This one actually showed up in Climbing when they wrote up Whitesides in the mid-90s...I'd started up what looked like a mellow slab, trying to put up a 'kids and in-laws' route on Wright Wall. I am somewhat notorious for consistently grossly underestimating difficulties from the ground. After about 80' the rock steepens and I get into the sh!t. The ethic was that if you put the bolts in closer than 20' apart you were just a pansy (fortunately I finally outgrew that crap), and Shannon's belaying with the old Stone Mt. belay, i.e. if I fall he takes off into the woods to suck in rope. I'm about 15' above my top bolt, working out the sequence, climbing up, climbing down, climbing up, climbing down, and Shannon, starts to get bored and lights up a little herbal refreshment. Then I climb up a little higher, and now I can't reverse it, the feet are sliming off, the fingers uncurling, and I see what looks like a pretty good hold 4' higher, and I never dyno but I'm freaking and I just full on huck it, stick it right at the deadpoint, and give off a 'Praise Jesus' shriek.
Shannon hears this, takes off into the woods, and yanks me right off.