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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Original Post - Feb 16, 2009 - 03:09pm PT
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Being and Nothingness in the Gully
2/16/09
Well before climbing gyms made it possible to stay inside and work on our art, we had actual seasons, and these were always outdoors surprisingly. I mean both the weather and the sports periods. Yes that’s right, always outside. So come early March, depending on how the Valley weather patterns were posturing and how much of a snowpack was still hovering above, many of us knew it was time to get back in the trench. As Terray’s Conquistadores of The Useless---and there was plenty of that Uselessness back then---we found that at the start of each season the little paper plates of our lives were really loaded down again.
It was daunting having to face off with The Useless once again and for yet another year when the granite got dry and warm enough to talk to it. Handling The Useless was pretty heady stuff; it was a dangerous isotope, a form of Nothingness which in the end has always been fatal; it tends to annihilate, you see.
One such early season Vandiver and I were cantering like wild horses up the Column Direct and North Dome South face routes unroped on a kind of iffy afternoon. The sky was changing color; later on we could see a cloud bank approaching when we got above the rim of the Valley on the Dome. The climbing was going quite well; this particular time we were not caught behind anyone as we would be the following year when Al Steck and Dick Long wouldn’t let us solo through their roped party while they struggled to extract Dick’s or Wilson’s old-fashioned mountain boot stuck in the lieback up high. They were hammering on it, tugging, bitching and so on for an hour.
But this time the problem was---and it was a frequent problem for Vandiver and I--- we just couldn’t get started early enough because there was so much heavy lifting at the cafeteria that had come up, so many cups of coffee that had to get taken, all the beta, the data, the errata, the triviata to get pinned down before tying in, that to get going was actually pretty much secondary, frankly after-the-fact. Important times these. We apparently were in that nebulous fractious period between The Golden Age of American Rockclimbing and The Brave New World of American Rockclimbing and felt nameless. There was kind of a friskiness about many of us; we had no burdensome “Era” in which we were supposed to figure out the next logical step as we piggybacked the whole era thing around for a decade.
We may now refer to this interregnum as The Mop-Up of American Rockclimbing, after Royal’s frequent dictum that after the late 1960’s we had reached the end of any future rock climbing such as had been when he was at the helm: “It’s all a mopping up operation now” he liked to say back then, wine glass in hand. Leaving me with with what, I pondered. So knowing not the name of our very own period or that we even had our own period, we were desperate to make our marks in the fog whatever it might end up being named---if in fact we would ever get our own name--- off we would often go so as not to actually usher in the cafeteria’s lunch crowd, still appearing in good form to only have breakfasted, albeit exiting by 11:30 at such point.
As usual we had absolutely no use for water, food or extra clothing as we swirled our way up the 18 pitches of the combined climbs. Such things weren’t the point at all, actually and it was always important to stay on topic. We might not even have owned “extra clothing”. The plan was always to bag the day’s work in about 2-3 hours and get back to the cafeteria of course where the real people were and the issues of our time pondered and then tabled for the next morning. From the outside, we must have looked like mere decorative koi or perhaps slowmoving features in someone’s terrarium; the euros had no trouble stealing our pet turtles many times for years to come. I guess in a way, we were euro-placeholders actually; we were safeguarding first ascents so the more talented euros could have them.
Except this time----realize this was one of many identical ascents we made of the two routes---we were coming down the longest way possible, around the western side of the North Dome, for some reason----maybe snow--- and arrived at the beginning of North Dome Gully in the dark. And dark it really became because by this point the clouds had really piled up, rain was threatening, the temperature had dropped about 25 degrees in two hours.
Exhausted of course from all the needless extra work, the early-season climbing, the grinding trail-finding, and constantly tedious hiking in the upper stretches of the gully and rim, our barely post-teenage patience was really running out. We could hardly see anything at all with the cloud cover and the only equipment we had was turtlenecks, pants and shoes. No lights. Frankly we were dressed like the city boys we ridiculed but in fact were.
We began to make the terrible error of attempting to descend way too early, imagining the immense east face of the Column below us had already been passed in a couple of minutes and we were magically ready to descend the talus, scree and pedestals that take you home, that latter section of course only taking a few minutes as well.
