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 Page 6 of 7. Messages 1 to 20 | 21 to 40 | 41 to 60 | 61 to 80 | 81 to 100 | 101 to 120 | 121 to 134
A short story

3:38:42 PM
On 18/06/2005 P.N. wrote:
>Our swashbuckling hero had been stuck in Arabia, chasing locals from one
>end of the desert to the other. It had been six years since he had spoken
>English, even longer since he had tied into a rope and done battle with
>that, the most trying adversary - the mountain environment.
>He sat down at the desk, wiped dust off the PC screen and logged on. Amazingly,
>the password still worked after all these years.....He took a long swig
>from a Fosters. He winced with the familiar taste of Australia's worst
>export, distained by true Australians in favour of a VB or a Carlton. Fosters
>had been designed for the American market, which favoured lighter, watered-down
>versions of the full flavoured lagers that were enjoyed back home. Some
>things never change, he chuckled, and crunched the tin can with his left
>fist before throwing it into the waste-paper bin on the other side of the
>The pile of climbing gear - ice axes, snowstakes, crampons, ropes and
>rock boots - lay on the ground in the corner of the office, under an old
>surfboard, where he had left it so many years ago. He picked up the ice
>axe and made a few air swings, recalling the satisfaction of a solid placement
>in the ice - you could hang your whole body weight off the single tip of
>the axe if you placed it properly.
>He cracked open another Fosters and took a look out the window through
>the blinds. The afternoon had grown long, the sun was sitting low in the
>sky and the wind had picked up over the ocean. A lone yacht plowed through
>the breaks a few hundred metres offshore, keeling heavily to starboard
>as gusts carried its main sail. Seagulls milled around on the boardwalk
>in anticipation of the foodscraps that would invariably come their way
>from the many seaside bars and grills.
>He eased back into the chair and took another sip of the bitter tasting
>beer, going down much better now after the initial shock, and logged on
>to Chockstone.
>The beer was quickly slammed down...."Wha? Damn you Hexy!!!!"
>There would be a lot of work to do......
>It had been years since he had last checked email. When a stray bullet
>had taken out the sat phone there had been no option to get online in the
>desert. As a result the email inbox was full of unread messages. The most
>disturbing was an email from Michael, an old mate in Australia.
>>"P, I need your help, Hex has taken over Chockstone. He's now reached
>100,000 posts, most of them to himself, only a few of them climbing related.
>As you know, we'd been trying to set up Chockstone based on Neilo's original
>premise - an informative and friendly site for people to browse through,
>catch up on the latest climbing news, buy gear and pick up technical tips
>from more experienced climbers. All this was going great guns until Havashatwithexy
>came into force. It's taken over Chockstone, we don't know what to do.
>Please help! I've gotta go now!! Nothings safe any more...."
>He leaned back in his chair, now onto the third beer, and took a deep
>breath. He shuddered to think of the situation back in Victoria, Australia.
>He opened the drawer of the desk and looked down at the standard issue
>Browning 9mm, waiting patiently in it's holster. Eager for service once
>more - her majesty's secret service. The Browning was often called the
>disco gun as it was easily concealed and with silencer a shot would be
>barely audible in a noisy bar or disco. It had come into vogue during the
>so-called cold war - when every man and his dog was walking around Washington
>thinking he was James Bond replete with pistol, listening device and coder.
>He took another long swig from the beer and thought to himself - shite,
>there isn't much time.....
>Edited by Admin to remove an offensive term. 29/6/05

3:43:22 PM
Hey man this is called "A short story" not "A shit story"

