DO NOT THROW OBJECTS

My sister and I take an impromptu day trip to North Conway just for fun and as an end of the summer hurrah.  We have a couple of destinations in the GPS, but, other than that, we're winging it.

In between our start and end points is Cathedral Ledge, a cliff overlooking Echo Lake State Park and a popular spot of rock climbers and, in winter, ice climbers.  It's not exceptionally tall; it's about 500 feet, but it still would hurt like hell to tumble off the edge and bounce off one of the lower rock faces, and it would scare the hell out of the climbers and hikers.

We could hike to the top of Cathedral Ledge via a path that is just over one mile long, but we don't really have the time today.  This is stop number two out of three, and we need to be mindful of the daylight available to us.  We drive up the paved access road instead, unpack our lunches, and head toward the scenic overlook at the top.

I spy a path off to the right, the opposite direction of the other tourists, and my sister and I find ourselves on a relatively flat rock outcropping overlooking the connecting cliff, White Horse Ledge.  White Horse is only accessible via trails in the woods, so our view is completely people-free.  My sister, ever the daring one, edges toward the steep drop-off, causing me great agida.  I've never been one for heights, and I am especially wary after watching a youngster almost swan dive off White Face Mountain near Lake Placid several years ago.

We eat our lunch in relative peace, only bothered by half a dozen other daring people who assure me that there is another ledge below the drop-off, maybe twenty feet or so.  Yes, of course.  I'd only break my spine if I fall over, unless I bounce off that lower part and twirl into the eternity of the abyss between Cathedral and White Horse Ledges.

On our way back to the car, we circle the entire top of the ledge.  There's a fence over part of it, a short fence easily scaled by climbers reaching the summit and easily fallen over by anyone with a sudden case of vertigo.  Other times we have been here, hundreds of climbers are scaling Cathedral Ledge.  From the top we search the exposed part of the cliff and spot one climber about 250 feet up.  My soon-to-be nephew-in-law climbs this ledge for fun, and I get slightly dizzy peering over the fenced edge, part of me thinking the young man soon to be family is brave and another part of my brain thinking he must be slightly insane (for both climbing the ledge and marrying into our crazy family).

The one thing that really bothers me, though - even more than the sheer edges, the height, and the vertigo -- is the sign at the entrance to the summit.  I cannot even wrap my head around the fact that this sign is posted, that it NEEDS to be posted.  I am ashamed of people when I see this sign, ashamed that we have people so incredibly evil, or perhaps so incredibly stupid, that this sign even exists.

"Do not throw objects.  Rock climbers below."

How absolutely frigging much of an asshole as a person or even as a parent do you have to be that you or your children would even think this is something to do?  If I am up there and I see someone throw anything at the climbers, the next thing going over that cliff will be the thrower.  I try to imagine assholes throwing things at my soon-to-be family member or his friends, and it makes my blood boil.  It makes me nuts.

It blows my mind.  BLOWS.  MY.  MIND.

I take a deep breath (and a picture) and head back to the car with my sister.  We still have one more stop to make, and we are burning daylight.  Other than that moment of frighteningly baseless humanity, the trip is wonderful, the views are fabulous, and my lunch is delicious.  All in all, the company (my sister) isn't too bad, either.