Wishing for it does not make it any more real however. Even some children know this. I think we might have been flirting with the concept that our magical thinking actually was sound and clever legerdemain and not illusion at all. Stroke-of-genius stuff you see.
As many say, climbing accidents seem most often to occur on easy ground and at the end of the day or climb. A certain amount of magical thinking, self-delusion really, usually is involved and that state of mind is why we lose people or they get injured. It’s the thinking that is killing people.
So there we were dead beat, blinded by the dark, awfully young as well 21 and 19, waddling around off route in the redoubtable North Dome Gully descent with some fantasies working about how we are only a short bit from the Valley floor, not maybe the two or more hours it would take with these conditions. And a storm that clearly is going to let loose very soon.
At one point, I started to check out what seems another little drop I am supposed to make off a boulder stuck in the slope and in what we think is still the climbers’ trail, jumping onto what I believe is a nice puffy pile of scree 5 feet below it and then walking onwards. Thinking that I am supposed to third-class just right here. I had already done a couple such maneuvers in the last few minutes and that’s what they were, nice soft landings, and what seemed to be the trail to home as we unknowingly edged more and more away from the actual route down, closer and closer to titanic cliffs.
Launching once again, I hit the scree but in the dark it turns out that it’s scree alright, but on a steep slab---they’re ball bearings. As I rocket down a slabby chute which I can kind of see, albeit from every point of the 360 degrees of each of my x and y-axis rotations, the scree really helping to get the show on the road, I feel incredible relief for the end of all effort. A state that neatly frogleaps all more lengthy wasteful attempts at Nirvana.
How novel, I am glissading down a granite chute, how fun. Take 8 hours to climb the mountain, playfully glissade down it in 5 minutes, sort of thinking we all knew well but generally associated with snow. Fabulous, too, a kind of a 4-star rolfing effect, just what I needed after a hard day climbing. Or perhaps more like a session under the bare feet of a very pissed-off aging racist Geisha girl. Such pleasure!
As the nanoseconds and particles flew by and I awoke to the reality that such a chute could only be located above the last part of the huge East Face, meaning a gigantic dropoff onto talus was coming up any second on this bus route, I spread myself out as rigidly as I could and started digging my limbs into the many-petaled surfaces down which I was so inventively stone-glissading. The flips and cartwheels ended and I seemed to be getting somewhere stopping going somewhere I knew not where. So to speak. The absolute release and pleasure of a complete and total letting go somehow got wastefully trashed in an effort to stop cartwheeling and jumping down the formation that hated me and would vomit me out onto a talus field somewhere hundreds of feet below.
So lucky me, I did come to a stop, still on the slabs which had lessened in angle. Not quite concussed, but truly stunned to say the least, I didn’t move partly because to have stopped hiking and climbing for the first time in many hours was one of life’s sweetest moments and partly because I could barely think and was in quite a lot of pain. Scrapes all over, some real cuts, and a hip joint that must have been seriously injured and which took months to recover from. That was the inventory as regular-guy thinking pulled up to the bar rail of my crazed midnight tavern bar fight.
Vandiver was screaming my name 75 feet above me. It was annoying, why can’t he mellow out? What is his problem? It would be great if I could just sleep here now I thought. So for the first three screams I couldn’t be bothered dealing with that noise that was above me. Given a fourth scream, and by this point once again part of the human race unfortunately, I answered and gave him the details, proud that I was not maimed for life, maybe. And shocked and honored by the horror and anguish in his voice.
He carefully worked his way down the chute on his hind legs and reached me in a few minutes. His concern abruptly scaled down from terror to the regular complacency we all entertain towards each other when totally disfigured by fatigue and hunger. But for a few moments he had thought that I had disappeared over what we now could see was a hideous dropoff maybe five feet further from my final stopping point. The racket I had made playing in the chute---realize this was decades before Bandaloop Dancers----had ended suddenly suggesting to him maybe I had then gone flying.
