HANGING BY A THREAD: A MINI CLIMBING EPIC
by PATRICK L. WELSH
As climbers we can all share in the timeless scenario of epics. They are those times when you are gripped beyond belief, in the midst of a physically or mentally taxing problem that cripples us and has us wishing to be saved to an “island of safety”. Only by personal strength, ingenuity, teamwork, or the occasional rescue are we removed from our harrowing position. Later, we find ourselves chuckling about it... most of the time. For many people, this situation could be enough to turn them from the pursuit of climbing for good. But we climbers are an adventurous lot, and if we inspect our passion for climbing closely, we find that any “island of safety” is only imaginary. We wouldn’t climb if we didn’t like to be scared and shake ourselves up now and then. It is this mix of exhilaration and fear, and our mastery in the face of danger, that keep us coming back. Here is one of my own experiences.
It was a beautiful blue sky spring afternoon in Big Cottonwood Canyon. The rushing sound of the Cottonwood Creek and the breeze in the trees made for a hypnotic and calming white noise. I slowly and methodically put on my gear in preparation for my friend's first trad climb.
He had climbed with me on bolted sport climbs on several previous occasions. He was a competent belayer and climber, but had no experience with crack climbing. I systematically sorted through my cams, nuts, and quick draws and attempted to walk my friend through the methods of placement, purpose, and removal of gear. Running through my mental safety checklist as I pulled on my shoes, I tried to also remind him of any unfamiliar scenarios he could encounter.
We were ready. I flash him a brief smile of confidence and start of the open book layback dihedral of the first pitch. I fire in a handful of pieces and bring my friend up to my belay ledge rather uneventfully.
We sit on the broad ledge, drinking water and taking in the surrounding mountain views as we sort out the rack again for the second pitch. The second pitch traverses left, followed by a finger sized roof crack that comes out to an airy overhung stance. It is not particularly difficult to pull off, but not somewhere you would like to be hanging for any time while taking in the hundred foot drop beneath you. I move out into the traverse easily and come to the roof crack where I place a medium cam right underneath the roof. Because I felt a touch uneasy over my friend's inexperience in this forum, I put in a smaller cam right over the roof in the vertical crack that would take us to the next belay. I pulled through the roof crack out of the overhang and came to a dead halt just as I get marginally good feet and hands in a thin section of crack in the wall in front of me.
I assume that my partner is merely short roping me, so I stop my upward progress in an attempt to give him a chance to feed out some slack. But as I pull hard on the rope, it doesn't move at all. I call down loudly to him to tell him to give me some rope, but my calls are drowned by the sound of the creek water below. I look down at my gear for something I can fire in as an emergency piece and come across a medium cam that only marginally fits
the shape of the crack in front of me. I decide to try to get an emergency backup to my backup piece, but I can only wriggle in a small and marginal nut. I lean back far enough to give my partner hand signals and he shouts, “I AM GIVING YOU ROPE!" I see 5-10 feet of slack coiled at his feet.
The sweat of exertion gives way to cold sweats of terror as my feet and hands scrape and readjust to hold my precarious stance. I try to calm myself to find a solution to my mounting problem. I want to lower myself a bit so that I can see what is going on but I am stuck in my exact position, unable to move up or down.
I begin thinking tht my emergency pieces are keeping me from inspecting my pieces below, so I make a dicey decision to unclip from my upper pieces, exposing me to a long swinging fall. This frees the rope up enough for me to peer under the roof to find the cause of the unmoving rope. Because of my initial unslung under roof and lip cams and my partners’ tighter belay that came from his sport experience, the rope had gotten levered into the roof crack. It was deeply in there, swallowed and unmoving as I tried to flip it out of the crack. I pulled back over the lip and clipped into my pieces as I nervously tried to think up a safe scenario in my head for some remedy to my problem. I started the familiar schizophrenic self-talk that athletes often encounter in clinch moments. Mine includes the easy going, ingenious, and calm persona I normally try to have, together with the strict and abrasive drill sergeant that smacks me into line when I need it. The conversation had found its way out of my head, and I was actually yelling at myself to keep cool and find a solution while sweat dripped into my eyes.
I eventually came around to an idea for a hairball scheme that would get my partner and me out of this potentially deadly situation.
First I readjust my backup cam and nut to ensure the best possible placements (which were not great), and attach my only long nylon sling to the mini anchor. Next, I nervously untie from the rope while holding onto the sling. Wrapping the end of the rope around my wrist to avoid the catastrophic possibility of dropping the rope, I slowly lower out over the lip, dangling one arm over a hundred foot drop. By now, my partner is watching me gape mouthed, with fear on his face. I pluck out the two cams and flip the rope like a rodeo cowboy but it stays firmly in place, seated in the crack.
I start thinking about the possibility of not being able to free the rope. In a matter of seconds I have run through a dozen terrifying possibilities that included a possible unroped climb down to the bottom to rescue my partner. Just as those thoughts fly through my head in a chilling montage, the rope pops out of the crack. I make a clearly audible scream of joy.
If I could have had a picture of this moment it would be priceless! I was hanging Tarzan style in mid air with the rope in my teeth as I pulled myself exhaustedly over the roof, clipping back into my faithful protection. I tie back in, wipe the dripping layer of sweat from my face, give my partner a much-needed thumbs up, and continue up to the next belay. I revel in the now late afternoon sun and my new found freedom as I bring my relieved partner up to my stance. He slaps me on the back and asks me to tell him what happened. We laugh uncontrollably as we reflect on our good fortune, and then continue up the final pitch without incident.
As we top out I tell him, “That is why they call it adventure climbing, my friend!”
Everyone has climbing epics of various degrees of difficulty, severity, and duration. One
person’s epic is another’s routine walk in the park. The key to all these seemingly frightening occurrences is that we always learn a valuable lesson from them. Whether the outcome is good or bad we will take something away from each of them, and hopefully never make those same mistakes again in the future.
That day I learned the importance of slinging pro under overhangs and the need to devote more time for an intro to multi-pitch trad climbing than just the moments before you leave the ground. But it is in these instances that we can truly see what we are made of. In the face of grave and mounting challenges, it is what we do in moments of dire need that show us our true heroic potential in life.
Patrick L. Welsh is a climbing expert at Black Diamond who spends most of his spare time roping and riding the granite canyons of the Wasatch Front.