I tried to go to the police but no one would believe my story, they sent me to you-
Oh you want my name? Okay- its Eva Jergensen, travel editor at NewEngland.com.
Look, I'm a normal person, okay. Despite working on exciting articles, my life doesn’t contain very much excitement. The articles I write are actually more entertaining than the things I actually do. I never know how to respond to people who say your life must be so exciting based on seeing my name listed on those articles.
I’ll admit, the one thing that I do that might be considered high octane is that I’m pretty good at rock climbing. That’s why a lot of the articles I’m assigned are locations like Yosemite and the Grand Canyon. That’s why when I heard about an obscure rock quarry in Vermont called Echo’s Goodbye, I jumped at the opportunity to check it out. Despite being a quarry, when I got there, the formations looked almost organic in nature. Like teeth. Others thought, almost like what the teeth had feasted upon.
Even though it was hard to look at the rocks themselves, the climb itself looked like it’d be a real treat. I immediately pulled out my equipment and started getting set up. Though I was filled with excitement my unease deepened as I realized the quarry was strangely devoid of other climbers.
The anchors were there, but all the handholds seemed fresh and unworn. The route had all of my favorite tricks, a dynamic zone, a freehand crevice. It seemed made for me. As I reached the top of the first route, there was a rock formation that the light caught just right. It was unnerving. It was no sculpture yet it somehow felt like it looked just like me. I was taken aback, so much so that I took a step back right off the edge. Luckily I was still anchored in and managed to catch myself. Yet, as I scraped my hands and they bled the rock showed no blood on the surface. It was almost as if it had drank it up and it still seemed thirsty. Then that rock formation moved toward me. I don’t know how but it began to rip up my anchors. I was quickly loosing altitude as I quickly tried to retrace the route down. The rocks that seemed vaguely of teeth now very deliberately looked like a gaping maw. Open and waiting for the other me to drop me into its gullet.
There was no way I was gonna make it all the way down safely before that final anchor was pulled. I began to swing for a ledge I spotted on the way up. Once I landed there was a yank on my rope. It was pulling me off the edge. I scrabbled for purchase with one hand as I pulled at my pocket knife with the other. I managed to slice the rope. I scrambled down a different route. This one seemed harder and more treacherous than what I had first gone up. Nearly impossible to get from one hold to the other. The rock seemed to deliberately slice my hands as the teeth chomped longingly after me. I managed to make it all the way to the base and I took off for my car without bothering to even gather up my equipment.
When I finally stopped driving away when I needed to stop for gas, I noticed that my hands showed not a single mark. I’m telling you; I don’t even have my climbing calluses any more.
I did end up writing that article. I needed to in order for my travel to be comped. But I tried to convince everyone, that it’s definitely not a place worth visiting. Here’s the address. I can’t even find the original rec email. I’m never going back. I haven’t even been climbing since.