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resenting ( for September 11, 2011 ] THE NEW!

GOLDEN SUMMER P.Y.M.™ PUZZLER –

No. 13

“DAY OF DANGER”

WHERE IS PYM’s PRECIPICE ? But first …. !

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Recip: The P.Y.M.G.C.P.R™ … As pleasant as the return roadtrip was, some of the staff were a bit surprised, in that as we ventured out on the Pierre’s Youngster Membership Grand Camp Proceedings Return (P.Y.M.P.G.C.P.R™) – leaving Camp “Ke/irb(e)y(ville)”, in an extended caravan of the type made possible only by cellphones and linked G.P.S., and made our way through summery Siskiyou County, California and crossed the border into summery Klamath County, Oregon and parts beyond, we were – as we say – a bit surprised to realize that at least one of you Players recognized one of the Admin vehicles – perhaps from the Memorial Service to Mr. Elmendorf, was it? – as it sped along the highway – and that a small but nevertheless notable group of Players, in increasing numbers, were very rapidly forming – in fact had already but without malice aforethought -- formed amongst themselves a roadster’s flash mob of sorts, and as such, evidently mobilized themselves in concert in the pursuit -- not to suggest stalking – of this same one or more of the vehicles of the dedicated P.Y.M.P.G.C.P.™ organizers – and perhaps also using cellphones, Twitter, and their own linked G.P.S. to coordinate their approach. I was immediately reminded of the Mass Strike effect so well described by Rosa L. and others.

Some of our concerns were, however, allayed when from one vehicle as it was pulling alongside us or passing us – we were already running at a nimble 85 m.p.h. on the highway – someone within leaned from the passenger window as the vehicle veered ever so slightly, and hollered out …. asking for “Sue!(?)” I think -- but looking less than agreeable -- when we had a sudden realization that it was probably merely a case of mistaken identity, as we had no-one by that name with us in the vehicle, although perhaps the reference was to our staffer Susanne Adkins of 479 Telshire Ave on Staten Island, who takes the 8:00 ferry in every morning? We nevertheless managed some rather short-distance braking, & hard 90 onto a county road, with one wheel only running into the ditch; and after merely a half mile, the road diverged – forking -- at either option the road running up into a narrow canyon: the one formed in some glacial epoch aeon’s past, by a creek , the other by a substantial river. Was our own DAY OF DANGER upon us? We took the river road as being the less likely route for an evasive retreat, and beat it up the road, as one of our passengers watched out the rear window for following vehicles – and as we accelerated into the distance, snapped this image for later identification by police:

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“See ya!” Is this you? Red Toyota pick-up truck in hot pursuit of your Puzzler Editor and staff

It was at about this time, that our G.P.S. units failed – universally -- and we breathed a collective sigh that we were freshly practiced in the “Tahoe Tavern” method of orienting. ( One day you’ll thank us, too) After a half dozen miles and more, racing under high cliffs with pitched strata of black basalt and jade-colored talcose rock, careening on two wheels around hairpin-tight river bends, we spotted an unlikely “exit”: a gravel road – perhaps a logging access road, or a driveway – or a combination of both – striking almost straight into a cliff-face and – as we immediately learned – doubling back again in the direction we had come at a 30˚ grade; and now, switching to 4WD and thrusting the engine into third gear, upward, upward we mounted!! we practically levitated our way over the flying ½” + gravel as we moved with some alacrity over – and just enough up -- the road, to where, after numerous switchbacks and too-close-to-call corners, we achieved a point where, by its leveling off, the road exposed to some sunshine, indicating we were nearing the crest of the precipice. The situation was perfect for a reclusive rendezvous, such as a P.Y.M.C.H. (which was held) or perhaps even the 2017 P.Y.M.G.C.P.™ And here, by smashing the gas, we were able to run the vehicle completely, but safely, into a thicket of blackberry canes, shielding it entirely from the view of our Player pursuer(s). Extricating ourselves, we then advanced to the rim of the hillside overlooking – in a dizzying vista --the canyon valley below, from which point we could safely observe the river road, without ourselves being in any way observed ….. See page 6. It appeared that our ruse had worked, and that the flash convoy of LOSER Players who had failed to reach Camp “Ke/irb(e)y(ville)”, for the P.Y.M.G.C.P.™, had all taken the creek canyon – the spoil sports -- almost all that is: that is, except for the one red Toyota pickup shown above – which only our later evasive maneuvers had succeeded in shaking. But it was in snapping this photo of the tailing truck, and then peering over this brink into the abyss, that one of our passengers was suddenly struck with a sense of association bordering on a recognition. Was this …. Could it be ….. ?