On 26/10/2005 DJ Biggs wrote:
>True story
>Its a sunday night, about 11:30, the phone rings. "hello this is Conastable
>X is this Mr Biggs?"
>"Um yes"
>"And you're a key holder of Nightclub X"
>'um yes"
>"well we have a unit attending the scene right now are you able to attend?
> Sorry can I put you on hold"
>What the hell? How did they get my number? Why did they call me and put
>me on hold, are the police playing crazy mind games? Why haven't they
>called the owner instead of just a parttime bartender.
>"hello, stil there?
>"Yep, have you called the owner can't quite see why you would need me
>at the moment?"
>"Oh right do you have his number?"
>So what happened, seeing windows half ajar an enterprising individual
>thought it would be a good idea to edge 20m or so around a small ledge
>going around the building from a walk way three stories up to the nightclubs
>windows, once having reached the windows and finding them locked tried
>to kick them open and in the process knocked himself off the ledge.
>He managed to grab a venetian blind on the way down which was handed back
>with a bit of blood on it.
>In the end an abulance picked him up and I think he only broke a few bones.
>Thats a definite nomination for a darwin award, just wish I new how the
>police got my mobile number.

4:26:22 PM
Cross reference to 'Descents' thread (more stories), for posterity.


8:27:50 AM
Link to vwills post (on accidents and injuries thread), for posterity.


10:33:28 AM
Another ‘story’ worthy of cross-linking to this thread.

Andesite wrote 26/03/07 re his Kachoong experience …


9:43:08 PM
“A few days later, in searching the barracks of the Russian POW, in a room on the third floor, I saw a Russian scraping out the brains of another dead Russian POW into a tin pan, using a metal tool apparently made from the handle of a a cooking utensil. In reply to my questions, he denied killing the other POW, but admitted that he had intended to roast and eat the brain.

“A few days later, I caught a Russian with a piece of human flesh in his hand – it even had a piece of human skin on one side. He was gnawing it. In reply to my question as where he got the flesh, he said nothing, but just kept on gnawing on it with a grin. I had him placed in solitary confinement.”

Read out, approved by the witness and signed. Signed: Hans Rosenthal, Feldwebel.

The witness was sworn. Signed: Dr. Uhlig, Signed: Officer Ullrich, Certified: Secretary.

Case 034

In this case as well, prisoners were murdered to remove pieces of flesh from their corpses.

Documents to Case 304

Camp physician Stalag 305, Kirowograd, 29 November 1941


2:55:51 PM
>I shall create a link in the Short Stories thread to it for posterity.

A story by stugang, on 'Treasures/trash from my old hard-drive' Thread.


... and second x-link to a similar stugang thread re an old intro to climbing at Moonarie.

3:22:11 PM
Another X-link to another thread on Chockstone that contains interesting short 'stories'.

The 'Dear Simey' Thread .... particularly,


(... probably need to read some of the posts around it for context, but it stands OK by itself)?

10:30:25 AM

The swirl of the ground rushed at me with frightening speed.
I thought time was supposed to stand still in moments like these.

* * *

The day had started out pleasantly enough when I met her at the station, all bright eyed with anticipation of her first multi-pitch climb.

As we geared up the coolness of the morning was dissipating; the mist rising from the fern gullies to intermittently reveal in the early light the exquisitely mellow hues of yellow and orange sandstone towering above us. Our chatter was minimal as we both soaked up the ambience of this place and, I suspect, a degree of nervousness on her part; but it did not show in the smile she flashed me as I set off, the tinkle of my hex’s acting as a counter-point to the call of bellbirds.

The climbing was easy enough, but I started to become warm once I got into the rhythm of movement, sufficiently far above the treetops to be fully in the morning sun. It was going to be a hot day.

Early afternoon found us sipping from our drink bottles on a sandy ledge shaded by an ornately-weathered ceiling-arête leading out and up, to the anticipated summit book. At the end of the ledge, framing the panorama before us, a featured wall led to a line of weakness in the form of a dihedral - forming one side of the arête above.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, as I saw her eyeing up the intended line of our route.
“Okay with what I can see, but unsure about what is out of sight,” she replied.

Was that déjà vu? I can’t remember my reply now, but at the time it reassured her.

The exposure off the ledge was scintillating, and I involuntarily sucked in my breath as I committed to the moves. Higher up the corner seam closed off, and a flake led leftwards out to the arête. Near this was a horizontal break that looked good for protection. After placing a nut in it I relished the satisfying snick sound as the karabiner gate closed over the rope. I stepped up higher while pulling on an edge with my right hand.
The hold crumbled and I very nearly discoloured my underwear.
“Watch me!” I called backwards over my shoulder as I dropped the now useless bit of hold and eased up again with renewed focus.

