This is really Rob's story to tell, so as we approach the top of the canyon, let me turn the narrative over to him:

From: "Rob Heineman"
Date: Mon Feb 28, 2005 2:49 pm
Subject: TR - Leprechaun was Re: TR - Arsenic, Monoxide, Leprachan - A bit long.

--- In canyons@yahoogroups.com, "adkramoo" wrote:

****I remember when Ryan Hull, all 6"4" and 250 pounds of him

Well, Ram, now ya got me wonderin' . . .

When Tom took me "through" Leprechaun this weekend, he assured me I was just the second largest person to do it. And while Ryan seems to have a couple inches in height on me, your numbers would seem to indicate that my superior beer belly and greater heft would make me larger in the one dimension that seems to matter in this shamefully cruel, discriminatory, micro slot.

Yes, Tom Jones, weighing in at a trim 180, known as "he of little weight, sense, or mercy," led the way. Paul Schmidt, a more reasonable 190 pounds, had his moments in his trip through his first tight slot. And me? Well, let's just say I brought our average group weight up to 210. And I did go through some of the wider spots. The rest of the grim ordeal one could think of me more as the high altitude reconnaissance unit.

The night before, I was restless and apprehensive. Our camp was comfy, plenty of beer, but the trek to the base of Sandtrax only confirmed that I should have set up the groover before our little jaunt. Stark, incapacitating fear. I'm the guy who gets claustrophobic panic attacks when he gets food caught in his teeth. (Helps explain the beer diet.) And here I am in a camp I call the Leper Colony, wishing some of my less utile body parts might just drop off.

Strating in the upper slot

Rob sliding down, somewhere in Leprechaun

Okay. So some big guy named Ryan has done it. And Tom says I should do it. He's only let me done once before. It was my bachelor party rock climb, a 5.10c in the Black Corridor, rigged with a beer hanging off every bolt. Tom was belaying. Having chugged four beers over the course of 50 feet of climbing, I was feeling a tad less sharp than normal. In fact, I couldn't feel anything below my knees. But I could still see. I'm on the crux, and my top rope has a loop of slack dangling below my feet. Further down, Tom is staring at a sweet young thing stemming her way up a corner. I had some choice words for him, probably similar to my current vocabulary, but overall a forgiveable transgression.

The hike up is pleasant enough. In we go. No problem's until - "Uh, Rob, you probably want to go high here". 5.6 chimneying up, scoot across 40 or 50 feet, pretty reasonable back down. OK, got it licked. A ways further, I try a thin spot facing left. Wrong again. Panic starts creeping in. Up canyon ten feet, turn around. Face right, put the bulge in the small of the back, exhale, I'm through. A long stretch of pretty thin stuff. "I think we're about a third of the way through." Not what I wanted to hear. Shortly thereafter, "Uh, Rob, better go high." Paul is gracious enough to muscle my pack along the bottom. Up, not too bad. Over. Over some more. Some more. A ledge I can almost stand on. Switch the back to the other side. Over. Over some more. A tight spot, back and knee. Gonna lose some skin doing this. Another spot with good feet on both sides, so I switch back to having my back on the left wall. Across some more. Chimney down some, then lock the torso with the arms and skitter down. The shirt rides up, a little more skin gone - ready for this to be over.

Rob goes high.

Pictures of Rob Squeezing down...

We found a couple of kneedeep pools.

Rob goes high. A lot.