Appropriately, the storm began just about then. It rained and then it tried to snow but we seemed to be just about at the snowline so instead of fluffy crystals it was most often frigid drops that grew more and more constant. By this point our eyes had grown able to use the scant light filtering through the clouds. We found a few feet away a large boulder with a tiny overhanging part on its downside under which we spent the evening, perching and intwined on a bare dirt hummock. Livesey’s Japanese Film-makers’ Grass was nowhere in site.
For some ridiculous and wildly mislead reason I had some matches. Never mind that they were maybe 20 years old, untested and taken from an old house I had bought in Santa Cruz; they did work and so we completely denuded a sad little tree next to us as night wore on, developing several generations of unique and artful fires to keep from dying in the freezing exposure. When dawn came we could see Half Dome across from us and the snow line evilly level to us, varying up and down a bit just to drive the point home that we were idiots. It took a few painful hours getting back to the actual descent path and down to the Valley and our coffee at the cafeteria. These March rains had tapered for a few hours but hung around still for a few more days allowing us to get back to the real Matters of State at the Lodge.
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Chicken Skinner
Trad climber
Yosemite
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Feb 16, 2009 - 03:12pm PT
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It is always a pleasure to read your stories Peter.
Thank you. How are the ears doing?
Ken
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Reilly
Mountain climber
Monrovia, CA
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Feb 16, 2009 - 03:20pm PT
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Bravo!
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Roger Breedlove
climber
Cleveland Heights, Ohio
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Feb 16, 2009 - 03:25pm PT
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"a kind of a 4-star rolfing effect" Good one!
So, Peter,
Did you find out what you had missed at the Lodge the night you and Vandiver spent under the rock?
Just checking. It always seemed to be really important.
Buzz
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 16, 2009 - 03:27pm PT
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thanks Ken, same to you.
Yeah the ears are completely healed; no more trapped crud or water and the hearing is a bit better even. More than expected. I will have another full hearing test in a couple of weeks to get a resulting measure. The main reason one has this operation is usually to prevent infection and the annoying problem of difficult cleaning, hearing improvements usually are secondary as apparently one can hear quite well even with most of the ear canal blocked by these exostoses. I completely recommend Dr Hetzler in Santa Cruz as he is the world pioneer of this less invasive technique.
Rog, you are always right, man. We clearly did have a gap problem for awhile; an entire night session missed. MIght as well have missed the whole season. Bridwell almost fined us. You know, like if you miss Rotary club lunch you get fined.
Wayne, v. funny!! You are ever so right and just look at the Valley Cams right now! I have to admit it still calls out to me.
best to you characters, ph.
PS KEN I am going to donate some more money to the Association in about a month by the way. It's been a little scary for the last five.
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wayne w
Trad climber
the nw
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Feb 16, 2009 - 03:29pm PT
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Great read Peter! It's almost March, again..
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Mighty Hiker
Social climber
Vancouver, B.C.
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Feb 16, 2009 - 04:53pm PT
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Thank you! It's easy to see that you're from Ashland, a town of Shakespeare and poets.
An awful lot of us have probably had similar experiences, and wondered why we lived.
Edit: I always take a small lighter and knife on longer climbs.
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Feb 16, 2009 - 05:00pm PT
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"Wishing for it does not make it any more real however."
Indeed. Matching up dreams with some chosen reality is part of what makes climbing (and life) interesting. Choosing or finding something that makes a good but not fatal adventure.
I'm glad you found a way to stop from going over the brink in that gully. And - matches? Nice backup plan!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Feb 16, 2009 - 05:39pm PT
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Five feet from the edge? Yow. Gripping story, well told.
For some reason I tried that lightweight {book of matches = enough bivy gear} theory several
times myself, always finding that it was much better than nothing but still not very good.
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Feb 16, 2009 - 05:56pm PT
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What a great story Peter!
And better yet, beautifully written. Makes me want to stir up one of my own soon.
Ashland? I'm an old school Smith Rocks boy from Bend, back in the days of the dinosaurs before the sport climbing revolution...
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John Moosie
climber
Beautiful California
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Feb 16, 2009 - 07:54pm PT
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What a great story. Thanks Peter.
"very pissed-off aging racist Geisha girl"
hahahaha.. thats almost more scary then your glissade.