Stepping around the sharp arête I could see easier ground up higher that led to the likely final belay spot, before the slope angled back out of sight in a jumble of Xanthorria grass to the summit. Although these beautiful plants are now fully protected, I thought it ironic that they were decimated during the two World Wars, due to their resin being used in the manufacture of cordite, the explosive which was used in rifle ammunition. They are endemic to these hills, and these ancient examples are safe enough in their inaccessible location.

The next few moves were probably the crux of the whole climb.
Splayed out like a huntsman-spider, I delicately rocked my balance point over my left toes but found the rope-drag on the arête holding me back.
“Slack!” I yelled, and was relieved to be able to complete the move.
Just above, out of reach, was a stretchy move to place the next piece of protection. I found what I thought was the right tri-cam nut for the placement and removed it from my harness. Put its sling between my teeth. Eased with tentative balance cautiously higher. I managed to grope it into the pod blindly, but as I attempted to seat it with a tug my crucial left foot placement slipped and I slowly cart-wheeled off the face.

The swirl of the ground rushed at me with frightening speed.
I thought time was supposed to stand still in moments like these.



“Uuunghh,” I involuntarily grunted as the rope went tight; hard across my chest.

I blinked at the merge of sky and treetops below as I gently pendulumed in the overhanging area under the belay ledge.

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” she screamed.


I took stock of myself.
“I… I think so,” I croaked back with RELIEF flooding though me as I realised I was okay.
The visual horizon tilted as I swayed to and fro on the rope.

I started looking for my prusik cords at the rear of my harness, but when I found them all I could think was ‘that’s queer; they are flailing about’.
Looking up I could see an end of rope receding fast upwards. My peripheral vision noted another end flapping idly beside me as I fully realised I was weightless.

A distant wail seemed to fffaaadddeee.

The swirl of the ground rushed at me with frightening speed.
I thought time was supposed to stand still in moments like these.

I’m so cold.

As my heart stopped so did-

10:55:26 AM
great one rod!!

11:54:05 AM
wow great one.

Organ Pipe
12:03:18 PM
Awesome story!
Bob Saki
12:21:11 PM
top notch Rod!

12:04:50 PM
Real life offers up the best stories. Cross-link to a bomber pro one (here) for posterity..

1:53:48 PM
X-Link to an Eduardo Slabofvic inspired short story (still undergoing construction on another thread), for the record.

10:05:54 AM
> the mist rising from the fern gullies to intermittently reveal in the early light the exquisitely mellow hues of yellow and orange sandstone towering above us

What did you have for breakfast Rod? :-)

5:25:11 PM
On 23/02/2008 MRS. REDZONE wrote:
>On 23/02/2008 Capt_mulch wrote:
>>> the mist rising from the fern gullies to intermittently reveal in the
>>early light the exquisitely mellow hues of yellow and orange sandstone
>>towering above us
>>What did you have for breakfast Rod? :-)
>probably a cracknup. i hear they R a good source of iron and according
>to another thread even Sly uses them.

Sounds like my kind of gear...

3:55:18 PM
Feedback silliness regarding the story ...

Re ...
>> the mist rising from the fern gullies to intermittently reveal in the
>>early light the exquisitely mellow hues of yellow and orange sandstone
>>towering above us

On 23/02/2008 Capt_mulch wrote:
>What did you have for breakfast Rod? :-)

On 23/02/2008 IdratherbeclimbingM9 wrote:
>Can't remember ...
>I died !

Capt_mulch replied:
>You must have OD'd on too much gravity!

>Yeah I can see that.
>Newspaper headline ~> dietician/coroner determines that too much gravity for breakfast can lead to a grave outcome ...
>Heh, heh, heh.

On 23/02/2008 CRAFTY crazycat wrote:
>probably a cracknup. i hear they R a good source of iron and according
>to another thread, even Sly uses them.

Since I died I am on a diet, as cracknups are quite difficult to obtain these days!, ... though this is irrelevant as the story did not mention them anyway.

