• Wooman

We Are Trad Climbers - An Arapiles Poem


Top of Mount Arapiles
The Wooman, James and Rowen - Arapiles (April 2019)

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We are trad climbers,

Three boys are we.

We are trad climbers,

Rowen, James and me.


Through night and day,

Across state lines.

We drove and drove,

One thing on our minds.


To touch,

Or Toccatta.

A crack or jug,

Doesn't matter.


Under the sun's gaze,

Tiptoe Ridge or Arachnus.

From the glow of the moon,

Camelot and Maximus.


We are Trad climbers,

That's what we do.

Cave climb and Revolver,

Mari or Sexless Sue.


Pre dawn wake-up,

Not a fan for these guys.

A cold start sacrifice,

For a summit sunrise.


Tin tuna for days,

Crave skills of a cook.

Just 9 km a way,

The pub of Natimuk.


We are Trad climbers,

Armed with nuts, cams and hexes.

To wear outrageous tights,

The right of both sexes.


Rowen's cherry was popped,

At the crag called Declaration.

First ever lead on Hammer,

Finishing with an exclamation!


Reaching the summit,

After over 130m on Siamese.

Oh that marvelous exposure,

Giving unavoidable Elvis knees.


Climbs for all and always,

As far as I can tell.

If days are hot and sunny,

Attack the crack of Eskimo Nell.


Conquering fears and male bonding,

This is what a man needs.

With my list of new ticks,

Take me back to Arapiles.




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