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'Twas the Night Before Climbing

'Twas the night before climbing, when all round the rock
Not a dirtbag was stirring, not even a sock.
The tricams were hung by the anchor with care,
In hopes that a belay slave soon would be there;

The craggers were nestled all snug on their pads
While visions of camelots ran in gear ads;
And girlfriend in her helmet, and I playing smart,
Had just boiled some tea for an early alpine start,

When out on the face there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tent to see what was the matter.
Away to the first pitch I flew like a flash,
Tore open the rain fly, leapt over the cache.

The headlamp that lit up the new first ascent
Gave the luster of mid-day to my four season tent
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a portaledge, and a cragger with gear.....

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