. We could see dark clouds to the south, but directly above us was intermittent blue sky with patches of light-grey clouds. However, Cannon is an east-facing mountain, and it is also a kind of ridge in itself considering it is the highest point on the west side of the notch. Just to clarify again, we were on Whitney-Gilman Ridge, or, to put it another way, we were on the most exposed ridge on an exposed, east-facing cliff where one can't see the approaching weather (again, see Epic #1 above). We knew the party behind us was closing in fast (this guy and "PBR" would've become climbing buddies real quickly), and we decided that if they made it up before we started off, that we might let them pass. It was then that we heard one of the most terrifying noises one could hear on an exposed ridge, again, on an already exposed mountain: grrrrumble, rumble, rumbleumbleumeble. We looked below to see if it was just motorcycles cruising through on the parkway, but there were no such machines on the road at that time. We then heard it again: grrrumble, rumble, rumbleumbleumble. At this point, the leader of the other party was at the same ledge, and obviously concerned about what he could more easily see on his way up: that those dark clouds to the south were larger than we thought, and were unfortunately extending much farther north than anyone would have preferred. Then it started to rain.
All three of us knew we had to get off, but how to do that safely was a concern. In my mind, there really weren't any safe rap opportunities where one could leave no gear (I know, my life is worth more than a couple of cams - I've already been tormented on this, so spare me!). But another concern of mine was the fact that if we rapped, because of the nature of the exposure where the rap would take place, we would actually be the highest points on the ridge. I don't mean high as in elevation, but high as in perpendicular (or, to put it more succinctly, kind of like a sattelite dish or flag would be exposed if hung on the side of a house). I wasn't too keen on exposing myself (not that kind you gutterhead) on the way down without knowing what else above me could or could not possibly be struck first. That and the talus field certainly offered no protection. I can see rapping off without gear (you lower it first to be safe, right?), but how are you going to cross an empty talus field where you're likely the tallest point again without carrying your gear directly on your person? Still, we looked for ways to rap off and really didn't find anything. That was until the leader of the party asked if there was anything above us. "Ratherbe" looked up and saw a possible spire just above the cracks that might have allowed us to rap directly into the Black Dike. This would have been productive as we could have rapped fairly unexposed with a lot of taller rock surrounding us, and with 60m ropes we might have been able to rap in one go. The down side to this was that if the spire wasn't all that good, then "Ratherbe", who had the next lead, was going to be on one of the most exposed sections of the climb without an easy way to retreat. Just to throw a little more fire on the situation, the belay ledge for the start of pitch four can kind of be a sort of cave. It really isn't a cave, but the way the blocks that form the cracks meet the ledge, there is a way someone could crawl under the blocks to seek shelter. Well, what is nearly as bad as being on an exposed ridge on an exposed mountain during an electrical storm? Being in a cave.
Pitch Four (5.6) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led
I have two things to note about this climb. Firstly, this is the money pitch on this route because of the apparent exposed move that is above the crack. This is often called the "Pipe Pitch" because, you guessed it, there's a metal pipe in the rock. How or why that pipe is there, I don't know, but there it is at your feet just below the crux. Did I mention it was metal and at the top of the cracks where, below the cracks, there is a small cave? Yep.
The second point is this: this is climbing. There are times when a leader chooses to do a route or pitch and for whatever reason can't finish it. It is then up the other climber to attempt the route if one doesn't want to leave gear. This happens all the time, but it isn't always an expectation. The expectation is that if you want to climb a route then you should be willing to lead that route, unless of course your partner wants to lead it and you don't mind following (so long as that arrangement is clear from the start). I say this now because I took some crap for "Ratherbe" leading this pitch instead of me taking it. I think this crap is bullshit because we had agreed to swap leads at the bottom and it was her lead. Just because she's a girl, that doesn't mean I have to die. If she wants to go up and check out the spire, then that's her call. She wasn't going to claim the lead and then chicken out and send me up just because there was potential for lightening. To be absolutely clear, "Ratherbe" NEVER ONCE suggested that I take the climb. She knew the deal and did this on her own. I took the crap from other people who felt that a certain level of chivalry should have been exhibited. Hey, if I'm opening the door for her, sure. If it's her climb and her decision to fight the gods, no freaking way. Of course, if were the significantly better climber or with more experience that would have made any kind of difference in the retreat, then that is a different matter. In that case, I probably would have taken the lead. However, I would say my skills and experience pretty much match hers.
