The non-climbing crux of Shoestring Gully is crossing the Saco River, which you do pretty much right off the road. No crossee, no climbee.

I have had a lifelong fear of water. Specifically: cold water. Most bodies of water - at least those not typically found in a bathtub or jacuzzi - are cold. Bodies of water or coursing rivers full of water, particularly those in mountain environments, are invariably cold. I do not like to be cold (that's why I, er... ice climb...). Not to put too fine a point on it: I loathe being wet and cold concurrently.

[Skip to the point here, or continue reading details of my troubled youth and beyond.]

And not to get too far off the subject, but I believe my fear of water can be traced to the viewing of the following films, which I saw as a child: "The Poseidon Adventure," "Beyond the Poseidon Adventure," "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," "Jaws" (also, "Jaws 2," and "Jaws 3 [in 3D]"), "Raise the Titanic," "Orca," "The Deep" (though I didn't mind Jacqueline Bisset one bit; she was my introduction to the female form, at the impressionable age of seven, at a drive-in, no less), to a lesser extent, "Moonraker" (shark unleashed in pool), and probably one or two more I've surpressed. I don't know what it was about the '70s and early '80s, but there were an awful lot of disaster films being made, many of them involving water. Others that scarred me, mostly featuring more urban fronts: "Earthquake," "The Towering Inferno," "Rollercoaster" (featuring George "I play the banjo²" Segal and a young Timothy Bottoms³), all of the "Airport" films, "The Swarm," "The Day After," and, oddly, "Silver Streak⁴."

Probably the biggest single contributor to my fear of water and - at the heart of the matter - vessels made to transport people over water, was an old documentary I saw at a very young age that featured a reenactment of the sinking of the Titanic. I've always had an intense interest in that ship, more about the building and launching of, less so about the disaster - though the two are sort of difficult to separate (the book pictured above is quite good, and ruined me for life; also, my grandfather on my mother's side, Ralph McDaniel, for those scoring at home, was born on the day the Titanic sunk, 12 April, 1912). The documentary scared the hell out of me. I found James Cameron's blockbuster (which I saw on a plane) terribly ponderous, but the sinking was well done. I could have been spared Jack's slow death, however. That kid talked way too much.

Where was I?

Ah yes. Buddy Hackett⁵.

If Buddy Hackett had been in any (or heck, all) of the films above (and yes, I do realize that perhaps I wouldn't have been so affected if I hadn't see all of the sequels to all of the flicks that terrified me), then I have a very strong feeling that I'd be able to complete a lap at the community pool⁶, or enjoy a good jump off the tire swing at the swimmin' hole, or ride the ferry from Jersey across the Hudson to Manhattan without frantically looking for life boats and/or losing my lunch. Because Buddy Hackett would have made running around upside down in a capsized ship⁷, or wrestling with a giant squid, or being gnawed in half by a great white, or locating and relaunching (in one piece! Do your homework, Clive Cussler!) history's most unlucky vessel, or turning a real killer of a whale back into Shamu, or diving for contraband and fighting off a murderous eel, or dealing with crumbling earth, or trying to escape a burning skyscraper, or riding an exploding amusement park ride, or enjoying a good water landing, or survivng an attack of killer bees, or sledding in nuclear winter, or barrelling down the tracks in a runaway train - deep breath - Buddy Hackett would have made these things this and this alone: Buddy Hackett would have made these things funny. Somehow. Trust me.

But it was not to be. Buddy had other things on the agenda, apparently.

Following Brian's uneventful lead, I crossed the Saco, a short skip and jump over slick boulders, downed lumber and icy water, like an arthritic, hobbled giraffe. Without a life jacket.

---

²The banjo is cool.
³A far cry from playing our nation's president on "That's My Bush."
⁴I ran in to Gene Wilder in the lobby restroom at the Carlyle Hotel, New York, in the mid-'90s. It was a very hot day. I badly wanted to make a "Young Frankenstein" reference, but by the time I'd screwed up my nerve, Mr. Wilder was gone. There are other details I'm leaving out, and you should be thankful.
⁵I saw Buddy Hackett sitting in a bar at The Sands in Las Vegas a few weeks before the hotel was demolished. He was trying to have a drink in peace. He wasn't getting any (and it wasn't my fault, I can assure you). I could tell you more, but I'm not going to. Buddy Hackett is a saint. The French love Buddy Hackett.
⁶I briefly got into snorkelling on a trip to Anguilla. It was a huge acheivement for me. After a few days of exploring the reefs and beautiful underwater life, I had begun to venture further and further out from the shore. It's too long a story to convey in its entirety (lucky you), but suffice it to say that stingrays are better swimmers than I am ("I am not a strong swimmer"), but when scared stiff upon coming face to extremely wide face with one, I can do a pretty good Mark Spitz.
⁷My friend Adam hosted a party on a boat once. That boat, actually a lightship, was named The Frying Pan. It had sunk in dock in Maryland many years ago, had been recovered and is now rented out for various occasions at Pier 63 in New York. I had a lengthy, seemingly deep but more probably vague and clouded discussion about the merits of Richard Brautigan's work with my friend Keith in the rusty captain's quarters, and eventually ended up dancing shirtless to Jane's Addiction deep in the boat's hull, very late at night, before someone tossed me in a cab. I never got the shirt back. I had known the boat before the party. After it had been raised and transported to New York, it had sat an entire winter in the middle of the Hudson River, trapped in the ice. I used to walk out to Riverside Park, sit, and look at it. For hours. I suppose I related to the poor thing. One day I came out to see it, and it was gone. Little did I know, it had sold out.