Dry Holds Wet Minds

Monday – 0.42” precipitation

Tuesday – 0.42” precipitation

My psych shriveled up at seeing the rain journal for the last 48 hours.  I had no intention of climbing on Wednesday after seeing the precip amounts -  assuming that the route would be wet.  I went anyway after a small nudge from a good friend.  The road was wet in places and all north facing aspects were seeping and damp.  There was even a dusting of snow on the distant mountain tops.  This felt like mid-November not the beginning of October.  I didn’t have high hopes at all for this session but I thought it would be good to get out anyway just to keep my skin agreeable with the rock and my mind finely tuned with the ebb and flow of the heavily rehearsed dance that is climbing. 

Just a couple days earlier - the weekend - I had experienced somewhat of a transcendent moment.  The birds of fear and lack of motivation flew away from the hardened nest they had settled inside of me and were replaced by fire.  I think that same fire is what drove those birds away.  It helped to have some of the best conditions I’ve ever climbed in as well.  It’s a magical time of year in the Pacific Northwest when late September and early October roll around.  You don’t have to look far on social media to find a smattering of pictures and videos highlighting the bursts of color that blanket climbing crags and their approaches.  Little si was no different.  The trail a veritable carpet of gigantic Big Leaf Maple leaves some half decayed, some bright yellow, some half yellow/orange/green – all as big or bigger than your face.  The air was cool and crisp and dry.  The rock was tacky and cold; it was perfect standing around in a puffy and invigorating once you were ready to climb, no numbing out, just feeling secure in the movement and trusting the rubber on your shoes.   

That Sunday I climbed as if each move reinvigorated my love for life and fed my soul some kind of nourishing broth.  Climbing was an antidote to the malaise that routine and stress (or routine stress) from the mind-numbing charade of work, money, ego, manic flickering of lights, and lack of sleep had caused.  It was the universal solvent for the solidified self-perceived problems of my life.  Climbing was not only an escape but a solution, not just a reprieve but a resolution, not just a minor detail to an otherwise busy and noise filled life but a serene epiphany that became ever encompassing.  The reason why I climbed and why I love and live to climb emerged in one of those special moments of fantastic physical meditation and I could breathe and move, breathe and move, and when I felt myself slipping from this ephemeral plain I only needed to grunt heavily and bark an exultation of focused demand and I was realigned instantly with an oddly calming sense of adrenaline. 

I launched into the last crux of the route feeling as if I could have spit fire.  With a small ping of rubber on hardened rhino stone I was off.  Dangling in the calm cool air of the slowly darkening afternoon, a piece of me in some other dimension still clung on to the route, fighting and breathing and calmly, slowly, forcefully climbing to the top of the route.  But I grasped the rope in anger and tried to come to grips with the reality of falling at the peak of my excitement.  I wanted it to happen when I felt like this, but maybe that’s why it didn’t. 

On my next go I was feeling clumsy and slow, I fumbled with clips, stalled on lock offs, and felt my foot fondle around feverishly for foot placements.  The red-hot glow of intent had left and instead I was left with the limp fascination of repetition.  My mind was empty and I started to falter, crux after crux came and went and suddenly, I was through the crux and getting ready to bring my foot up and perch on a brick shaped hold.  I half fell half jumped off the route in excitement not really understanding what was happening.  So, what WAS happening?  Oh yeah, I finally climbed through the crux that I had been falling at for the last two years of effort.  Holy shit.  I forgot one thing though, to KEEP CLIMBING! 

Hiking up to the wall yesterday I kept thinking about that attempt.  The route finally didn’t seem so intimidating, I didn’t think about failure so much anymore and the fear that accompanied it.  All of that nonsense was replaced with a new fear, the fear of success.  It was terribly frightening – to say the least – to show up to the wall and instead of finding it angrily seeping and wet it was almost completely dry!  *Gulp* The phrase ‘put your money where your mouth is’ started to hold a real tangible quality for me.  I tried my hardest to shew it away and instead focus on my strength, ability, and experience on the route – all of which was vast in quantity and deep in invested time.  Cutting to the chase, there was no send on this day, but I did match my previous high point AND I was able to make a one hang from an overlapping section which I had never done before.  For being a day that I had assumed would be a throw away this was another important milestone in the long saga of my battle with this route.  

Ledge life continues.  I am injured, my bicep hurts, my elbow hurts, I have a tweaky finger, but none of this seems to matter when I’m climbing on this route.  Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve climbed it so much that it’s just not dynamically taxing anymore?  The windows for climbing this route make it a difficult prize to win.  Especially if it’s over your head in the first place.  The physical piece of this puzzle was solved long ago, the mental one – it seems – has just been uncovered.  Now, I must wade through an unpredictable PNW October weather window, stave off my current injuries, stay strong, and push fear and expectation out of my head.  If I can do these things I believe that I can climb this 105-move endurance master piece without falling.  And if I can’t?  Well, I guess I’ll just have to come back next season to learn the lesson that this climb is trying to teach me.