Mmmmmmmmmmmassacre Rocks

Oh. My. Gawd.
My hands hurt. My thumb really hurts. My thighs ache and my feet are sore. And I am complete right now.
I hiked and carried an extremely fat and happy little giggler through sands that could weigh a person down. But they lifted me up! Every footfall was a piece of peace. Every burn in my body reminded me of the breath flowing through me. The monolith of slick basalt burgeoned in front of me, flourishing ahead with every tread of my toes. I laughed with my sweet nieces and basked in the rays of El Sol. The shade of a large Juniper has rarely been so sweet, like running through the sprinkler as a lass. A gentle breeze lifted my locks and nestled my irriguous flesh. The felicity of our spirits couldn't be dampened by the moodiness of the fairer sex in the face of slightly inhospitable terrain and less than ideal geographic locales.
Eventually, and after much dissension, we started toward Eagle Wall. That masterpiece of stone loomed ahead and beckoned one and all. Or maybe just me. That luscious crag sang like my personal siren and I heeded the call.
Once the approach was complete, many days of sand and sun later, two new friends waited to greet. Two harnesses full of jingleys and smiles across their visages was a salutation to warm a gal's heart. Jake and Landon. They have more brawn than brains but their gear left me salivating. I struck up a conversation and their pleasing dispositions just added to the charm of their musical rack of gear. We danced the dance of climbers at the rock,
"You ever been here before?"
"Nah, first time. You?"
"Not without a local!"
"What do you climb?"
"Do you plug gear?"
Where are you from?"
"Been to The City yet?"
"Gotta get the book!"
and it goes on.
We ended up sharing ropes and phone numbers. I look forward to spending days with them. And showing them how to best abuse their shiny gear, as they have nary a clue. 'Tis rare that I find someone with nuts on their harness that knows less than me about how to fare on a crag. I hope we learn together. These two Sweeties have just started their journey on the slab and I am anticipative of a reciprocation of learned knowledge.
Since the arduousness of Eagle was well beyond the capabilities at hand yours truly decided to take another hike in search of anchors from which to top rope. Left or Right? Right it is. Hubby and I started off with ropes, slings, harnesses... that's all we need, right? Rocks come from somewhere and if you hike along the base long enough you'll eventually find their starting point. But why wait?! See, that staircase right there? It looks built for a limber girl in sandals!
Oh the joy of scrambling. Candied hindrances melt into puzzles of the flesh and a passion is renewed. How can I forget that there is so much more to climbing than...climbing? There is hiking, plowing, reading, guessing, estimating, dragging, carrying, discovering! A mere climb at the archetypal roadside crag is nothing, it is a speck of that infernal sand down there, compared to this. CLIMBING. Seeking. Yes, seeking.
Ignoring the admonitions of safety that floated behind me, I instead pitch myself headlong into the elation of the scramble. Tearing off dried moss and begging my legs to bear my inexcusable weight I made it to a mesa of wonder. I brought my Ghost with me and inwardly sang in the breeze. A golden eagle soared just past, wondering at the loss of his solitude. I apologized for the intrusion. The flat landscape belied the spectacle of basalt just below. What a feeling! On a plain with visions of wagons of the past and a view of the treacherous Snake River below. Like a secret that so few know, just down there, just over that ledge, lies an enigmatic beauty. A marvel to be relished, that rock will not give up secrets to simply anyone.
A cool and breezy walk to the precipice allowed enough time to cool from the heat of the hike. A quick holler to check the position of the grounded and it's time to search out an anchor. With much back and forth from the peanut gallery a suitable anchor was located. Another round of safety admonitions and a quick check of gear (CRAP! Forgot the belay devices! *Smack self on forehead*.) a compromise between safe and seeking was reached.
The sketchiest top rope endeavor ever known was set-up and 80 feet of blue rope dangled down either side of those rusted chains. Exhilarating. A kindly niece sends up a belay device and one of the most stimulating open air rappels I have ever experienced ensues. How could I have forgotten what pure fun it can be to bounce off a wall from 70 feet up, on nothing more than a 10mm piece of twine? While not usually my most memorable portion of a trip, this rappel was nothing short of wondrous. Was it the the solitude? The sheer brazenness of the highly discouraged trip down the wire? Or was it the absolute freedom of being in complete control of my destiny in that moment?
I'll never know. But for some reason that rappel moved me. More than the climbing, more than the hiking, more than the sands. Flinging my body from arete to arete was more than freeing, it was... cathartic.