It is my grim duty to report that we've lost many of our own. On Friday, the gang went up to G305 to "shred" Pico for opening weekend. In what was surely imagined as an epic weekend, feet of snow kept falling. It got so heavy that the group was stranded up in VT because of the heavy and constant snowfall, the deep pow pow, and the perfect conditions. Now it has become clear, the worst has occurred: they've resorted to cannibalism, have all turned on one another, and are surely dead by now.
Communications to mountain basecamp have been sketchy. Short, garbled cell calls - with what must have been screaming and singing in the background. Text messages with horrendous misspellings and laced with cries for help. Lamentations of agony coming from the hell that must be what being marooned in G305 with limited food and copious booze must be like. I can't even imagine the horror, the horror.I received panicked texts like this from Kath: "I just shocked myself." They are clearly resorting to electrocution up there to survive, anarchy has clearly broken out. Or later from BP: "Greatest
day of my life." I take that as they have devolved into some prehistoric form of human where they find the taste of live human flesh maddening. Before I lost comms, the last message I could make out over the calls for help were what could only be described as Les Stroud singing "I am Canadian." This means only one thing of course, Canadian rescue crews, led by Survivor man, have trekked down from the True North, too late, and have found the frozen and dismembered corpses of Boloney Moguls. A sad day indeed.
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