To climb this pitch, climb the two cracks to the top (I find stemming the corner makes this way easier than climbing the crack itself). Step out toward the edge on the right (you should see the pipe below you), and step up (probably a high step / reach for some - it was for "Ratherbe" but not really for me). After this crux move, climb the face and fade with the corner back toward the edge on the right. Climb this second crux and step left around the corner to the belay ledge.
Well, the idea was to test the spire, and when "Ratherbe" got to that spire, it was apparent that it wasn't attached to anything, and probably not large enough to hold a lot of weight. That left her with the option of finding another way down from there, or heading straight up. Luckily, the rain had just started to pass and we could see blue sky again coming over the mountain. At this point, we decided that a quick ascent was probably going to be our best bet. However, as expected, it started to rain yet again just as I had to go over the high-step and the steep rock at the end of the pitch.
At this point, the other party had decided to head up with us, but because the belay ledges weren't large enough for multiple parties at this point in the climb (the bottom pitches would have been large enough), we had to leapfrog each other until the very last pitch. This was OK to all involved, though we got to use the intended belay stations while they had to find alternate spots due to us being slightly ahead of them.
Pitch Five (5.5) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor (though there are pins that should be backed up) - Greg led
This is another slightly tricky-to-read pitch, and I apologize for only have an above picture (I try to have pics from the start so that people can see where they are going), but it was raining and our first priority was to get to the top.
This was actually kind of a funny / scary lead for me. It was scary because, despite the grade only being 5.5, everything was slick, even the jugs. And to be clear, the jugs weren't the grab-on-top type, but the grab-on-the-side-and-lean-back type instead. That and the first section requires traversing across a slab with a thin crack for feet. This traverse is not that difficult ordinarily because the feet are really solid. Add running water into the mix, however, and you get a different story.
The funny part was that the other party had leapfrogged us already and I was about to cross over their ropes in order to leapfrog them. Well, I had to climb up a wet slab and then step over their rope in what was probably the wettest and most unprotected spot on the traverse. Not only that, but because of the angle of the rope, the rope was just at crotch level, and he was belaying his second up already. So yeah, imagine stepping over a rope that is rubbing against your crotch while trying not to slip on wet slab when you're about ten feet above your belayor, and the only pro you have would send you swinging back down toward your belayor, and she has no place to go to get out of the way of the rope, which would surely give her rope burn as I passed by. Sigh. The good thing was that this party was really nice, and we all understood that we just wanted to get the hell up and off the ridge. So there was no complaining. The bad thing was actually navigating this without showing fear in the midst of everyone else's laughter.
This pitch goes straight up from the belay to a short, left-facing corner. Then walk left across the slab to a ledge at the base of a corner / dihedral. Climb that to an incredibly exposed belay station right on the edge of the ridge. If you belay from here properly, you'll likely stand on two small platforms with a gap between your legs that goes all the way down to the bottom (probably over 300 feet down). It's an interesting belay for sure (see my pics at the bottom link for a pic of this belay stance - look for the pic of my shoe). Again, these two pitons should be backed up.
Pitch Six (5.7) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led
First things first, I have never found the 5.7 move on this route, and you know you're not offroute when you get to the crux because you can see the old pin on the face above. This is a committing and scary crux section. The pro isn't great, and it likely won't keep you from hitting a shallow ledge if you fall at the crux. I've seen a lot of people struggle here, so beware (struggles: the leader of the other party was a strong leader and he not-so-jokingly said, "5.7 my ass," His partner had to be hauled up, "Ratherbe" took several minutes and several scounting attempts trying to get her head ready, I don't know how I led this before, but I did get it cleanly, and "Jello" - see Epic #2 - had to have our bag hauled up before he could make the moves).
