Teton Tales

John's mention of the Direct Jensen on Symmetry Spire brought to mind another 'Teton Tale':

My partner Jim and I were pleased with ourselves that we caught the morning's first boat across Jenny Lake, assuming that would put us first in line for our chosen route--- Symmetry's Southwest Ridge.  However, as we were crossing the Lake we noticed a fairly large group ( I believe there were 7) already a good way up the lengthy Symmetry Couloir approach. The boatman told us that it was Willi Unsoeld and a group of family and friends---their goal--the SW Ridge!!!!

About a couple of hours later when we got to the base, we saw that the party ahead was strung out along the lower pitches, with a few not yet having left the ground. We obviously didn't want to be below and behind them, so looked for another option.

The southern side of Symmetry, as seen from below, is roughly triangular in shape (hence the name!!!), with the SW Ridge forming the left edge and the Jensen the right. The face tapers significantly towards the top, with both ridges ( and the routes in-between) funneling together to share an easy last pitch. The Direct Jensen is both harder and a few pitches longer than the SW. It had received it's first complete and free ascent in 1953 by a party led by the same Willi Unsoeld, and at the time had been considered to be one of the hardest rock climbs in the range ( though had long since settled into a more modest rating of III, 5.7). In addition to that route, Willi had made numerous first ascents in the Tetons and elsewhere in North America, before moving on to climb in the Himalaya. His climbs there had culminated with the 1963 first ascent, with Tom Hornbein, of the West Ridge of Everest; at the time the most difficult route climbed by US mountaineers in the Big Mountains.

Given the circumstances, even though we were 'signed out' with the Rangers for the SW Ridge, Jim and I decided to be 'bad boys' and opted to climb the Jensen instead. The climb went well and we eventually arrived below the penultimate pitch. This involved a substantial overhang right on the crest and while not particularly difficult, was still strenuous, awkward, and intimidating, located in a spectacular position. However, I 'tapped into' my Gunks repertoire, and pulled through.

As soon as I got established above the overhang, I was startled to hear a voice, seemingly very close by, say: "Nice lead". I looked to my left, and about 50 feet away I saw Unsoeld's bearded face looking around the edge of the SW Ridge. I managed to stammer something like: "Nicer lead for you 20 years ago". Willi then said: "When you get down, ask the boatman to send a boat over to pick us up at 8." I don't now remember the exact times involved, but I knew that it was quite late, with no more than an hour left before the departure of the last scheduled boat of the day. I still had to finish my pitch, bring my partner up, do the joint last pitch and final summit scramble, then descend both the Upper and long Lower Symmetry Couloirs. I'd already resigned myself to ending the day by walking out around Jenny Lake. So, I responded to Willi, that I didn't think that we would make it down in time to catch the last boat. He smiled and said, "Oh, you will", before disappearing back around the ridge to tend to the rest of his team.

Jim and I finished the climb, without again seeing the other party, and started down. The Upper Symmetry Couloir involves some exposed third class and is a bit loose. The Lower Couloir is largely non-technical, but it is long and steep, with a lot of scree and gravel making for poor footing. It was relatively late in a dry season so there was no remnant snow for glissading. I am usually not fast descending such terrain, in fact, am quite slow, but that day, inspired by Willi's confidence in us, we raced down towards the Lake. I have never, before or since, made it down a mountain so quickly, and as we broke through the last band of trees above the shore, we were thrilled to see that the boat was still there--we'd made it!!!  Most likely, the boatman had seen us coming and delayed his departure---he was a great guy and did such things, but still, despite my doubts, we were able to deliver our message and enjoy a ride back across to end our climb.

It is amazing what a few words of inspiration can accomplish, especially when spoken by an icon!!!!

My heart and soul is drooling while my legs are aching. Many thanks to the posters. 

Another memorable one for the SW on Symmetry: 

These days camping at Jenny lake is more of a chore than enjoyable. You have to hit "refresh" on Rec.gov at exactly 8AM to reserve a spot 6 months in advance. Within 15-30 seconds, all sites are gone for that day if you're not quick on the mouse. Sites are for 1 car only and very tight parking makes turning a truck with a camper shell around impossible. Ranges prowl around constantly, and the host runs the place like a military installation. The only real reason to endure these hardships is to hike and climb in Cascade Canyon, for which it is perfectly situated.

