Had a scare high up in a tree yesterday, when I looked down at my left hip dee and saw my grillion hanging free, unattached from my saddle. The empty, unfamiliar-looking attachment hole loomed large, seemingly big enough to drive a Wal-Mart through. This is while I was supposedly attached to the tree with the safety lanyard.
The last time I remember checking the twisted clevis was two days earlier, when I swapped ends of the lanyard, due to a chainsaw muffler meltdown spot. Is finger-tight enough with this connector? Obviously, checking every OTHER day is insufficient.
At the time I was leaning back in a fork, re-tying my two climbing lines, which had become twisted around each other. No point of attachment secured me.
A quick glance showed the clevis still hanging on the side dee, dangling like a crystal from a chandelier. No sooner than the thought that the clevis pin was surely buried, in the ivy far below, had crossed my mind, I saw it there, resting on a fold of cloth from the tail of my shirt. Otherwise motionless, I eagerly swept it up in my hand, lest the grillion, clevis, lanyard, and aluminum rope hook be lost to utility.
Everything was easily put right, except for my peace of mind. The fragility of my stable posture in the tree was compromised. Hopefully, compromised forever, for being slightly unsettled in our composure is the root of careful equipment-aided treeclimbing.
The instance reminded me of a previous shocking episode of the old non-locking steel rope snap that had its sheet-metal gate tweaked. This held it stuck open, and left the snap merely hooked, not gated.
Stunned at the potential for impending doom, I imagined my body spiraling downward in an accelerating, headlong dive, deflecting slightly off unyeilding limbs, then bouncing off the ground with a thud, before settling into a bloodsoaked pile of protoplasm.
The last time I remember checking the twisted clevis was two days earlier, when I swapped ends of the lanyard, due to a chainsaw muffler meltdown spot. Is finger-tight enough with this connector? Obviously, checking every OTHER day is insufficient.
At the time I was leaning back in a fork, re-tying my two climbing lines, which had become twisted around each other. No point of attachment secured me.
A quick glance showed the clevis still hanging on the side dee, dangling like a crystal from a chandelier. No sooner than the thought that the clevis pin was surely buried, in the ivy far below, had crossed my mind, I saw it there, resting on a fold of cloth from the tail of my shirt. Otherwise motionless, I eagerly swept it up in my hand, lest the grillion, clevis, lanyard, and aluminum rope hook be lost to utility.
Everything was easily put right, except for my peace of mind. The fragility of my stable posture in the tree was compromised. Hopefully, compromised forever, for being slightly unsettled in our composure is the root of careful equipment-aided treeclimbing.
The instance reminded me of a previous shocking episode of the old non-locking steel rope snap that had its sheet-metal gate tweaked. This held it stuck open, and left the snap merely hooked, not gated.
Stunned at the potential for impending doom, I imagined my body spiraling downward in an accelerating, headlong dive, deflecting slightly off unyeilding limbs, then bouncing off the ground with a thud, before settling into a bloodsoaked pile of protoplasm.