WHEN P.Y.M.™ MEETS PYM – AGAIN

It was. For sure. E.A.Poe’s Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, of Nantucket – better known as The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, of Nantucket. Etc. etc New York: Harper & Brothers. (1838 12mo. Pp. 198.) is, like poi itself, something of a staple among Players. Few could ever forget some of the classic ““P.Y.M.” meets PYM” moments of the Puzzler Past, most notably “Was PYM a Paymaster?” and the summer of 2008 back-to-back ““P.Y.M.” meets PYM” blockbusters “Was PYM a Jane Guy?” and “What’s Inscribed on PYM’s Stone?” We now would like to introduce another Puzzler along these lines : namely – without further ado --

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Where is Pym’s Precipice? This week’s Puzzler therefore literally hangs on the text of Chapter XXV of Poe’s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym …..

Chapter XXIV

“On the twentieth of the month, finding it altogether impossible to subsist any longer upon the filberts, the use of which occasioned us the most excruciating torment, we resolved to make a desperate attempt at descending the southern declivity of the hill. The face of the precipice was here of the softest species of soapstone, although nearly perpendicular throughout its whole extent (a depth of a hundred and fifty feet at the least), and in many places even overarching. After long search we discovered a narrow ledge about twenty feet below the brink of the gulf; upon this Peters contrived to leap, with what assistance I could render him by means of our pocket-handkerchiefs tied together. With somewhat more difficulty I also got down; and we then saw the possibility of descending the whole way by the process in which we had clambered up from the chasm when we had been buried by the fall of the hill- that is, by cutting steps in the face of the soapstone with our knives. The extreme hazard of the attempt can scarcely be conceived; but, as there was no other resource, we determined to undertake it.

Upon the ledge where we stood there grew some filbert bushes; and to one of these we made fast an end of our rope of handkerchiefs. The other end being tied round Peters' waist, I lowered him down over the edge of the precipice until the handkerchiefs were stretched tight. He now proceeded to dig a deep hole in the soapstone (as far in as eight or ten inches), sloping away the rock above to the height of a foot, or thereabout, so as to allow of his driving, with the butt of a pistol, a tolerably strong peg into the levelled surface. I then drew him up for about four feet when he made a hole similar to the one below, driving in a peg as before and having thus a resting place for both feet and hands. I now unfastened the handkerchiefs from the bush, throwing him the end, which he tied to the peg in the uppermost hole, letting himself down gently to a station about three feet lower than he had yet been --- that is, to the full extent of the handkerchiefs.

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O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there.

– Gerard Manley Hopkins

Here he dug another hole, and drove another peg. He then drew himself up, so as to rest his feet in the hole just cut, taking hold with his hands upon the peg in the one above. It was now necessary to untie the handkerchiefs from the topmost peg, with the view of fastening them to the second; and here he found that an error had been committed in cutting the holes at so great a distance apart. However, after one or two unsuccessful and dangerous attempts at reaching the knot (having to hold on with his left hand while he laboured to undo the fastening with his right), he at length cut the string, leaving six inches of it affixed to the peg. Tying the handkerchiefs now to the second peg, he descended to a station below the third, taking care not to go too far down. By these means (means which I should never have conceived of myself, and for which we were indebted altogether to Peters' ingenuity and resolution) my companion finally succeeded, with the occasional aid of projections in the cliff, in reaching the bottom without accident.

It was some time before I could summon sufficient resolution to follow him; but I did at length attempt it. Peters had taken off his shirt before descending, and this, with my own, formed the rope necessary for the adventure. After throwing down the musket found in the chasm, I fastened this rope to the bushes, and let myself down rapidly, striving, by the vigour of my movements, to banish the trepidation which I could overcome in no other manner. This answered sufficiently well for the first four or five steps; but presently I found my imagination growing terribly excited by thoughts of the vast depths yet to be descended, and the precarious nature of the pegs and soapstone holes which were my only support. It was in vain I endeavoured to banish these reflections, and to keep my eyes steadily bent upon the flat surface of the cliff before me. The more earnestly I struggled not to think, the more intensely vivid became my conceptions, and the more horribly distinct.