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Jaybro
Social climber
wuz real!
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Feb 16, 2009 - 11:22pm PT
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You gonna join us for a BAWC event, sometime, Peter?
Please!
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 16, 2009 - 11:36pm PT
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Yeah, I will Jayb. I am attending to a few medical things at the moment and should be good to go soon. Can't wait, you know, your group is SO cool. Can't believe how enthusiastic you all are too, all the emails. It's like a village cornhusking!
best to you all, ph.
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Russ Walling
Social climber
Upper Fupa, North Dakota
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Feb 16, 2009 - 11:39pm PT
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These posts are exactly why there needs to be a SuperTaco depository of non-BS stuff.
I'm down stream arguing with Jebus, and this one slipped right on by..... the shame!
Thanks Peter! You 'da man!
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ß Î Ø T Ç H
Boulder climber
pads are for girls
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Feb 16, 2009 - 11:52pm PT
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I spent a March night on a small ledge about 300 ft up in front of Mirror Lake back in '76 or 7 after scrambling Ahwahnee Ledges to North Dome and descending below Basket Dome . Chief Tenaya must be workin' some bad medicine up in that whole area huh ? Thanks for sharing your stories with us . You inspire me to someday jot down some of my own stuff .
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:03am PT
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It is always startling how easily one forgets the gravity of an event which could so easily have ended all memories.
Given a fourth scream, and by this point once again part of the human race unfortunately, I answered and gave him the details, proud that I was not maimed for life, maybe. And shocked and honored by the horror and anguish in his voice.
Back to life, and facing a night out in less than favorable conditions, "...developing several generations of unique and artful fires to keep from dying in the freezing exposure. When dawn came we could see Half Dome..."
Amazing we go back and do it again, not exactly the same way, of course.
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Mimi
climber
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:19am PT
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Simply brilliant! The stuck Steck boot; how funny. Thank you again.
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Zander
Trad climber
Berkeley
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:22am PT
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Thanks for the story Peter,
Zander
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Doug Robinson
Trad climber
Santa Cruz
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:54am PT
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It was the bugbear of our generation, that drop off the edge of the Column, passed on in hushed tones at Camp 4 tables long before you brash upstarts figured out the Cafeteria. Going down too soon off the traverse into NDG -- no, we always spelled it all the way out -- felt like The Biggest Mistake in the Valley. And going out that traverse trail, way out, too far across just to be sure, it felt like you had to peek and peer downward because it was so taboo. And all there was to see was steep forest and decomposing slab and the murk of myth. And it was always twilight on that katwalk, and tired just to intensify the gloom.
Never until tonight did I hear of anyone skittering down into that maw and living to tell the tale. Glad you're with us my friend.
And what a writer.
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2009 - 12:07pm PT
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Got it Russ, thanks. Also registered.
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:23pm PT
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"the little paper plates of our lives were really loaded down again"
And thanks for loading down our little paper plates with another great read!
'Love these things Peter... almost as much as swimming around in the hot water of my offbeat follow-ups. Can't yet see my way through to any non sequitur soggy plate comments here, but where there’s a swill there's a sway.
Say there ... hey...
What about that Vandiver guy?
‘Only met him a couple times, leaning against a mop as it were.
Is it true one of his nicknames was "The Diver"???
Least that's what a nicely-naughty blonde girl I used to get roped up with once told me...
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scuffy b
climber
just below the San Andreas
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Feb 17, 2009 - 12:50pm PT
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Glorius, wonderful really, Peter.
Thanks so much.
sm
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2009 - 02:25pm PT
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Thanks Scuff.
Tarbaby, Vandiver lives in Graegle, CA up near Quincy, north of Truckee last I knew. He has married again, to a fabulous brilliant really attractive solid gal named Lori. They met in SLC a bunch of years ago. I have really liked all three of his wives (g).
Chris is now a builder and Japanese-style woodworker. He often is in the Bay Area on projects. In fact he and I were on the Larry Ellison Japanese Village estate project for awhile in Woodside and also the David Teece estate in Berkeley near the Claremont. He loves woodworking and is good at it. (I got him into it back in 1973). Anyway he does still climb some, pretty fit---hasn't had health issues, and looks about the same as he did in 1970. Amazing.
