Reprinted without permission, but I think it will be ok, Hurley is a friend of mine.
By Hurley Long-Lower
There can be some subtleties to the system of honor surrounding found climbing gear. One should try to get the gear back to the proper owner. Sometimes though, that’s impossible. On a recent trip to Seneca Rocks, West Virginia, I drank deep from the well of climbing booty. With its sandbagged routes and close proximity to the large population of nervous East Coast climbers,
Seneca is a climbing booty paradise. Alpine draws hang like apples from trees. Bail booty was hardy and plentiful with big lockers and Dyneema slings. Spare carabiners spread along the trail like gravel. The rules boil down to something any kindergartner can understand. Finders keepers, losers weepers. However there is the occasion when some devilish god throws the loser and the finder together. Shame and triumph mix with the dangerous brew of climber ego. I was a participant in such a drama. Early this spring, I led Good Knight at Taylors Falls and found a gorgeous key-holed cam placement. I would have let my mom fall on that piece. It was beautiful. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell my second how I placed it. He shoved it in deeper
and after an hour of fiddling I admitted an ugly defeat- I couldn’t retrieve it. The next week rumor made it back to me that Ward Miller (half man/half strip of beef jerky) pulled it out of the rock like a stubborn tumor. As a man who lost something precious, there was no choice but grovel and bribe. One twelve-pack
of Stella Artois later, I reunited with my cam and we have never parted since.
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