With exaggerated care Cynthia mounted the wooden catwalk atop the penstock, holding Dean's hand tightly. It was constructed of narrow boards and chewed by the cutting crampons of hundreds of climbers. The penstock, three feet in diameter at this point, was a long black snake, carrying its mountain water to the small generating station, while adjacent black piping and frequent taps provided the ice that coated the cliff sides in gigantic clusters below. The cliffs bulged out over much of this area so from the catwalk and path above, most of the time, they were unable to see the bottom of the gorge and only a portion of the ice, although the voices of the climbers and the sound of their axes could be heard. When the stream became visible, the flow was light, a far cry from the raging torrent Dean remembered from late spring when the melting snow increased the flow of the Uncompahgre a hundred fold. Now, mostly bound to its banks by ice, the river looked much less menacing as it wound its way downward. On the far side of the narrow canyon, the sun did its duty so there was far less snow and little natural ice. However, on this, the shaded west side, aided by the steady flow from the tapped pipe, massive icicles, bulges and clusters coated the side. Much of the climbing activity was taking place in an area called The Schoolroom, with various routes classified and given names- Verminator, Duncan's Delight and Bloody Sunday. It was here Donald Ryland planned to tackle a mixed rock and ice climb innocuously called Rosebud. The other climbers from Bird Song were already here. All were out of sight below except for Mick and Penny who were just now scrambling up to the path.
"Where have you been?" Penny asked. "I've already made a climb."
Donnie remained with his father and his new found ice climbing friends while Dean took his wife's hand and strolled further down the snow covered path, away from the edge. Cynthia, while not as apprehensive as Edith had been, was obviously uncomfortable watching the climbers, especially from atop their precarious positions.
The giant pipe ran through a wooded area, away from the cliff edge. Here it was quieter, though the sound of the water could still be heard in the distance. While the snow was deeper here and the path less traveled, the walking was not difficult. There was a small clearing where the trail opened up to a spectacular view of winter time Mount Abrams. Someone had cleared the snow from a bench so the Deans sat, catching their breath. After a few minutes rest, they continued, first hearing, then seeing the waterfall and the reservoir from which the penstock first drew the water for its mile-long trip to town. Below the falls, a crescent rainbow gave color to the rising mist while sparkles of ice formed from the spray.