On the Rock

So, I haven't been blogging lately. This is partly due to my extreme tiredness, and partly due to my extreme laziness. It all started two weeks ago: the Week of Out-of-Town Guests. First, my brother arrived on Friday and came bowling with the Cinco Equis. (There is nothing else to do but bowl on a Friday night, um, hello!) We slept; we woke up; we drove to Castle Rock State Park. We went climbing.

Climbing was good. We got there around 8. (We were among the first there. What is a late start time anywhere else seems to be super-early in the greater Santa Cruz area. Go figure.) I did OK on some climbs. He is certainly better than I (not to mention in much better practice and the owner of actual climbing gear -- a rack, a rope, you know -- the really important stuff), but I did well with what I could do. I managed to get past the cruxes of my routes. I didn't always (ever?) make the top, but I did get past the tough problems for me, which I consider a success. Katy will feel me on this, but I judge myself against myself, not against the best climber out there (or even out there that day). For me, 5.7 is HARD. The climbs in the book all started at 5.7 -- meaning there was no way I would ever get to the top of something.

In fact, I couldn't downclimb the "5.4" "walk-up" to se the anchor. The quotes are on purpose. It was no 5.4. Bro had to take his pack off to make the move (all unprotected -- this was supposed to be the walk to the top to set an anchor) so I climbed up a few feet to pass his pack over to him. It is impossible, you see, to set an anchor without any gear. I went up about 6 feet and he got his pack, but then the down was a big ol' Not So Much. I gotta give some props to my Bro, though. He got out the rope and tossed an end down to me. It wouldn't do much -- but then I wasn't more 'n 6 feet off the ground anyway. He told me to just tie it around me waist.

Wait! Wait! I know this!!!! I can tie a one-handed bowline around my waist. It was a parlor trick taught to me by my first climb leader in the car on the way to a conditioning hike. I'm good at knots (hey -- let me brag about the one thing I'm actually a natural at), so I picked it up quickly, and kept it. Cause there I was with a rope tied in a nice bowline, around my waist. I made it down fine. I would have made it down fine without the rope; I didn't use it. But Bro didn't make me feel bad about using it at all: no "You wuss" comments, no calling me a sissy. (If you know my Brother, you know he can be harsh. When push comes to shove, though, and his little sister is scared, he totally comes through.)

Anyway. After a second attempt, I make it past the difficult spot on our first climb. We go around the back to a crack and steal a belay off some other guys on the rock. They have their own issues, but I do get a nice belay. I didn't make the top -- I used up all my strength getting past the crux. It took me some time, I fell off once or twice. But with some good advice on how to attack the crack (it involved some stemming -- which isn't always intuitive -- and turning 90 degrees away from crack) I made it past the tough part. Then I fell and I knew I had nothing left to go higher. Bro even complimented me. The dudes were idiots, though, so we left.

We hiked to the other side of the park, and did some more climbing. There was another sketchy climb to set an anchor, but it was at a place where I could do a seated belay for Bro. He had tried to lead climb the thing, but it was too difficult a start. With a top rope, he made it up, however. I made it past the start. It was a difficult start, and I did the first-ever layback type move of my life. It wasn't a complete layback, but enough to make me think that I can, one day, do a layback. (I need more upper body strength, straight up.) So, I got six feet off the ground and told him I had nothing. He sorta laughed and said, "Yeah, I just wanted you to get that far." We moved over a route, and Bro played on the rock for a bit, but he was pretty spent. I went up as well, but I was spent, too. So we called it a day around 3.

As a side note, you've seen the rants about bicycle helmets. Imagine how much more annoyed I am when I see people climbing without helmets. Really? Are you shitting me? This couple is climbing a 5.11 or 5.11b WITHOUT HELMETS. Yeah, dude is good. Dude can climb a 5.11. But even dude falls off the rock while working out the problem, that's how you work out a problem. Imagine, however, what would happen if one time when he falls off the rock he smacks his head. Or what happens to his belay partner when he knocks a stone loose and it comes crashing down on her head. What happens when he's "walking" to the top to set an anchor and falls off. Oh, yeah -- this is what happens: YOU DIE! I read a post on Facebook not a month ago from a friend who was climbing with the Mazamas when a (non-Mazama) family had an accident on the rock and they ended up dead. This was at a very popular climbing spot -- I've been there 3-4 (5?) times myself. They were walking up to set an anchor, and this is an actual walk to the top, (they think -- investigations were still pending when I read the report) and fell. Or maybe the anchor failed. Regardless, they didn't have helmets on. There's not much you can do without a helmet. Why is death so cool? It's not. Bro's sticker on the top of his helmet reads: Contents Empty, Do Not Remove. Mine is a giant target, you know: hit me right here, I dare you. Helmets can be fun.

My same climber leader always said that if you see someone doing something stupid (like glissading with crampons on), tell them to stop doing then and get out of there so you don't have to help with the rescue.