The guts of A5

I am winding down the final few hours of my Hot Tub Technician career here in Mammoth Hot Springs. I started this gig on May 20. It ends today. It has been a good run with a good crew on Mammoth Maintenance. But it is time to move on. I look forward to once again climbing behind the wheel of a Bombardier R-12 this winter down at Snow Lodge. I check back in for the winter season on December 2. Giving me two weeks off. I am hitting the open road tomorrow and heading to Texas for Thanksgiving. Emily will meet me there, and we will drive back to Yellowstone after Thanksgiving with the family on the Texas coast. Em has been in Alabama since October 30 spending time with her mom, friends, and other family members. If all goes to plan, we will reunite at the Houston Amtrak station on Tuesday. Em is riding the rails from Birmingham to Houston. Then we will head to Port Aransas on the Texas coast with the family for Thanksgiving. My final Hot Tub check is done. I stare out the window of A5 at snow covered Mammoth.  Hot Tub Technician days behind me. Soak on.

Lightning cracked: Lighting the sky: Brilliant: Silver: Blue: Yellow:

Virgil: Squats amongst boulders: Peering out across the rock-strewn landscape:

Crawlies dream of being: Pointy things protruding from upper lips:

Clothing clings to rotting flesh: Time marches on:

One creature lusts the soul: The others yearn the flesh:

Bats circle in the crackling sky above: Honing in on Virgil’s scent: For the Master:

His would be minions marching through the night: The never-ending mission to feed:

The Army of the Dead turned out to be a bad idea:

The Count: Thought they might come in useful: In his quest to rule the world:

They proved an uncontrollable mob: Impossible to threaten:

Hunger of the most gluttonous locust: All living flesh devoured in its path:

Leaving The Count: Little human candidates for conversion:

Virgil: Just the man he needs on his side:

To master the Army: Who blindly followed: Never heeded:

Virgil: Reserved for special treatment: The Count: Not going to allow:

Eternal gnawing of the Army of the Dead: Will not get in the way:

Apprehension: Conversion of a right hand man:

Racing thoughts: Drive Virgil’s feet forward: Boulder hopping slick rocks:

Between lightning strikes: Thunder claps: The Count: Pursues:

Modern day Nosferatu: Minus hook-nose: Dismounts his supple steed:

Suckling a nip: Before setting off on foot: Across the moraine:

The Live Undead: Trudging some distance behind: Along the road:

Soon to lose itself: In the boulder field of the moraine:

The moraine of Black Glacier: Zombies aren’t built for mountain travel:

The storm clears: Full moon rises in above The Weaver: Piercing the starlit sky:

Virgil: Knows of a cave: Nestled in The Weaver:

Above the moraine: Above the glacier: Tucked into the Bergshrund:

Above the mother of all crevasses: At the bottom: The Count: Bothering no one:

Virgil: Thinks of ambushing The Count: The Army will not it make above the glacier:

Virgil: Always flees with his pointy things:

Crampons: Sharpened wooden handled ice axe:

Below The Count: His full arsenal: Pointy things:

Virgil: Reaches the foot of Black Glacier: Ever retreating as the globe warms:

Truly a Black Glacier: As much rock and dirt as ice:

Deadly slick spots: Dropping into deep and dark crevasses:

Bottomless: Un-escapable:

Virgil: Gingerly wrestles: Pointy things from pack:

Clamps on crampons: Loops the ice axe strap around his wrist:

Glances back down the moraine: Spies the figure of The Count:

Nimbly plying the boulder field below: Gaining rapidly:

The Army has reached the edge of the moraine: They descend on The Count’s steed:

Zombie Power Bar: Final screams echo: Off the walls of The Weaver’s Cirque:

A mere hors d’ oeuvre: Ravenous mob never satisfied: Eternal curse of the Live Undead:

Questing out onto the moraine: Driven by the search for fresh flesh: Sniffed on the wind:

Boulder hopping skills lacking: Zombie March into boulder field:

Slipping and sliding: A necral pratfall of manic proportions:

Cries of frustration: Brainless zombies wallowing in their mire:

Virgil: Can’t help but giggle at the spectacle: The Count: Pauses and looks back:

Evil laugh echoes through the cirque: Event of utmost humor:

Emotion zombies no longer enjoyed: Bonding man and Vampire for a fleeting moment:

A truce in the never-ending war: But a brief truce: Nosferatu: Pursues the chase:

A few intrepid zombies: Navigating the moraine: Successfully:

Three Quarters down: One Quarter left to battle the glacier itself: Minus pointy things:

Virgil: Heads up glacier: Slow going: Terrain no zombie can navigate:

The Count: Another matter: Intrepid mountaineer:

Pioneer of countless Black Glacier routes: Nocturnal climber of distinction:

But Virgil: Will lead him on The Astral Plane: A route The Count knows nothing about:

A route to the heart of the bergshrund: Virgil: Knew he would follow:

Nothing would stop The Count: Mission of utmost importance:

The Count: Now on Black Glacier: Following Virgil’s tracks: Pointy things:

The Count: Protruding: Pointy things: Vibrating in anticipation:

