On Climbing

Yesterday, I attempted a climb and it changed everything.

I have had, by my own measure, a very successful summer of climbing. I led Outside Corner, a 3-pitch 5.7 trad climb that I couldn't lead last year. I've gone up to the City of Rocks and down to Maple Canyon. I've become a solid 5.9 sport leader, a solid 5.8 trad leader, and can climb a 5.10 without overexertion. And more than that, I have developed some of the most deep, fundamental, and essential climbing partnerships - friendships - I have had in my short-lived climbing life. All wonderful things - but I wanted to lead a 5.10 before the summer was out. I want to be able to do harder things, to challenge myself more than I have in the past. I feel I am ready and able for that. So, yesterday, I made my first attempt at a 5.10 lead.

Climbing is a complex endeavor. It is mental, physical, emotional, spiritual. It is a bond with earth, rock, air, and life. The rock is both friend and mentor. It is, many times, the bearer of tough love and the perpetual killer of ego. It is the birth of some of the most human bonds I have formed; fundamental partnerships that transcend the norm of daily life, partnerships upon which life itself rests.

And it is, for me at least, a challenging vehicle for growth. Progress depends entirely on me and my willingness and ability to push my limits and to get better. That was the goal in leading a 5.10. Getting better. One step up could open a whole new world of climbs previously untouchable. I understood - at least I thought I did - that achieving a 5.10 is only one part of becoming a better climber. But we all crave progress, and I am not free from that drive. And, I just felt ready. I knew I could lead a 5.10, I just had to do it.

I had climbed Chambered Nautilus before. It is the climb on the left face in the picture, for those unfamiliar with it. I have had some grand adventures on that climb, and knew I could climb it. At the most basic level, I also knew I could lead it. I just hadn't done it yet. So I roped in, and up I went.

I believe that all climbers share a certain love for the sport, and understand that climbing is a reflection of life. But on a deeper level, I think everyone has their own intimate relationship with the rock, and with the sport of climbing. Reasons for why we climb are as diverse as the hands with which we climb. I climb because I feel that topping out on a route is a gift from the earth, letting me experience views of the world I would not otherwise see. I climb because when I am on the rock, I feel graceful and connected to my body. I climb because I like the puzzle and the challenge. And simply, because it is joy.

All of those things were present on Chambered Nautilus. The formation of that rock is a gift, a puzzle, a challenge. I felt good - balanced, sure-footed. Everything was there, up until the very end. And then, as they say, everything fell apart.

In order to top out on Chambered Nautilus, you have to make one rather challenging move above the second-to-last clip. If you fall - and you will always fall - you will be safe. The fall is not bad. But you do fall back down below the crux, and have to most above that clip again, have to find that hand hold again, have to find your feet, again. And fall. Again. Something interesting happened to me when I was on that climb. I knew I could do it. That was never a question in my mind. But how I did it, and how I decided to get over the crux, that was where everything fell apart. Rather than attempting the crux again, risking the fall again, and accepting that outcome, I acted out of fear. I made the last clip in the most dangerous and precarious position I could have put myself in on that climb. Rather than attempting one more time the safer, proper move, I stopped thinking and just clipped. And after I clipped, I pulled the roof, got above the crux - and the climb was over.

I should have been in ecstasy. I had just led my first 5.10 and had not had to relinquish the lead. I made it up. But I was angry. I was angry, and I was disappointed, and I wished I could have taken it back. I clipped out of fear and it made the climb not a success, but a scarlet letter sewn onto my chest.

I learned, yesterday, that there are other reasons I climb and far greater measures than numbers of my success and progress. In my head, I have always known this. But after Chambered Nautilus I felt in my heart, that there are greater reasons for climbing than topping out on a 5.10 lead. Climbing teaches integrity, honesty, love, patience; both on the rock and off. Clipping in fear is essentially cutting a corner. Taking the easy way out. I read in a wonderful book that when we are in situations where we are challenged, we revert to our core habits. Cutting corners and clipping in fear go hand-in-hand. And, though it may get me to the top of a 5.10 climb, it left me feeling betrayed by my own self.

It is hardly pleasing to admit that corner cutting is a cornerstone of my life. My mantra has always been that things always work out in the end, regardless of what comes before it. And Chambered Nautilus was, in technicality, a success. But it was not successful. And I take that as a lesson, both on and off the rock.

I will go back this season to climb Chambered Nautilus again. Before I climb, I will say a small prayer of thanks to the rock, and will climb with the integrity and attention such a climb deserves. And I may or may not make it to the top.