Reggae – February 4^th, 2005

It had been nearly four months since my spanking in Eldo. Since then I had envisioned every possible scenario for my return to the rock, from being too scared to want to lead trad ever again, to quickly regaining the calm I had taken so much for granted before the ordeal. I had expended a great deal of thought, in the interim, on how I would react to my next lead.

So on Tuesday, when John asked me to take Friday afternoon off to do so some multi-pitch, the stage was set for a week of anxious waiting and very little sleep. No sooner had the thought of traditional multi-pitch on a 60-degree winter weekday got my juices flowing than was my euphoria doused by the dread that had haunted me since October—not the dread of falling, but the dread of being too scared to enjoy an activity I so cherish.

I started my research the very next morning on climbingboulder.com. John had suggested Wind Tower in Eldorado Canyon as an ideal destination for a mid-winter climb. A short search yielded a route called Reggae (5.8) as a perfect first climb for 2005. Reggae is a one-pitch route reached by climbing the first pitch of Calypso (5.6), the great dihedral that splits Wind Tower vertically down the middle. Reggae would be perfect because its crux is a 15-foot section of finger crack at the top of the pitch. I would warm up on the easier lower part, and then test myself on the relatively short section of 5.8 at the top.

I studied every photo of Reggae on climbingboulder.com, nearly every one devoted to the 15-foot crux section, trying to visualize myself on it with the rope under me. My emotions spanned the gamut. I began to visualize the chalky crack, separated by obtusely intersecting slabs of hard Fountain sandstone, in my head, and even in my dreams.

The Thursday night before our outing I barely slept. My anxiousness was not borne of fear, but more of nervous apprehension—the uncertainty of myself. I felt like a football player who, uncertain of the outcome before a big game, finds himself at once giddy at the prospect of winning and terrified at that of losing.

Friday, as we crossed the snow-covered bridge over South Boulder Creek, I looked up to put context to the photos I had studied all week, and which were now fixed in my mind. “Oh my God”, I said to myself, “It’s so high; so steep.” Looking up from far below I gained a perspective the photos couldn’t reveal.

In the spirit of fairness, John and I always play a round of rock-paper-scissors to see who will lead the crux pitch, and today was no exception. The difference today was that I was really hoping John would lose so that I could fulfill the destiny which had beckoned me since Tuesday. As fate would have it I won, and John racked up for his first lead of the season up P1 of Calypso. Seconding that pitch was harder than I felt it should be. P1 of Calypso is only 5.6, but for some reason the rock was greasier, and emitted more of that quesy scent, than usual. Was my paranoid imagination playing tricks on me, or had a long layoff taken a toll? I rationally concluded that I was just rusty, and continued climbing.

When my turn came I took no time to reflect or look ahead. As soon as we had transferred the rack I started up the Reggae line, focusing intently on every move and every placement. The placements were not only more deliberate, but less spaced than I was accustomed to. This focus and deliberation was therapeutic in that kept the demons at bay—the ones that often haunt us in the hours leading up to, and following, a climb. In my experience leading, I have seldom been fearful during a climb, but instead only while thinking about it from afar. The focus was also good in that it kept my mind off the approaching test—the 15 feet of crux above me—and on the immediacy of the rock confronting me now. Most of the climbingboulder.com beta I had read on the route suggested "powering" through the crux, in lieu of stopping to place gear while on it, because it is so pumpy. It was this information about the route, above all, that made me regard it as an ideal test for my lead head. To negotiate a sustained crux, without placing gear, would mean I had passed the test.

I waited patiently before looking up to inspect the crux, and averted my eyes until I was almost directly upon it. Now, from up close, it didn’t look so daunting. Though nearly vertical, the crack looked friendly and the rock flanking it grainy enough to provide ample friction for my tacky rubber soles. Thank goodness, I thought to myself, a positive thought to send me off.

I clipped a piece of fixed gear—some sort of cam—at the base of the crack, and then a large wired stopper of my own just above it. The base was well protected and I was free to ascend. Up I went, lie-backing the right-facing wall of the dihedral with my fingers wrapped snugly around the sharp side of the crack. About half way up I recalled the climbingboulder.com beta to move quickly—I had been so focused up to that point the recollection actually startled me, as if I had forgotten to perform a crucial step. So I stopped to assess myself. I was perhaps seven or eight feet above my starting placements and about the same distance below the wide crack through which one exits the crux. I leaned back on a straightened right arm, opposed by my left foot, took a deep breath and had a short conversation with myself. “How do I feel?”, I asked myself—“Good”, was the answer. “Am I pumped?”—“No”; “Am I breathing?”—“Yes”. At that moment I knew my Anthill Direct angst would be forever behind me, and I produced a little smile. For extra credit, I unracked a #6 stopper from my harness and placed it vertically in the crack—too small. I carefully replaced the #6 on my harness and tried a #7—much better. I placed a draw in the gear and calmly drew rope through it. Once protected, I finished the pitch and began setting up an anchor for John’s belay. I was so excited I forgot to tell John to take me off belay.

Reggae put my irrational fear behind me, but Anthill Direct will still always be with me, albeit it in a more rational way—I learned some things about climbing that day that will forever make me appreciate the gravity of its risks. Thankfully, Reggae allowed me once again to appreciate its joys.