We wanted 2 rest days after Buck North Ridge before hitting Symmetry, but our schedule got compressed and we did the best we could to recover and rest legs in only 1 day. In retrospect, the few Pako's IPAs we drank on the shores of the lake probably didn't help our recovery. That evening we were treated to dessert from our older neighbors in the campground who asked, "Aren't you supposed to do something relaxing during your summer break? Waking up at 3am to climb mountains seems kind of stressful."  They had a point. 

From the very start, the day was an ordeal. 10 mins before my alarm went off my eyes bolted open at the feeling of tremendous pressure on my ass sphincter, forcing me to run to the bathroom in my boxer shorts. My partner waited for 20 minutes while I dressed and composed myself. The walk around the lake was uneventful and we made the cut off for the horse trail, keeping an eye out for the trail up into Symmetry Couloir, which we missed and spent 10 minutes trying to find. I was semi-gripped climbing through the 4th class step and cut my finger open. There should probably be a fixed rope in that spot. My partner correctly headed climbers left into the couloir, while I went straight up and had to wallow around in krummholz for 30 mins. I should have worn pants. By the time we got to the base of the route around 8am both of us were thinking the same thing: bail and go swimming. But for some reason after we ate and drank, the rope found itself flaked out and somehow I was wearing climbing shoes. I guess we are go climbing after all.

Sometimes the actual climbing in the Tetons is the easiest part. The approach and sadly these days--finding parking--can be the crux of a day in the mountains. The Southwest Ridge of the Spire is awesome. I got the triple cracks crux pitch and was thrilled at the exposure above. The climbing was easy but not too easy, and we were in the descent gully before we knew it. If we hustled, we might even be able to make the last shuttle across Jenny lake. Very little water and snacks were consumed as we raced time. My memory is foggy, but we may have gone from the base of the route to the boat dock in an hour. It was too late for Dornans so we'd have to eat at camp. Walking past the new development at Jenny lake we were absolutely delighted to find the gift shop had a vast selection of snacks, and cold, cold beer. The elderly lady at the register gave me a side eye as she rang up my Pringles (and dip) and 2 Voodoo Ranger tall boys, but the young dude mopping the floor gave me a knowing nod of approval. 

We walked back to the Lake where the sun was still warming half-naked tourists swimming and wading in Jenny Lake. After splitting gear and yard-sailing the contents of our packs across half of the beach, we joined in. We spent an hour swimming, eating salty snacks and drinking beer, watching the sun fade and finally set just behind the Spire. For a time, it was the most content I had ever been in my life.  

Rich’s account of hiking around Leigh Lake to approach Moran reminded me of my 1985 slog. My partner, whose name I won’t name, refused to rent a canoe to cross the lake and save miles of mud and wet willows. He could have afforded to split the cost, but he was pathologically tight.

In mid-August, I was able to take a week off from work and share driving expenses to Jackson. We had climbed only one pitch together, before agreeing on the Tetons. We serendipitously shared a Jenny Lake campsite with my 6-year-old daughter, her pal, and her mother. I noticed that her mother was using my homemade sleeping-bag cover for a door mat for their tent and wearing the hoody I’d worn in Alaska in ‘81. I successfully requested return of my things that she neglected to caugh up when I had moved out of the marital residence, a couple years before. However, the joke would be on me.  

My partner and I warmed up on the Open Book on Disappointment and then the Snaz. There was yet enough time to go after South Buttress Right on Moran. We hiked around Leigh Lake and up into Leigh Canyon and bivied under the stars. We had decided to leave the tent behind and save weight. Instead, I would use my new old bag cover.

We swung leads up the route, freeing the crux pitch with the exception of pulling on one piece of gear. As I was leading the 7th pitch, the rain began. Snow soon mixed in. I managed to onsight the pitch, although my partner was angry because he couldn’t. After all, it was slimy, wet, and cold. He had to aid the eighth (final) pitch, which also angered him  

I left my #3 Tricam and biner to anchor our short rappel to the first rap anchor. We continued down to our bivi and decided to hunker down for the rainy night, which was soon to descend upon us. I shivered all night in my wet, lightweight bag, inside the leaking cover. I looked like a drowned rat as we slogged back through the morning mud.

I had to get back to work, so he took me to the airport. He demanded that I pay half of his drive back to Denver, while transporting some of my gear.

