For a moment, I was speechless. After all, who would believe this was actually happening? Did I even know it was a reality? Or was it some journey into madness; me, henceforth, a mountaineering Orpheus, ascending to the heights of hell to rescue peace and harmony from eternal damnation? On the top of a mountain, lost, and at risk of being lifted skyward by an unforgiving tornado headed directly towards me, I am suddenly rescued by one of the timeless characters of our lives. It was Dorothy, Auntie Em's loving niece, the youthful slayer of evil witches; she, previously, a technicolor vision ingrained in the silver screen recesses of our collective conscience, but now incarnate and 75 years older. Confused and searching for the right words, I looked at my now aged time-traveler and stated with a sheepish grin, "Um, er, ...I guess were not in Kansas anymore."

Dorothy gave a prolonged. impatient sigh as she rolled her eyes skyward beneath her half-closed heavily wrinkled eye lids. She shook her head and said with an air of obvious disgust, "I am so sick of that stupid joke, you would not believe. I have been traveling for the last 60 years trying to rescue people lost and in danger in some remote location and that it is all I ever hear. And the last several years, it has for some reason gotten worse." I thought it better to drop the subject at that point. She apparently had not attended any local IMAX theater to view the newest cinema graphic marvel of our time.

She looked at me again and declared emphatically. "You know, for some reason or another, it's you middle aged men over the last 10 years or so, that are keeping me constantly on the go." I suddenly had visions of other like-minded pot-bellied boomers, dealing with mid-life crises, naively placing themselves totally unprepared in remote locations. I could see each one clearly. There was the out-of-shape aging wanna-be adventurer caught hopelessly in a sail boat just off shore in the Atlantic with a hurricaine about to descend upon his position. I saw the balding, overweight male with more chins than functioning neurons join a horde of other would-be mountaineers to swarm up the nearest mountain only to fall over the edge of an all-ready overcrowded crevasse like a hapless lemming. Or perhaps, it was the gray-bearded, near-sighted angler in a bright silver aluminum fishing boat with his newly acquired Orvis fishing gear. He is trying to put bait on a hook for the very first time in his life when his paddle accidently falls from the boat. He leans over to save the paddle only to watch as his car keys fall from his shirt pocket into the depths of the dark still lake. All this, just as sudden hail storm begins to strike with painful force. Dorothy was there to rescue each, to lead them back to their safer, more familiar life. I silently lamented to each of these kindred spirits with sad resignation, "No, I guess it's really true. We're not in Kansas anymore."

Not waiting for any further reply, Dorothy suddenly turned her head over her right shoulder to search for her travelling companion, the black Scottish terrier we all knew as Toto. She saw him just at the edge of the evergreen forest on a rocky ledge above our standing spot, digging furiously, nose buried within the middle of a decaying tree trunk which had fallen between two large moss covered boulders. He was oblivious to our conversation, having caught the scent of some aromatic tiny four-legged fur ball who had made the rotting log a warm abode . Dorothy yelled to the pooch in the sharp tones that only an 85 year old woman could reach, "Otto, come here!!"
(I'll continue later. I've got to get on with my workouts. Only about 30 days until I climb. Got to be sure I'm in shape. My wife is warning me about my blogging indulgence. "Get serious", she says, "you're wasting time.'' ??!!)