(OR, THE SHORT HAPPY CHAIR OF SHERRY HARSH)
Well, those were the halcyon days before the dreaded Insurance Monster reared its ugly head. We were young and cheerful, legally climbing Little Picacho and other 4th and 5th and 6th class peaks with abandon...and with ropes and ice axes and all those other now-forbidden implements.
The Schedule was twice as fatter with trips, and the worst problem we had was deciding whether to hold the banquet at Luminaries AGAIN. . .and we DID, and all you guys who argued against it were RIGHT and we were WRONG and it served us right, because their air conditioning conked out during a miserable May heat wave, and we were all roasting and basting in our own juices. But we were experienced, seasoned Desert Rats and we KNEW what you do when it's hot is drink lots of liquids and funnily enough, the most accessible liquid seemed to be wine. . .And that's why this recollection is so uncharacteristically short.