 “Would you pay half of my airfare?” I asked.

After more than a week, I met him and retrieved my gear from his new car. He related that he had met two guys and talked them into repeating SBR. It stayed dry for them, and he was able to free those last two pitches. He also retrieved my Tricam and biner and considered those his. The greatest irony was that they rented a canoe to shorten the approach. Karma, which I don’t believe in, at least in the usual sense, had the final say: when he was driving back to Colorado, he hydroplaned on wet pavement and wrecked his older car. 

I've been in love with the Tetons since 1989 when I first backpacked there with My Dad and Uncle.  Some of my first climbing experiences were in the Tetons.  My uncle took my best friend and I up the Koven Route on Mt Owen in the summer of 94 when we were 17.  We bivied on the moraine and then climbed/summited the second day.  As I belayed my uncle up the final chimney we saw a tall skinny guy around the corner by himself in running shoes.  We chatted with him on the summit and it turned out to be Alex Lowe.  Apparently his Exum client had bailed on him and he had left the trailhead only 90 minutes before. He was so stoked to see a couple teenagers on the summit and congratulated us on our first alpine climb.  He took our picture and then went off to solo the north ridge of the grand on his way to do the grand traverse. Apparently he set a speed record that day that stood few several years.  Such a nice guy and he was instantly one of my heroes.  I was so sad to hear he had died 1999.  I swung leads on the upper Exum the following summer (95) when I was 18 with my dad uncle and best friend and have climbed the Grand 7 times now and just climbed it last summer. At 47 I lead the entire complete Exum ridge and had an amazing day in July.  The Tetons always provide an amazing experience.  I also finally did the CMC route on Moran last summer and it was super cool and remote.

Just a few snapshots.  The Climbers Campground was an interesting place. Chouinard and Weeks slept in a couple of hollow spaces under an old abandoned cement steamhouse (or some sort of facility). One morning I awakened to Ken screaming and saw him ranting and holding his large water bottle. With a mouse inside. 

Another time, Yvon had a habit of not changing his dish of soapy water, leaving in sitting out. As I watched, a small bird lit thereupon and took a sip. And fell to the ground, dead. 

There was a Reed College student, disheveled and grimy, who hung around the campground. I called him Piltdown. One evening around midnight, when the campfire was embers and the temperature in the upper thirties, and after the others had left, I watched as Piltdown, in shorts and no shirt, smoothed over the remains of the fire and lay down upon it, apparently to spend the night. Other campers called him something else, perhaps Rich remembers. My guess is, Piltdown, who was a math major, eventually became a professor somewhere.

I can always tell a Teton climber cause they are always ahead of me on the approach 

I was utterly scandalized by my first trip to the Climbers Campground in, I think, 1961.

 Except for what one would nowadays call minimal instruction from a few Exum-guided climbs, I learned about climbing on my own, primarily from books. My impressionable adolescent psyche had been deeply influenced by the purple pro---uh, the lyrical writing---of Gaston Rebuffat. From his books, I learned about the beauty of the mountaineering experience, the brotherhood of the rope, the necessity of being fashionably attired at all times, and that under no circumstances was the leader to allow the perfect vertical line of his rope to be broken by pictorially distracting protection points.    

After suitably marinating in matching-patterned-sweater-and-knicker-socks idealism, I made my way to the Teton climbers' camp. Oh, the horror! The place was infested with badly dressed, apparently unwashed, and thoroughly unkempt degenerates, drinking, copulating, disrupting Teton Tea parties, roaring around the loop road in their Triumphs, sounding the Vulgaraphone, and indulging in all manner of activities impossible to carry out in woolen knickers. I feverishly consulted my copies of Neige et Rock and Étoiles et Tempêtes for protective incantations against these alpine demons, no doubt the same ones feared by the early peasants venturing into the heights for the first time. Now the dybbuks had somehow been transplanted from Chamonix to Jackson, screaming like the hounds of hell in the throes of a feverish blood lust stimulated, perhaps, by the tell-tale scent of my dry-cleaned climbing outfits.       

As I cowered behind Orrin Bonney's teepee, watching the End of Days in progress before me, I realized that the apocalypse had arrived, probably during my AP Calculus class, and that from now on Fire and Brimstone would be replacing Starlight and Storm. Still, I managed to cling to one eternal verity: these were not Real Climbers. No way.