5:17:57 PM
X-posting for posterity (and to make it easy to find again sometime down the track for story-aholics), of a ‘story’ by kp on the ‘Burnley - In need of some work’ thread.
~>Interesting to see the context on that thread, and also interesting to see what inspires people to write 'stories' ...

On 5/03/2008 kp wrote:
>I must say that i am mightly concerned about these developments.
>As a regular user of this facility, i was unaware of the disruption this
>"unscheduled route setting" would cause. My good friends Yuji and Francois
>travelled all the way from southern France to sample this great wall.
>It has quite a reputation on the international circuit.
>Anyhow, we had just started to commence our 36 move warm up circuit on
>Saturday morning, when we were confrounted by 5 hooded individuals at approximately
>5:30am. I introduced myself, to try and ease the tension. One balaclava
>adorned individual parted ways from the pack to greet me. His steely glare
>hidden by a rather femanine set of spectacles.
>I greeted him in a most friendly manner.
>"Bonjour gentlemen"
>He sneered back at me.
>"What are you looking at mate ?!"
>Ï responded,
>"We are trying to train for Beijing 2012, but your problems... they are
>very... shall i say, easy"
>Grinding his teeth and raising his voice.
>"Well, this ain't Paris mate and I sure ain't going to take cheek from
>a mofo such as yourself. It's time to rack off frogies, we are going
>to mess some s#it up".
>Francois and i were in shock. We had never experienced this type of behaviour
>on the streets of Paris before, nor heard such crude language in a public
>arena. Francois was so upset at this point that he decided to cancel the
>circuit and leave immediately.
>"Í will not put up wit zis behaviour". He then proceeded to walk to Victoria
>street, to eat crossoints and escargots.
>Yuji on the other hand grew up in downtown Tokyo, and he made it clear
>that he wasn't going to have a bar of this heavy handed behaviour. He
>once told me that he worked in a gang as a youth. It's a legimate career
>for wayward youths in those parts. He's division was in the procurement
>and sale of driftcars to overseas clients. If there was one thing that
>Yuji learnt from this brief stint, was to never let your guard down. Ever.
>My heart skipped a beat. Yuji had just fallen off the circuit. 33 moves
>out of 36. He knew that this spelled the end of the day, and possibly
>the impending European circuit in two weeks time. To say that he was unhappy
>was a massive understatement.
>Yuji rose from the ground pointing at a yellow uncarved block hold.
>"Yis hold, i am zure it moved".
>He was right. It seemed that all the holds were now moving. The holds
>were being removed from inside the wall. Yugi was furious that his session
>had been rudely disrupted and he would no longer be in peak condition for
>future events. He bolted to the back of the wall. And removed his toothbrush.
> Or what seemed to be tootbrush, it actually doubled as a flick blade.
>*Crash... bang*
>He charged the offenders but was soon overpowered. His ninga like reflexes
>were no match for four trained thugs awaiting him, allen keys in hand.
> The flick knife dropped to the ground as Yuji began his retreat. Jumping
>into the Yarra, he began doggy paddling across the river leaving me alone
>at the scene.
>I jumped to the flick knife, knowing that it was my only chance to get
>out of this hell hole alive. However, like a scene out of a lifesaver
>competion, i was beaten to the prize by a more athletic competitor. His
>decidingly small hands were quick. I knew that wrestling with him would
>prove fruitless, as allen key bandits were still on the loose. I quickly
>rolled onto my feet. Months of parkour training in London had made me
>as nimble as a quail and ready for such a situation.
>I dashed from the scene. Before i could escape i felt a distinct tug
>on my jeans.
>Close my friend but no cigar, i thought. As i heard him crash into the
>concrete path.
>As i looked back on the scene i saw the common thug laughing in delight.
> He had captured our only guide to the area. Like confetti at a wedding,
>the PDF was ripped up and thown into the Yarra, as the thugs screamed in
>"Viva la revolution!!"

10:32:32 AM
Another x-link.

This time to an andesite short (real), story 'Lucky', on the Accidents & Injuries section.

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There are 134 messages in this topic.


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