Climb up just left of the belayor over a loose blocky section to another, low-angle slab. Climb the left-side dihedral up right to the pin (crux) and follow the easiest route to the top from there. I may have actually climbed the thin cracks to the right instead of the corner, but neither were easy in comparison.
The unfortunate part of this part of the climb was that once we were leapfrogged, we had to wait for both members of the other party to climb past us. There just wasn't enough room to get past the second without causing personal-space anxiety. So we waited, and while we waited it started to rain again. And then it stopped. And then it rained again. And then it stopped. "Ratherbe" finally made it up over the crux without a problem (in the end), and I did as well, though I struggled like everyone else, and it was also raining a bit at that point, too. The nice thing was that it was sunny when I gained the top, and the other party had left some pepperoni for us to snack on (I told you they were nice people). We then racked up and headed back for the dreaded descent.
Descent: This descent is a pain the ass for many reasons, but I hadn't actually done this particular descent (and to be clear, there is only one descent - see Epic #2 above). Head up the ridge and fade left - DO NOT HEAD RIGHT, EVEN IF THE PATH LOOKS AS IF IT GOES THAT WAY AS THERE IS A SUDDEN DROP-OFF THAT GOES STRAIGHT TO THE BOTTOM!!! You'll have to be creative and be sure not to step too far off the trail, as there are some hidden dropoffs in the bushes to the left, too. Climb up what is probably 5.2 climbing to the top (this is not easy when wet and unroped - and DON'T SLIP!). Then find the very small and bushy trail that eventually heads up left before heading straight down.
Adventures on a Cannon descent? Me? Noooo! (what is that coughing sound? bullshit...). Firstly, I tweaked my left knee (the healthy one) on the 5.2 section and that made standing and lowering on either leg very painful for the first 20 minutes of the descent (it loosend up over time). Secondly, I have bad knees anyway (I've dislocated my right-knee cap twice), and that means I have to make slow, controlled, and deliberate turns on switchbacks (no dynamic twists that could separate the knee cap again). Thirdly, about a third of the way down, it started to absolutely freaking pour. Great, now an hour's descent was going to be two hours, and normally solid slabs, roots and steep dirt were going to be anything but. It was the insult to the end of the day. It poured nearly all the way down, and whenever I noticed the rain was lightening up, my optimism clearly was a signal to God that we weren't suffering enough, and so he made it rain harder. Also, this is the path that just never ends. Even when it appears to be leveling off, it just gets thin and steep and messy all over again. There was one moment where we both thought broken bones were coming. "Ratherbe" had just stepped down to a blocky section and I was not far behind her (about six feet or so). I slipped, and instead of going down butt-first, I started to go head-first, and right into her. Had I not caught myself on a branch, I would have toppled onto her with all my weight slamming her body onto sharp rocks directly below her. That and it would have been a 10-foot fall for me at least. That was a scary moment.
Well, about an hour-and-a-half after we started down, we finally made it to the tarred path. Of course, by that time we were completely exhausted, and a great deal of the pat back to the lot is uphill (Epic #2 clearly shows how I feel about the architect of the bike path through the notch). It was wet, too. We were wet. We were soaked, and it was at least another 30 minutes back to the car. The rain let up once or twice, but it picked right back up again as expected. It was at this point where we discovered the altnernate trail that may head to WG. When we finally got back to the car, we racked up and headed to the lake to wash off. It had stopped raining at this point, but, naturally, just as we headed back to the car...drip...drip...drip, drip, drip, drip,drip,dripdripdripdripDROPS! As we ran back to the car, I remembered my friend's comment on not climbing on Cannon during the summer. It was obvious now what he was reffering to, and I kind of wish I had picked up on that sooner rather than later.
Click here for all 2008 Cannon Photos