[at-l] Famous Winter Descents - The Parapacker Way

[sevy@conknet.com]

Mt. Adams - Pinkham Notch , NH
February 13, 1999

	The fondue flowed like lava as The Big Pot tipped on its side
	The special mixture cut an almost perfect "flonduidge"( the scientific
term given to the flow of fondue down a vertical face of snow,ice or
parapacker.)  " Purrrrrr fect a ! " chimed Milo Garcia as he waved to the
parapackers to come over and take a look.   
	The flonduidge snaked back and forth down the side of the mountain before
its pathway was lost over a slight ridge about halfway down.
	"Now my little friends we must wait!"  And wait they did for nearly 4
hours.  There were all 50 of the parapackers bivouacked in a perfect circle
around Milo Garcia, 5,000 feet up on a ridge crest in the Presidential
Range waiting for Milo to give the big Cuban thumbs up.
	Old Gus Emerson just coming off a 10 day shift over at the Mt. Washington
Observatory would later comment to the Conway Daily Sun, "  I swear they
looked just like a bunch of the Mrs' finger sandwiches all lay-in  there in
a circle ya know!"
	By now the little guys were getting real itchy to get off of Mt. Adams
before it got too late.  They especially wanted to make it to Gorham by
dinner for the AYCE fare. They loved salad bars and all that salad bars
meant to the American Plan.  Milo sensed their restlessness and stopped
puffing on the Big Cuban Windproof 90 cm long enough to speak, "Res Ipsa
Loquitor Comrades!"
	To which all the Parapackers replied, "De Flonduidge Loquitor !" which
literally translated means "The flonduidge speaks!"  The flonduidge now
gave off an iridescent glow as Milo Garcia rose to his feet and bid his
good men wait for him by the salad bar and to keep their heads down on
Route 16.	
	A cold stiff wind blew the cigar smoke back into Milo Garcia's eyes as the
first of the 50 little parapackers slipped down the flonduidge still zipped
tightly in their bivouac bags.
	Milo, still the stalwart retro-hiker,  was wearing his best long wool
overcoat and knee high hobnailed boots which nearly met the bottom of his
wool knickers.  He would take the classic descent as the last of the 40
inch bags passed over the ridge.

	Meanwhile Little Hector was the first of the little guys to hit the
"flulip" ( the term used to describe the aggregate mass formed at the end
of a flonduidge which has the profile somewhat like a wave)  By this time
in their long trek the little men were used to the big air and actually
looked forward to Milo's unique ways of dropping them quickly off the
mountains and into the trail towns.  The flulip was just enough to hurl the
bagged parapackers over the tree line and with a gentle 180 degrees and
taunt outstretching of their arms the guys were soaring down to Route 16
and a somewhat hard landing on the opposite snowbank.
	Now the hard part began.  The long time spent above treeline and the
windchill of their descent had frozen the bivy bags zippers solid.  
	So there they were 50 hapless parapackers on the side of Route 16 unable
to stick out there thumbs - they could just jump up and down frantically
when a car would approach.  I'm sure it scared the heck out of everybody
who passed them all standing there, jumpin and twitchin in them bags.  The
zinc sun block still on their noses reflected the car's headlights as did
their mirrored glacier glasses.  
	Alas along came Gus Emerson still thinkin about them finger sandwiches
when he saw the reflected parapackers jumping towards his '48 flat bed.
Gus hit the brakes but slid over the parapackers.  Luckily they remembered
Milo's final words and did keep their heads down - at least enough to make
it under the ole '48.  Well out jumped Gus and ran back to the sandwich
people.  "Please don't hurt me!  I didn't mean to run ya over!"  Little
Juan always the fast thinker replies, "We know kind man - will you take us
to Gaw woom !" "Yes, Yes!" the other parapackers joined in "Gaw woom, Gaw
woom , Gaw woom !"

	Milo just smiled as Gus and the Mrs. helped to serve the 50 little guys
grinning from ear to ear as they held their plates high above their heads
and weaved around the salad bar.

	Life was good, the salad was good and I am good thought Milo Garcia as he
slid back in the supple vinyl booth.  Milo liked the feel of a good booth.
A booth thought Milo was good shelter.

The Bamaman At'81
    

	


	
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