Red River Gorge in the summertime is not for the faint of heart. The stifling humidity and sweltering heat provide a one-two punch capable of deflating even the most adventurous soul into a sweaty mass of whining and complacency. The bugs bite, the snakes lurk, and bears come lumbering around in an effort to drive the masses back to their backyard barbeques and air conditioned lifestyles. The local flora, even, aides the fauna in their attack upon trespassers. Poison ivy, poison sumac, and poison oak will leave you itching, stinging nettles will leave you cursing, and at every turn rhododendron fields make movement laborious and claustrophobic. Still around? The indigenous people of the 3rd poorest county in the nation will steal the lint out of your pockets should you turn your head for a second.
For those who choose adventure over comfort, however, the memories of those two low humidity days, the trips into lexington for liquor, and that(those) near death experience(s), are more valuable and enduring than the bugbites, sunburn, or hangovers. The Red in the summertime can be grueling, but the experiences are authentic, lasting, and worth the steep price of admission.
This past weekend, for me, was a reminder of these truths I learned last summer. My Thursday-Sunday trip was rich with stories of sketchy offroading, rainy day crag hunting, a keg of Newcastle with the Miguel’s crew (including the man himself), and excellent climbing. Did I send anything of note? Absolutely not. Didn’t matter at all. A bottle of Ale-8, a good slice of pie, and a group of friends to sharing stories. The good life.
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