Rgold, I hope you are putting this stuff in a collection of climbing stories. Priceless. Thanks!

Starlight and Storm. Very popular in the 1950s and 60s among young climbers. I first met Layton Kor in the Tetons around 1959 or so, and we bouldered together at Jenny Lake a few times. I have a memory of him doing the traverse of Falling Ant rock, talking without pause as he stretched his long body across the slab, a visual reincarnation of Gaston Rébuffat, alpine sweater, corduroy knickers, colorful argyle socks - but in lieu of heavy boots, Kronhofer klettershue. I felt virtually naked, in shorts and t-shirt.  

Rich, do you recall the Barefoot Contessa? An attractive young lady who, I recall, accompanied her uncle(?), the traveling entrepreneur who sold Indian objects out of the back of his car. He would load his vehicle with oranges and Pepsi cola and spend time on Reservations, trading and dealing, then drive to the Tetons (climbers campground) and other parks to sell his goods. She climbed the Grand Teton barefoot.

John Gill wrote:

Rich, do you recall the Barefoot Contessa? An attractive young lady who, I recall, accompanied her uncle(?), the traveling entrepreneur who sold Indian objects out of the back of his car. He would load his vehicle with oranges and Pepsi cola and spend time on Reservations, trading and dealing, then drive to the Tetons (climbers campground) and other parks to sell his goods. She climbed the Grand Teton barefoot.

Hmm...nope.  Maybe before my time as my first visit was in 1961?  I think the person you called "Piltdown Man" might have been someone others referred to as "Pigpen."

Not the Climbers Campground,  rather the Jenny Lake campground sometime in the mid-sixties.  Left to right, Bob Williams (RIP), Peter Gardiner (???), and me.

Another 'Teton Tale'---not so much climbing but following up on the campground theme, and a footnote to Teton climbing lore worth recording.

For years there was an enigmatic bit of graffiti in the bathroom of Rock and Snow in the Gunks that said: "Campsite 38 Lives"--this is the story.

As John and Rgold have described, for several decades the Climbers Camp, a disused former Civilian Conservation Corps camp close to Jenny Lake, was the heart of the Teton climber's scene. It was very basic--just a loop road, some picnic tables, and an outhouse or 2, but, most importantly, it was free and there was no time limit on how long one could stay, so it saw the 'gestation' of many alpine careers. However, as recorded above, it was also the scene of many antics and much debauchery. This was clearly too much for the Park Service, so in the late 60s they shut it down, leaving the climbers ( especially those of us young and broke) with nowhere to base ourselves for the season--given the brief stay limits at the main Jenny Lake campground. To try to meet this need, the AAC negotiated with the Park Service and, as a result, in 1970 opened the Teton Climbers Ranch. While that has now become an accepted institution, that wasn't the case back then, at least among the 'young and broke'---for us it was too expensive and restrictive. We felt that the AAC hadn't represented our interests and could have done better in the negotiations. It also didn't help that the first Ranch manager was a grumpy, very strict type, who had a very clear preference for the more 'mature' ( and well-off) members of the climbing community. As a result, many of us boycotted the Ranch that year.

Instead, a group, initially primarily Northeasterners--more specifically, mainly New Yorkers, got a campsite at Jenny Lake--Campsite 38. Back then, while there was a stay limit for each site, there was no limit on the number who could be at a site ( or if there was one, it wasn't enforced), and other than who was 'registered' , no one was keeping track of who was actually staying there and for how long. So, once the 'time limit' ( forget what it was) was reached, another one of us would register for the next few days. There was enough coming and going and 'turnover', that there were always 'fresh faces' to officially register, even though the same core group never left, some staying all summer.

The word spread amazingly quickly through the grapevine, and vey soon climbers from all over would show up to stay at Campsite 38---and not only climbers, as those were still the 'hippie' days, so all sorts of folks would appear and stay for a time. We quickly spread out to adjacent campsites---eventually occupying much of a campground loop---but still being referred to as Campsite 38. Of course, the Rangers knew what was going on, but, apparently under the existing rules there was nothing they could do about it--or were unwilling to do so, as several of the Jenny Lake rangers were very sympathetic ( others not so much, though) and one ( not coincidentally the only one from the East) was even a part-time resident.

