I bring to you a tale of woe
Of freezing levels none too low
The angst of climber's will have its way
Manifesting in the form of spray

The rain fell down, the rock was damp
There was a spray war 'bout smokin dope at Muir Camp
Way before five it was dark out-of-door
Just as Caveman made post seventeen-O-four

Oh please, oh please let the cold wind blow
And end this boring tale of sorrow
For it is true that climbing in November sucks
'Cept maybe for a few of those far-north Canucks

Weekend after weekend you'll sadly find us
On the Muir Snowfield, though it's quite tedious
We ski the crud, the crust, and the chunder
"Isn't there something better?", I certainly do wonder

So pray with me now to the Goddess of Weather Almighty
To make the ground cold, pretty, and whitey
And deliver unto to me with no further delay
The new ice-climbing boots I ordered Sunday

And deliver us all to the kingdom of ice
And spare us from huge wingers, oh-so un-nice
Let my ice screws and specters and screamers remain still untested;
Let my ice-leading skills not by the conditions be bested

May Oregon Jack this winter stay blue
Let no more red stains mar that color so true
And for Dan let Drury not be the site of laps
And in Lillooet let me meet more cascadeclimbers chaps

Let the powers that be keep the Phair Creek road open
'Cause "A Phairwell to Arms" just looks totally dopin!
And bring Carl's Berg in, just huge, blue, and fat
So I can test my mettle against that

Let this year's Lillooet Ice Climber's Fest
Be by far and forever one of the best
And deliver by mail the long-promised map by Lyle and others
Who've been playing all summer, enjoying their druthers

Please protect me from evil in the Reynolds Bar
I don't want no trouble from the bad-asses in thar
Oh, and I'd like to meet Fred, living legend that he be
And have him lead some heinous ice route for me

Or perhaps show me his little black book
And tell me the tales of routes that he took
Better yet let me in on his secret attracting-babe-charms
'Cause it seems that he always has one on each of his arms

Please don't bury Mike and Ray in the snow
Right beneath that crappy old Alpental flow
Let Phil and his buds work first ski descent magic
Bring us more snow than last year, it was really quite tragic

Let Alex and friends finish the Washington Ice guide
Cause the few routes I know are tired and tried
Freeze up Alpental, Vantage and Tumwater Canyon, along with the Gorge (what the hell?)
Yes that's what I'm after: A real long, real cold spell

And for me, just for me, let Silk Degrees touch the ground
I don't want to climb the rock again, monkeying around
I pray that my leaders head really does jive
And by seasons end I lead water ice five

So here I sit on my ass making rhyme
Just wasting and whiling away my time
Mr. Parker says, "Soon the iceman will cometh."
"And we'll all go out and get us someth."

Amen