Twas the night before Christmas, and there stood my tree,
A Ti trunk, carbon fiber branches and green cuben leaves.
The sil stuff sacks were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. (Henry, Ron, Tom?) soon would be there.
The puppies were nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of real slow deer danced in their heads.
And I in my Icebreaker 200 wool cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from under my enLIGHTened quilt to see what was the matter!
Away to the back door I flew like a horse.
My toes, in my Chugach booties, were quite toasty, of course.
The moon shining through my cuben MLD grace solo
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When what, to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a thin, UL Stanta in a sleigh from Gossamer Gear!
He was a little old driver (I'd say about Ron Moak's age),
So I knew in a moment his gear choices were sage.
More rapid than eagles his wise advice came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called out some names:
On Duomid, on Arc Specialist, on Cloudburst and Vamp!
On Conduit, on Lightrek, these things are all champs!
He bounded up to my roof with his sack full of gear,
And I knew this was going to be one heck of a year!
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney old St. Ron came with a bound.
He was dressed all in possum down, from his head to his foot,
But his clothes were not tarnished with ashes and soot!
Not even his red eVent jacket was messed,
With a small BPL MLIFE patch sewn at the breast.
"I've been practicing with my oversized Caldera Ti-Tri," he said.
I've learned how to stay clean from my foot to my head!
A bundle of UL gear he had flung on his back,
MLD's new Revelation, I think, was his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how bright!
His cheeks were like roses, yup, that's Ron Moak all right!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stuff sacks; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and remember, stay light!"