The site developed it's own society. At the center was Billy---a very charismatic character. He was a bit older than most of the rest of us, from New York--and very obviously so, and a professional chef. Billy himself wasn't much of a climber, in fact I don't remember him actually doing any climbs while there, but he loved the climbing 'culture' and acted as a big brother to the rest of us. He occasionally would cook us great communal dinners, while also generally trying to 'look after' us. He referred to Jackson town as 'The Clam'---as it would try to suck away all of our limited money, and he tried to make sure that we kept to a budget when we would make occasional excursions there ( he was one of the few with a car).
I have no idea of how many folks occupied the collective Campsite 38 at it's peak, but it was quite a collection of interesting people. Long time romantic relationships began and marriages ended there---not necessarily unrelated. For a while, much of the 'schedule' of the Campsite was determined by the twice-a-week ( Wednesday and Sunday, I think) all-you-can-eat Gros Ventre buffet breakfast up at Jackson Lake Lodge---a 'tactical' climber could get a good percentage of his/her weekly nourishment at those events. Even climbing plans were sometimes made to ensure being able to make it there for breakfast---one party even took advantage of a walk-off ledge to come off a climb so that they could join us on one such excursion ( "We're bivouacing" they announced when they woke us up after getting to the Campsite that morning---and one then proceeded to fall asleep on the floor at the Lodge after indulging, before returning to the mountain to complete the route!!!).  And, yes, despite all the distractions of Campsite life, climbing did get done--many of the bigger climbs done that summer  in the Tetons involved Campsite 38 denizens.

All good things come to an end, including that summer. We all moved on. Over the intervening winter, the Park camping rules changed as did the Jenny Lake Ranger staff--our 'protectors' were no longer employed in those positions. The first day some of us arrived at Jenny Lake the following summer, a Ranger came to greet us and had a 'friendly chat'---telling us about the new rules and that they would be 'very diligent' about enforcing them---and they were!!!!

Times change. But for those of us who were there, Campsite 38, and the lifestyle it represented, was one of the most memorable episodes of our too short youths.

i have many "Teton Tales." I'll start with this one. When I first met Fred Beckey.

I was involved in a memorial service type climb to spread the ashes of my good friend's girlfriend on the Grand back in 1989ish. We had a rather large group camped at the Meadows in Garnet Canyon. We had summitted and returned to camp and were all cooking and what not by headlamps. Out of the darkness from the camp below came an old man. He was looking to borrow a spoon as he had not brought his own. We set him up with a Spoon and I escorted him back to his camp and visited for a bit.

The Tetons is what got me into climbing. I moved to Jackson a month before I turned 19 in 1981. I was not a climber. I got a job as a line cook in the Snow King hotel.  I enrolled in the Rocky Mountain Martial Arts Acadamy and went back packing every time I had two days off. Often in Yellowstone.  We heard that you did not need to be a real climber to get up Teewinot so that became our goal. The first attempt was to be by way of the South west Couloir which was rated F3 in the orange booklet.  We were told you did not need a rope for F3.   I was mesmerized by all the real climbers on the hike up to Ampitheater lake. They had huge packs with bright colored ropes and really cool looking ice axes. Big mountain boots with red laces.   At the campsite a bunch of climbers were watching a stocky climber with huge muscular calves and a bushy beard boulder a 20 or 30ft rock face. The way everyone was fixated on him I thought he must be  a guide or someone important.  The next day we attempted our climb but eventually gave up in a huge boulder field somewhere up there..  the route finding was a bit over our heads. This is the only photo I still have from that venture. 

A month or so later I tried again with my Friend Scott Stevens  and his girlfriend Carol who were working at the Yellowstone lake hotel.  This time we did the East face CTC which was pretty straight forward route finding with the worshiper and Idol watching over us.  No photos from that outing but we hung out on the summit a long time and were caught in the dark with no headlamps on the decent.  I think Scot had a bit of clothesline to give carol a belay in the chimney. I was wearing my Redwing high heeled logger boots.  That fall I bought a car. 66 Ford galaxy two door with a 352 police interceptor under the hood. 

those were my only two climbs in the Tetons  for that go around but the seed was planted. I so very much wanted to be a real climber like those folks with the ice axes and bright red ropes. 

Teewinot  by Jack Turner is a wonderful read. 

I visited again in 1986. I didn't get to do much but I was a climber now. Short stay helping my friend Martha move to Wyoming from VT. We did Baxters. I remember one hard move at the top over a red tricam. 