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Feb 17, 2009 - 02:35pm PT
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Interesting how some people hold up so well isn't it?
I'd guess Vandiver will always be lean and fit; lots of talent there.
Well, per your story, it looks like you were The (cliff) Diver on that particular day...
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2009 - 04:50pm PT
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No it's true Tarbaby. Chris was insanely active sexually when he was young. I am thinking maybe the most so of anyone I have ever known. I mean it really got in the way of much of his climbing the first 20 years, truth be told. He was like an Irish Setter really. At the time I was not aware that there actually were that many women in the Valley, surely he would have been in great peril, he might have had to repeat himself!
I think I want to do another short story, this time on Vandiver actually. He was so under-rated, as you suggest. Really talented. We were really close for most of about 25 years and still off and on. He has been through a lot but nowadays has a real, firmly established career, although as with all "private practice" it has its ups and downs. He was instrumental for Galen's career for quite awhile too. RR used to say Vandiver was the only climber he would climb unroped below. He was a ferocious boulderer and incredibly bold, still is by the way.
best p
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Feb 17, 2009 - 05:00pm PT
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Awesome.
'Would love to hear some good Vandiver stories.
Not exactly an unsung/unknown hero, but unheralded to a noticeable degree ... tales of his efforts seem somewhat lacking when you paw through the histories and appreciate the rich tapestry of players.
As a small side note, not that it is by any means the best example of his career or contribution; but are there not some pretty good pictures of him on an overhanging crack somewhere in Tahoe. Something that he had wired and did ropeless on a somewhat routine basis? I think it is 5.11?
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scuffy b
climber
just below the San Andreas
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Feb 17, 2009 - 05:29pm PT
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I got to climb New Dimensions with Chris and Galen in March
1977. It was the 1-year anniversary of my arm-squishing
encounter with a boulder below Arrowhead Spire.
Now, I'd heard stories about New D. Listened in on parking lot
descriptions that were, really, somewhat horrifying. e.g.
the last pitch...handcrack in a flare, then the crack just keeps
getting thinner and thinner, and steeper, and the flare keeps
getting more and more open, and you're just on fingertips with
no good feet...
or
150 ft pitch, and the last 50 feet you're in this relentless
lieback, you can't stop, totally desperate...
So Chris starts leading the last pitch, and, really every few
moves he stops, casually puts in a nut, casually chalks up,
totally resting on foot jams and knee bars.
Toward the top he's standing on these subtle heel/toes, he's
practically sewed the thing up, he's made it look like 5.9 at
the hardest. Busts out a few moves and he's on top.
I follow, with this advanced-class lesson fresh in my mind,
having quite the reasonable time, thinking how bad it would have
been had I been following my natural inclinations and just
tried to gun through it at speed.
I got up to those heel/toes, still fresh, pulled that #7 stopper
out from where he had "clicked" it between two bumps in the
crack, just as he had said, saw the choice of the two jugs at
top. Yes, he was right, if you grabbed the right one, your
balance would be off. Grab the left one and everything's fine
(though I may have that backward).
I think that may have been the biggest impact on my technique
that anybody ever had.
When you watched him climb, you didn't think about his strength
or fitness.
You thought about what a good climb it must be, to make him
move so gracefully.
But, you know, when it came to bouldering, he was also a
consummate sandbagger.
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2009 - 05:41pm PT
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That's what I am talking about too. And I guess we should have mentioned somewhere he is like, 58 years old now, still doing it.
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paul roehl
Boulder climber
california
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Feb 17, 2009 - 06:16pm PT
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Don’t you think it’s interesting that so many good or accomplished climbers are really such fine writers? From Herzog to Robbins to Rowell to so many others, it’s really pretty amazing. Haan’s accounts are always so compelling and a great pleasure to read. The Valley is such a center of adventure and individual struggle, such a focal point of intense experience and talented, introspective seekers, I wonder why no really great piece of literary fiction has been born there. There are certainly great examples of writing about climbing, accounts of really amazing adventures and so on. But who’s going to write that great novel that defines the experience for all time, that reveals the subtleties of why people are up there glorifying “useless experience,” a novel that gives us a defining sense of the place? Photographers and painters have done it, but I don’t think there is yet a literary equivalent to Watkins or Adams or William Keith. In fact, there are so few works of fiction that deal with climbing and have achieved the quality of literature. Off hand I can only think of Salter’s “Solo Faces.“ It’s time for writers like Haan or someone with that kind of skill and talent to make it happen.
