I'm bold, I'm bad,
Only the mountains know who I am, The Reticent Hardman.
I slip through spray with skill and cunnining,
My climbs would deserve a Golden Piton if I were in the running.
But I'm not, for my ego, small and pure as it is,
Holds off on reporting climbs, small or big.
Most only know me by a secret avatar name,
I get on the net and declare actions lame.
It wasn't a first ascent and its not as hard as you said,
I did it back in '79, every pitch led.
I'm sick of the boulderers, slack lines and bowls,
Big numbers, hard sends, it's out of control.
I saddle up to my keyboard and turn down the lights,
This ranting post could take all night.
Tapping away at lettered keys,
I pen an electronic message designed to take posers out at the knees.
Rotten WI4 and scary 5.10,
I'd like to see any young gun repeat these ascents.
Bolted 5.12 and Mwhatever make me sick,
Stuck in my ways with no chance to improve is what makes me tick.
This fun little poem is a stance against the judgement of certain climbers in our community. They claim to rise above "spray", all the while playing climbing police and reveling in their hardness...all behind a fake name and a computer screen. I'm not losing sleep over it, rather just having fun with the idea. Ego is a central issue of hardcore climbing, whether we like to admit it or not. I struggle with my ego contstantly, but I never deride the efforts of others or claim my style to be "the way".