My pale Vermont body got sunburned. 

Nick Goldsmith wrote:

I visited again in 1986. I didn't get to do much but I was a climber now. Short stay helping my friend Martha move to Wyoming from VT. We did Baxters. I remember one hard move at the top over a red tricam. 

Nick, Baxter and party discovered the little spire in the late 1940s or early 1950s. They went back to California, leaving the locals unable to find it.  I rediscovered Baxter's Lost Pinnacle in the mid 1950s, told Chouinard about it, and he and Ken Weeks went up and made the FA, using a step of aid. A bit later I went up with someone and made the FFA of the spire. Then, after someone had aided a short vertical section below the slanted ramp near the top I went up and free climbed the aid pitch, a very early 5.10 if my memory serves. None of this appears in the route descriptions on MP.

I moved to the Tetons in 1975. By 1977-8 I was working as a guide for a guy named Vince Lee doing adventurous climbing trips in the Tetons and Wind River mountains for his outfit High Country West. He had a permit for the Winds and used Exum’s permit for Teton climbs.  He was a great mentor and showed me many tricks of guiding novices and more experienced clients up mountaineering objectives. Vince died recently and I miss him.

Starting in 1979 or so I started working for Bill Thompson and Jackson Hole Mountain Guides. It was a great scene to be part of back then. We had our base at Teton Village, lived in tent cabins, accessed our class areas via tram, and guided routes in the Tetons and Winds. Life was great.

After almost a decade of that,  guiding in the Tetons was losing its sparkle for me so I continued to guide more part time in the Tetons but travelled to the greater ranges with some of my best clients. Life was even better.

One of my last guiding trips on the Grand was very memorable. An elderly client came in to the office having always wanted to climb the Grand and figured it was now or never for him. Our office manager Ken told him it might be possible but he would need to have a guide plus an assistant to go with JHMG. Somehow I was the guide picked and Ken would be my assistant.
We made it up to high camp very very slowly and things were going kind of OK but painfully slow.
  Always a believer in early starts I was up at 3:30 forcing instant oatmeal and tea down the clients gullet. Off we went to climb the upper Exum. It seemed many hours later when we got to Wallstreet and the real start of the route. I was concerned at how slow we were going but the client insisted he could continue. Up we went. The weather was stable and clear with no wind. Things were going kind of OK until I was halfway up the “V” pitch when Ken yelled up. “Norm, you know what this asshole just said?” Ken was from Texas and never quietly mannered. “He says he wants us to untie from you and he wants to go down with me.” “He says I can have all the money and that you will be fine alone!” Wow! That was a first.

Somehow we got him up the pitch and I told him if we just go a bit more we can get to the rappel and call it a day. But when he sees the summit he decides he wants to go to the top. OK what the hell I haven’t lost a client yet. off to the top. When we finally arrive there are two other parties there including two Russian guys who had just climbed the complete North Face and are toasting it with vodka. My client asks everyone to be quiet as he wants to thank god for getting him up the Grand. Ken hears this and yells “God my ass!! Norm was pulling and I was pushing” which totally cracks all of us up on the summit. The Russians offer Ken and I sip of their vodka. We accept. 

The descent was endless but we finally got him down at midnight.

I think I only guided the Grand a couple of times after that and quit Teton guiding for good. Life got even better.

Thanks for the stories John, Todd and Norm. Norm, I suspect you have some first ascents in the Tetons.. You might even have pictures???

Nick I have a few in the Tetons but none were really that great. The plums mostly got picked early. I did some great new winter climbs and some new ice routes though.

 I mostly focused on new routing in the Winds. My wife Lorna and I have several in there but we rarely carried a camera then as our packs were too heavy and the approaches too long. Wish we had carried a camera now but all the gear for new remote routes adds up. It was long before instagram too so nobody ever cared what we were doing in there except Joe Kelsey who wrote the guidebooks.

I had an interest in photography. I did not have a camera on my first trip out west. I was able to borrow a crappy 110mm point and shoot a few times but did not own a camera until I was back in VT..  but shortly after that I started diving into photography and eventually became a working pro so have been documenting  things long before FB,  super taco etc. ...  nothing like  a 5.9 squeeze chimny in the desert with a full size SLR around your neck digging painfully into your ribs and the camera getting cheeze grated with every upward  move...