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At length arrived that crisis of fancy, so fearful in all similar cases, the crisis in which we begin to anticipate the feelings with which we shall fall - to picture to ourselves the sickness, and dizziness, and the last struggle, and the half swoon, and the final bitterness of the rushing and headlong descent. And now I found these fancies creating their own realities, and all imagined horrors crowding upon me in fact. I felt my knees strike violently together, while my fingers were gradually but certainly relaxing their grasp. There was a ringing in my ears, and I said, "This is my knell of death!" And now I was consumed with the irrepressible desire of looking below. I could not, I would not, confine my glances to the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion, half of horror, half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into the abyss. ..

For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind- in the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall; a desire, a yearning, a passion utterly uncontrollable. I let go at once my grasp upon the peg, and, turning half round from the precipice, remained tottering for an instant against its naked face. But now there came a spinning of the brain; a shrill-sounding and phantom voice screamed within my ears; a dusky, fiendish, and filmy figure stood immediately beneath me; and, sighing, I sunk down with a bursting heart, and plunged within its arms.

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I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the dust within the rock.

- Arthur Gordon Pym

I had swooned, and Peters had caught me as I fell. He had observed my proceedings from his station at the bottom of the cliff; and perceiving my imminent danger, had endeavoured to inspire me with courage by every suggestion he could devise; although my confusion of mind had been so great as to prevent my hearing what he said, or being conscious that he had even spoken to me at all. At length, seeing me totter, he hastened to ascend to my rescue, and arrived just in time for my preservation. Had I fallen with my full weight, the rope of linen would inevitably have snapped, and I should have been precipitated into the abyss; as it was, he contrived to let me down gently, so as to remain suspended without danger until animation returned. This was in about fifteen minutes. On recovery, my trepidation had entirely vanished; I felt a new being, and, with some little further aid from my companion, reached the bottom also in safety.

We now found ourselves not far from the ravine which had proved the tomb of our friends, and to the southward of the spot where the hill had fallen. The place was one of singular wildness, and its aspect brought to my mind the descriptions given by travellers of those dreary regions marking the site of degraded Babylon. Not to speak of the ruins of the disrupted cliff, which formed a chaotic barrier in the vista to the northward, the surface of the ground in every other direction was strewn with huge tumuli, apparently the wreck of some gigantic structures of art; although, in detail, no semblance of art could be detected. Scoria were abundant, and large shapeless blocks of the black granite, intermingled with others of marl [The marl was also black; indeed, we noticed no light-coloured substances of any kind upon the island. (Poe's note.)], and both granulated with metal. Of vegetation there were no traces whatsoever throughout the whole of the desolate area within sight. Several immense scorpions were seen, and various reptiles not elsewhere to be found in the high latitudes.

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As food was our most immediate object, we resolved to make our way to the seacoast, distant not more than half a mile, with a view of catching turtle, several of which we had observed from our place of concealment on the hill. We had proceeded some hundred yards, threading our route cautiously between the huge rocks and tumuli, when, upon turning a corner, five savages sprung upon us from a small cavern, felling Peters to the ground with a blow from a club. As he fell the whole party rushed upon him to secure their victim, leaving me time to recover from my astonishment. I still had the musket, but the barrel had received so much injury in being thrown from the precipice that I cast it aside as useless, preferring to trust my pistols, which had been carefully preserved in order. With these I advanced upon the assailants, firing one after the other in quick succession. Two savages fell, and one, who was in the act of thrusting a spear into Peters, sprung to his feet without accomplishing his purpose. My companion being thus released, we had no further difficulty. He had his pistols also, but prudently declined using them, confiding in his great personal strength, which far exceeded that of any person I have ever known. Seizing a club from one of the savages who had fallen, he dashed out the brains of the three who remained, killing each instantaneously with a single blow of the weapon, and leaving us completely masters of the field.

So rapidly had these events passed, that we could scarcely believe in their reality ….”

Neither could we. But this all begs the question –

WHERE IS PYM’s PRECIPICE ? Thanks to all you sorehead Players who in their pursuit of vindication of the untenable … !! .. nearly drove us to the brink of self-destruction! Instead, we have you to thank for this amazing discovery. Now, as you pursue a solution, remember that in any condition, wet or dry, the grass on the brink is very slippery – so don’t go getting too close …. !

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ARTHUR GORDON PYM