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Feb 17, 2009 - 06:30pm PT
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Scuffy Said:
"When you watched him [Vandiver] climb, you didn't think about his strength
or fitness.
You thought about what a good climb it must be, to make him
move so gracefully."
I like that!
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2009 - 06:39pm PT
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I know Paul. Thanks for the comments as well. I do keep working on this in my head and the short stories are my starter kits.
So recently Tarbaby emailed something to that same effect but the problem was his proposed title was "Gone with The Granite". What was he thinking; he's still not through with his Lewinsky period he admits. No seriously, I follow your queries there and I think that excellent writing is rare, to get the overall grip for such a book is going to take some really huge creative thinking---some of it new too---and something much more than a corny approach to the plot or structure at any rate. Cohen had a book out, I guess I should find it and see what he did soon.
best p
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Feb 17, 2009 - 06:45pm PT
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Oh come now, given the correct treatment, I still say that title has legs ...
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Lynne Leichtfuss
Social climber
valley center, ca
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Feb 18, 2009 - 12:04am PT
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Peter's Threads don't ever slip by. It's just that their content and intensity need time to absorb and digest...to appreciate to the absolute fullest like a good cigar and a shot of tequila.
This was one of yo best. Your use of the language and phraseology along with how you couple words together to create brain pictures like the "paper plates of our lives" is beyond good.
Peter is a Story Teller from back in the days of Eskimos and Indians. The life of the culture is in the story. In Peter's instance....the climbing culture.
"Blinded by the Dark", Thick Dude. Nice, Lynnie
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Double D
climber
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Feb 18, 2009 - 12:22am PT
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Classic PH, just classic.
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MH2
climber
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Feb 18, 2009 - 12:54am PT
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I fear for your pet turtles.
Thanks for the great look under the lunatic dome of the brilliant Haan skull, birds flitting in the darkness and all.
Quite funny, too.
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Mimi
climber
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Feb 18, 2009 - 12:57am PT
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The title definitely grabbed me.
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WBraun
climber
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Feb 18, 2009 - 12:58am PT
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Where the F__ck is Vandiver now?????
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 18, 2009 - 09:12am PT
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Wern,
check upthread here, I go into where Vandiver is and what he is up to. Last time I checked he was doing great.
best p.
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couchmaster
climber
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Feb 18, 2009 - 10:58am PT
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Fish said: These posts are exactly why there needs to be a SuperTaco depository of non-BS stuff. I'm down stream arguing with Jebus, and this one slipped right on by..... the shame!
Thanks Peter! You 'da man!
This may have been repeated over 90 times and still these great stories just disappear off the face of the earth on this site. I'm nominating you Russ since you already have it started on the Fish site! Since this extra work will undoubtedly conflict with rock time, I'd recommend giving some internet savy kids the keys and telling them to load it up! Eventually people will just post to both places on their own.
Peter, awesome story telling for sure!
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Feb 18, 2009 - 01:43pm PT
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Great tale of a close call, Peter!
How many of those in North Dome Gully! Three rules; stay in the dirt, stay left and do not rappel!
If all else fails, improvise, the always unfinished fourth rule of adventure!
A couple of fabulous shots of Chris on Outer Limits taken by Jim Stuart that appeared in the 73 Ascent article by Bridwell.
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nutjob
Stoked OW climber
San Jose, CA
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Feb 18, 2009 - 02:47pm PT
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A generation of folks chanting "stay left" and "don't descend too soon" led to my own North Dome Gulley adventure... going too far and chattering til dawn on the edge of the cliffs east of there.
I think The Tao of Goldilocks applies here... don't descend too early, don't descend too late, look for just right.
And of course, it's always a pleasure to read your stories Peter :)
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