Stu slid off the rock with all intentions being to land on two feet. Instead, his right foot pushed through the brambles, uncovering a small hole in the mountain face. With one swift motion, his heels dug into the rock, pushing the rest of his body backwards and slightly upwards, before he landed hard on the stone ground.
He sat there quietly stunned for a moment. His uncharacteristic silence made me wonder if he had seriously hurt himself. After a few more moments, he spoke. “Whew!” he exclaimed, before pulling himself up, while favoring his right shin.
Atop Little Round Top, in Gettysburg, PA, we dubbed that newly uncovered narrow crevice, “Stu’s Hole.” Before we left that spot, I had the fortune to warn another of the danger. A little kid, no older than 7 or 8 years old wove in and out of the rocks with a toy rifle in hand; playing soldier. As he came upon us, I decided against giving him a lecture on irony, and instead fixed him a stern glare. In as serious a tone as I could muster I said, “Hey! Be careful. That’s Stu’s Hole right there.”
With a snide tone that I imagine he usually reserved for annoying grownups, he shot back, “Yeah, I know!” and promptly scampered off.