Feeding the Rat
Some say I’ll be dead by forty. Others say, I need to find an alternative, safer way to indulge my athletic side. Still others say, I’m a fool with a death wish… Some say I’ll be dead by forty. Others say, I need to find an alternative, safer way to indulge my athletic side. Still others say, I’m a fool with a death wish. I’m obsessed. For nearly 10 years, rock climbing has infiltrated every thought for nearly every hour of my day. When can I climb? How much is rope, more carabineers and shoes? Who can I find to go with me? Where can I go? Ever since that first great pinch hold and that first sweet toe jam, I knew I found a calling. Unfortunately, because I need to work to stay alive and because of other important distractions in my life, I haven’t gotten out nearly as much as I’d like, so my skills haven’t developed nearly as well as possible. And this being winter, I long for the feel of the cool gritty sandstone beneath my fingertips and the exhilaration of a tough move.
This obsession began during a hiking trip to New Hampshire’s White Mountains in 1998. A friend (Keith) and I met up with his cousin Jay, and Jay talked us into changing our plans of climbing Mount Washington to actually climbing Mt. Washington. He showed us a cliff near Mount Washington called Cathedral Ledge, 500-feet high in some places. He said, I remember this specifically, “This is some of the best and hardest climbing New Hampshire has to offer. But you won’t be climbing there, I’m gonna start you guys off at Romney.” Romney rocks, which are located in the Southwest corner of White Mountains National Forest, are 50- to 100-foot shiest cliffs, with a few easy routes perfect for the beginner.
The cliffs of Romney are about a 20-minute drive from the Rock Barn, an old hay barn converted into a climbing shop and an indoor climbing gym just off of Rt. 93, and about a five-minute walk up a moderate trail from the parking lot to the base of the rocks. It is one of the more popular places in the area for both beginner as well as expert. In fact, one of the first walls one sees exiting the trail to the crag is considered to be one of the toughest climbs in Romney, a 5.12a.
As we begin to unpack, like a first-time skydiver about to jump, I start to have serious doubts. Will the rope really hold me? Will Jay belay me properly? And, more importantly, will I be able to do it? I’m a pretty athletic guy, but I have this fear of heights that can sometimes overcome me. I have trouble looking over ledges of tall buildings and high cliffs. Ladders are pretty much out of the question and rock climbing, well…
Jay assures me that the rope will hold me and that my fear of heights will only be a problem if I look down. “Pay attention to the rock. Concentrate on the placement of your feet and think two moves ahead, and before you know it you’re at the top, no worries,” he said. Yea, no worries. Except there is one glitch in his advice, I have to look down to see my feet.
Jay climbs first, setting equipment as he goes. Keith belays (pulls rope through a devise hooked to him that creates friction on the rope and stops Jay if he should fall.) The carabiners, cams and nuts ting as he moves up the face. The smoothness of his motion and quickness with which he chooses the placement of his appendages remind me of a chimpanzee navigating a tree.
“How do you know where to put those rope-clamp thingys?” I shout to him, referring to the quick draws he snapped into bolts.
“That’s for another day, another lesson,” he yelled down. “We’re gonna stick to the basics today.”
Even toproping seems unsafe. This relatively thin rope is looped through these extremely light aluminum clamps that are in turn attached to a super thin nylon strap, which is then attached to another aluminum clamp, which is hooked into a very beat-up eye-hook that is somehow attached to the rock with Velcro, Superglue, double-stick tape? I don’t know? The entire set up holding the rope is called an anchor. It creates a kind of pulley system. Except your not pulled to the top, you must climb.
“How are those eye-hook thingys attached to the rock?” I shout to Jay as he reaches the top of the 70-foot climb and begins setting up a toprope.
“Off belay! These thingys are called bolts! A climber drills a hole then pounds one of these into the hole! Slack! Coming down!” Jay begins his rappel down, cleaning the draws as he goes and saying, “Most bolts, if done right are pretty much bombproof, for awhile anyway. They’ll eventually need replaced.”
“Those clamps, they’re aluminum right?” I ask.
“Carabiners. Yep. But they’re extremely strong.”
“Pop cans are made from aluminum, too,” I say.
Jay laughs as he unties himself from the rope. Somehow, I don’t see the humor.
“Okay, you climb first,” he says, handing me a harness. Keith chuckles.
The climbing harness is this seatbelt-looking thing that wraps around your waist, attaches to the rope and keeps you from dying if you fall. But you must doubleback. Otherwise, the harness could slip off, resulting in… well you know. I doubleback, wishing I could tripleback.
“Okay, tie your figure-eight follow though,” Jay says, referring to the knot he showed us earlier. I proudly tie a double-square knot with a fisherman’s variation. (Learned it from my grandfather.)
Jay laughs, and shows me again. “That’s a strong knot, but could come undone easily. Figure-eight follow though is the best,” he says.
After four tries, Jay ties the knot for me.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I put my hands on the rock, my left toe in a crack and stand up.
“Wait,” Jay commands. “What do you say?”
“Ready to climb.” I blurt.
“Climb away.”
Any good climber will tell you that the key to rock climbing has little to do with your arms, but depends mainly on the placement of your feet and keeping balanced throughout the route.
I begin by pulling myself up the first twenty feet using mostly my arms. My feet dangle below me nearly useless. I’m holding on for dear life, as I come to ledge to rest.
“Why don’t you simulate a fall?” Jay says as I struggle to push my fingers deeper into a crack.
“What? You mean fall on purpose?”
“Yea. That way you won’t be so afraid. You’ll climb better and more relaxed.” Again, I fail to see the logic.
“You mean let go.”
“Yes.”
“Yea, just let go,” Keith chimes and laughs.
“Can’t do it. I’ll die.” My arms are really tired at this point. But I will not let go. The situation reminds me of the saying, “They’ll have to pry my stiff dead hands…”
Jay chuckles. “The rope will catch you. Just balance yourself on your legs and let go.”
I spread my legs a bit and get a better purchase with my hands. My legs begin shaking uncontrollably (sewing machine leg), not out of fear but because I’m not accustomed to standing on my toes for any length of time.
“Okay. I’m ready,” Jay says. ” Go ahead and let go.”
“I can’t,” I whimper. I really can’t. My mind has told my appendages to let go three or four times. They won’t release.
“You have to come down sometime,” Jay says.
“Can’t I just climb to the top?”
“Sure go ahead. But when you get to the anchor your going to have to let go so I can lower you anyway.”
“Alright! Alright! I’ll do it.”
I could picture myself falling, arms windmilling, legs kicking, rock flashing past my eyes like a subway train. I could hear the hollow thud of my body on the hard forest floor. I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I release one hand and then the other, then lean backward. I was giving myself to the hands of fate. If I die my brother will be happy to have my Xterra and my sister glad to be able to date in peace. I wish I had made a will, or called my fiancé before I had left this morning to wish her well in life. As my finger tips brush from the rock, I am sorry for picking on Melissa Massare in grade school and telling my 10th grade biology professor to kiss my a##. I’m sorry for not making more of myself in this life and missing my wedding. But mostly, I feel sorry for Keith who is going to have to scrap me off of the ground, most likely with a shovel. I could feel my body float from the wall and rotate sideways until my right cheek and nose were smashed against the sandstone like a child’s distorted countenance to the glass of a candy store.
“Next time you might want to keep your arms out. You won’t smash your face like that.” Jay says, chuckling. “When you’re on a toprope you don’t really fall you kinda roll sideways. No air time.”
I hang there.