I gazed at Spyder Rock from the over-look maybe one hundred times before we actually got around to climbing it. The first time I saw the spire, reputed to be the highest freestanding pillar of rock in North America, my breath was sucked out of my lungs and I was dumbfounded and speechless. Wild things were happening to me in my brain, and I felt my blood racing and surging throughout my body; this rock spire is magical and powerful and of an almost perfect-in-nature beauty. Once I had seen Spyder Rock, the image of its form and the mystic energy of its power were burned into my memory cells. Spyder Rock is the Spire, the Superlative, the Ultimate, the Beast; one hundred percent mandatory to climb and experience.

Rangers somehow caught wind of our plans, and had a damn stakeout in an attempt to snag us. We out-foxed the foxes and just postponed our ascent to a few weeks later, and told no one. We also planned our ascent just before we were to leave the reservation after our two-year stay; what can happen to us if we get busted? We're leaving soon anyways...

To avoid detection getting to the base of the spire, we opted for the rappels into the canyon at dark from the overlook, instead of the sometimes traveled (fast and easy) Bat Trail. Doing the rappels was a big mistake. The rappel anchors were sticker bushes, and after fixing two ropes down, we still weren't on the canyon floor. Finally arriving at the base, we fixed pitch one in the dark, and spent the night on the ground, Brian quietly drinking a quart of Japanese beer. Well into the night we stared up into the inky sky at the sinister silhouette of the Spyder.

The climbing went quickly and fairly smooth. We tried to solely free climb, but ended up on aiders for two short sections. Chimneys, flares, hand jams, roofs, stems; standard.

We vowed no to talk or make any sounds during the ascent so as not to be heard by anyone. Brian, in a moment of supreme mental lapse, forgets our little vow and shouts a mammoth "Off Belayyyyyyy" at the top of a pitch. I shake my head in disbelief as his thundering bonehead voice echoes through the canyon. His brain is gone.

The last pitch, Brian makes some difficult moves, then on easy ground traverses way left, placing no protection, and on to the summit. Following the unprotected traverse looking at the pendulum of a lifetime, had me seeing red from fear and anger, but once upon the summit, I mellowed out.

Navajo legend has it that the summit of Spyder Rock, which looks white from the overlook, is covered with the bones of naughty children who were eaten by the matriarchal and feared Spyder Woman. We found no bones on the summit, but did find offerings brought up by other climbers from other ascents; ancient Anasasi pottery found in the canyon, Todd Skinner's perfectly chipped glass arrowhead (made from the bottom of a Coors Beer bottle), sea shells, and other trinkets.

The rappels were gripping, airy, and off 25 year old anchors. One rappel in particular sticks in my mind; all the way down I was analyzing what would happen to me when the anchors pulled. On dicey rappels, I rappel the first part quickly so when the anchors pull, I'll be further down the wall and won't fall as far. I always aim for ledges to land on too, just in case.

Near the ground with sun now gone, the rope, of course, jams. After an hour of various heave-hoes, double body jumps, different angles and techniques, even a half-assed attempt to re-lead the pitch, the cord still won't budge. With one last hernia-inducing atomic try, the rope finally pops free, and the released force sends Brian's spring-loaded head smashing against a rock. As Brian raises his head, blood drips from a nasty cut on his chin like drops from a leaky faucet. Ah, who cares; the rope is free!

Jumaring out of the canyon at dark was beyond irritating. It was a feat equivalent to doing 3 billion sit-ups on a slant board. Heavy packs have us sideways as we jug free hanging ropes, back through the sticker bushes, to the canyon rim. Back in Chinle at Brian's house, friends are gathered for a "Spyder Rock Party" complete with a cake with Spyder Rock on it in sandstone-colored frosting.

Back at work the next day, my Navajo co-workers at school congratulate me on our successful ascent, saying they were surprised Spyder Woman let us climb her spire with out heaving us off and smashing us to bits at the base in rage at our defiance. "I guess Spyder Woman likes us and was being cool," I replied, wondering if I half-believed in this Spyder Woman myself; man, I've been living on this reservation too long...I'm starting to believe this superstitious Indian Mumbo-jumbo crap...get a grip, son.

A few days later, after being with my fifth-graders all day, I retire to my mud hogan feeling slightly ill, still fairly thrashed from climbing Spyder Rock. Alone in the hogan, my sickness progressed and with a rising fever, my mind starts to think up strange thoughts which quickly turn into fears and paranoiacs. Soon I am now totally 100% convinced that I have angered Spyder Woman by climbing her rock, and I have been condemned to die by the heartless Spyder Woman. I am overcome with sadness at my newly discovered fate, for I am to die without a chance to say goodbye to my friends. I rise to go outside to my car to drive to a friend's house nearby, but I'm too feverish and weak to barely move, and I am afraid I might pass-out in the snow outside before I make it to my car, and freeze to death. I have to take a dump but can't make it to the outhouse either, so I have to poop in my pet cat's litter box in the corner of the dirt-floored hogan. The situation is now getting grim. I am by now so blindly and completely ill that I try desperately (but in vain) to suppress my thrashing and moaning so as not to disturb my neighbors in their nearby hogan. I wonder what I can do to prepare myself for death; can't just sit here on the sofa and expire, leaving this world as a couch-potato...

I decide to do what a lot of animals do before death; join mother earth by rolling around in the dirt. (Hey, it seemed like a completely logical thing to do at the time...) I lay on the dirt floor and roll around for a good half hour, making sure my body is completely covered in soil. Tears are turned to mud as I rub dirt into my face and hair. Now convinced that I am properly prepared, I sit on the floor, waiting for the grim reaper and eventually fall fast asleep.

The next morning, I wake out of my nightmare of fever and delusions to find myself still very much alive, hopelessly covered in dirt, and due at work very soon. Having no shower or running water at the hogan, I drive to work to call in sick. As I walk in to my principal's office, I am greeted with a dropped jaw and bulging eyeballs; "Where you been last night, you crazy white man? Get cleaned up and get in your classroom!" No way Jose...I'm going home to bed.