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 Balance
by Rich
I step up to the rock, ready for my challenge with just a hint of trepidation in my gut. I know that the book describes this climb as “5.8 Face. 2 bolts. Follow the seam to a 2 shut rap.” 5.8 routes are considered to be of low-end-intermediate difficulty. Anything below 5.7 is beginner, above 5.10 is advanced. I climb 5.11 in the gym and 5.10 outside on toprope. I also know that my friend Dan told me that he couldn’t get the 2nd move. Since he’s just as good a climber as I am, that thought does not fill me with confidence, though there is a certain challenge hiding in there somewhere. I examine the 25’ rock face before me, pitching slightly positive, perhaps 10 degrees or so. There’s a crack that opens up to ¾” about 8’ off the ground. The first bolt is 15 feet off the deck, the second bolt 8’ beyond it. It’s possible that the route has lost holds over time as climbers inevitably break off promising flakes. If that’s the case, this route could be considerably harder than advertised.
I check the gear I have slung about me. My climbing harness is securely fastened at all four buckles, and my Figure-8 knot “big boy” is textbook clean. Good. I have 2 personal anchors for the top, and I’ve got enough quickdraws for the bolts and then some. A couple of slings loop over my shoulder. My helmet is fastened, my belayer is alert and ready, my shoes are tied and my nose is clean. I have no more excuses to stay on the ground.
I step to the face and put my hands on the decomposing granite. It’s rough, which bodes well for my ability to gain purchase with my rubber coated climbing shoes, but there are no obvious handholds, and precious few finger holds. I’m stating to understand why Dan thought this route was a challenge. I look down and examine options for my feet. I see a ledge on the right about a foot off the ground. There’s nothing on the left. Hands? I move my hands over the rock, assessing every ridge with fingers that have been trained for this purpose. I find a couple of small depressions, no more than an inch in diameter and a half-inch deep. At last I find a ridge long enough to allow me to place three fingertips. I slide the left hand up until it finds a suitable granite knob. I glance at my belayer to confirm readiness. I place my right foot on the aforementioned ledge and, slowly, I stand on it.
“That’s the first move” I think to my self, “but now what?” I’m now within reach of the vertical seam, so I place six fingers, 3 from each hand, in the seam. I taste the seam with my fingertips, examining the nuances of its construction. I shift my weight to the right and left, searching for the optimal direction to apply force. I like the feel of pulling to the left so I look down again at my feet. From the rock, it’s brutally obvious that there are no footholds to be found. At best I can count on a less-vertical 2” slope. That will have to do. As I place my left foot on the slope, I try not to think about the fact that right now I’m climbing without safety - this is lead climbing. Until I get to the first bolt, there is nothing to keep me from hitting the ground if I fall. Banish that thought. Concentrate on the task at hand.
Slowly add weight to the left foot. Pull sideways on the seam with the fingers, push into the rock and make the feet stick. As I fully weight my foot and start moving upwards, I look up to find the next handhold. I can count on the seam for one more right hand pull, but I need something for my left. Fortunately, there’s a nearly horizontal ledge an inch deep that I can reach. It comes into range and my left hand moves up. Fingers find familiar patterns, and lock into place. “Bomber” I think to myself. Climbers have odd expressions, and “bomb-proof” has somehow evolved into “bomber”. I’m not sure how, but any climber will know what you mean: that hold ain’t going nowhere, and you can use it all day without fear – as long as your fingers last that is.
My right hand joins the left and I again search for footholds. Finding a couple, I look for my next handholds, and see that the first bolt will be within reach after the next move. Done. So now I can reach the bolt, but the quickdraw, a piece of webbing connecting two carabiners, isn’t going to clip itself. I lock my right hand and focus on my balance. With my left hand, I disconnect a quickdraw from my harness, reach out to the bolt, and clip one end of the quickdraw through the metal anchor bolted to the rock face. That done, I grab the rope training down from my wait to my belayer. I pull up on the rope, gathering slack. With a loop of the rope over my thumb, I reach out to the free end of the quickdraw and, with a move that still needs some polish, flick the rope through the gate of the carabiner. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I‘m finally on belay, and that if I fall, I probably won’t hit the ground – “crater” in climber parlance.
My task is far from over, and now I rely on my belayer to be alert. He needs to pay out rope as I climb so as not to hinder my progress, but to be ready to arrest the rope should gravity best friction at the battle of the shoes, waged presently at Y-crack boulder, Pinnacle Peak City Park, Scottsdale, Arizona. As I flow through the repetition of route finding, alternating my searching between handholds and footholds, I pass the first bolt and approach the second. While the crux – the hardest part – of this climb was below the first bolt, the most perilous part of the climb is upon me. The rope runs from my harness to the bolt below. As I take slack to clip the second quickdraw I just placed, I have eight feet of rope between me and the last safety point, plus another three in slack as I reach for the ‘draw. If I fall now, I’m going to come to a stop somewhere near the ground 20 odd feet below me. Oh yeah, this rope as 10% stretch to prevent sudden organ-jarring stops during a fall. Screwing this up would be A Bad Thing.
My right foot is solid, so I bring up my left foot up to a promising slope in front of my left thigh. Left foot held in place by will as much as physics, I slide my weight over it, my heel touching my thigh. I reach with rope in hand, and, it’s done. Relief. Adrenaline. I’m not done yet. Fortunately the last bit of this climb, though unprotected and run-out is easy. The pitch has dropped to 60 degrees and I breeze up to the eyebolts fixed at the top of the climb. I clip my personal anchor to one of the eyebolts and call down to the ground: “I’m off”. My belayer responds “You’re off”. I untie the rope from my harness. Now protected only by my anchor (a length of cord with a locking carabiner at the end), I thread the rope through both of the eyebolts and pay out enough so that both ends of the rope touch the ground below. Two loops of the rope go through my rappel device. I tighten the slack, unclip my safety, and slide quickly and easily to the ground.
Exhilaration. Elation. Pride. I have a sense of self-accomplishment flowing through me, because I challenged the rock, and I conquered. I look to my friends as they nod encouragement. I ask them “Who’s next?”
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