Yearning for blood: The door to the soul: Pushing ever upwards:

Zombies below: Step on the ice: Sans pointy things:

Slipping: Sliding: Crashing: Hurling: Plummeting: Damnation of Eternal Crevasse:

Virgil: Stops: Listen to screams:

The bergshrund ahead: The Count: Below:

Virgil: Reaches the head of the glacier: Gazes down into the bergshrund:

He rigs up his rope: Rappels into the dark depths: Clicking on headlamp:

Scanning the walls for the cave: Lamp lands upon the grotto:

Virgil: Swings into the entrance: Finding firm footing:

He unhooks from rope: Pulling it down into the cave:

Clicks off his lamp: Sits and waits:

The Count: Reaches the crest: Drops into the bergshrund:

No headlamp needed: Nocturnal eyes peering:

Virgil: Squatting in the dark of the cave wall: Waiting:

The Count: Sees the cave: Swings over to its entrance:

Virgil: Leaps up: Knife in hand: Slicing the rope: Plummeting Count:

Crevasse below: Bouncing off walls:

Descent stops: Grabbing a ledge: Struggling up:

Virgil: Hears: The Count: Below: Curses his luck:

The game is not over: Arsenal of pointy things engaged:

Protruding: Tingling: Pointy things: Up climbs The Count:

Virgil: Sharpens his stake: Wooden ice axe handle: Double duty:

The Count: Emerges into dark: Scanning for Virgil: Not seeing:

Virgil: Swings in from above: Wooden Stake meeting its mark:

The cries of the damned: Echo: Through Black Glacier:

Unite for a moment: Disappear into the depths:

Makes extra sure the job is done: Multiple stabbings: Lifeless Vampire:

Dragged to the rising sun: Body devoured by light: Pointy thing necklace:

Virgil: Heads up The Weaver: Gazes on the chaos below: Consuming the world:

Virgil: Deep into the mountains: Sole companions: Pointy things:

Em's Launch

Chile Flashback: Parapente Date: August 30, 2009: Iquique is a mecca for parapente (paragliding). The conditions and geography make for primetime parapente conditions year round. Some of the most ideal and consistent parapente conditions in the world. The thermals funnel in off the Pacific up the couple thousand foot coastal escarpment that climbs from the ocean up into the Atacama Desert above Iquique, which is sandwiched between the ocean and the coastal mountains behind it. The takeoff zone is up on the edge of the otherwise bleak Iquique bedroom community of Alto Hospicio. Suburbia Atacama style. The takeoff looks down on the dune system of Cerro Dragon, which backs Iquique, and the city and beaches of Iquique. The Pacific stretches off into the horizon, a field of blue offsetting the Atacama brown. Landings are on the sandy beaches of Iquique or the dunes of Cerro Dragon. Our landing would be on Playa Brava, the closest beach to our house.

Preparation

Kill Bill 3

Em was hesitant to fly at first. But after much deliberation, she decided to go for it. Earlier in the week, I signed Em and I up at Avitours on Baquedano. Avitours contracts out with parapente companies for flights. I signed us up for Sunday at 10:30 a.m. 30,000 Chilean pesos a piece. Our pilots would pick us up at our house. And they did. Our pilots, Jorge and Daniel (if my hazy memory serves me correct), showed up just after 10:30 a.m., and we climbed in their rattly car. They were a jovial pair:

Jorge: “Is this your first time to parapente?”

Us: “Yes.”

Jorge: “Me, too.”

Scoping the take off

We rattled over to their shop and grabbed all the neccesary gear, as well as our shuttle driver. He would drop us off up in Alto Hospicio, get us launched, and meet us down at our landing spot on Playa Brava. The five of us squeezed in the small car and rattled up the switchbacking road to our Alto Hospicio launch spot. Being a Sunday, the launch spot was kicking with all kinds of parapente action. One of the first things we saw was a solo pilot take off and just as quickly plunge down out of sight towards the road below. Everyone ran to the edge to see if they could see his fate. Luckily, it did not end on the road on the front of a semi. He crash landed on the sloped desert above the road, and struggled his way back up the hill with his chute for another go round. Shaken but undettered, he would successfully take off a little later.

Up, up, and away

Vuelos en parapente

After that death defying excitement, we all got geared up. Em and Jorge would go first. Their running start put them airborne. They dropped a little towards the road, but soon found a thermal and circled up. Free from the ground, they were flying. Daniel and I took off 10 minutes later. I dangled in front of and a little below the pilot. I felt completely safe in his capable hands. We caught thermals and circled higher and higher. Alto Hospicio and the highway soon spread below. We circled and soared, over the dunes of Cerro Dragon, the streets of Iquique, and finally a soft landing on the sands of Playa Brava. We were airborne for just under 30 minutes. It was amazing. I can see why the diehards risk life and limb in their pursuit of flight. Soaring with the wind as your only propulsion is hard to beat. They offered to drive us home, but earthbound once again, our feet were up for some Iquique roaming. We said our goodbyes and strolled off down the beach, our heads still in the clouds.

Calles y Casas

Post flight celebration