About a month ago I wrote about an event that in hindsight was not such a big deal. The dreaded lead test. But it wasn’t so much about the lead test as it was about looking into the cold, brittle yellow eyes of fear and staring it down.
Two weeks ago while on a road trip with friends I decided to take it a step further and put all this hard work to the test: I hired a guide to take me out on my first multipitch climb in Moab, Utah. I had trained hard for it by climbing frequently at Portland Rock Gym in the weeks preceding it. In fact as soon as the trip plans were laid out I started thinking about taking a day out of the most epic desert riding known to man, to go climb a rock. Or to be more precise, a tower of rock.
Pausing for a breather and scenery appreciation on Stolen Chimney
Stolen Chimney / Ancient Art is a desert spire nestled in the larger and fairly infamous complex known as the Fisher Towers. The total height is about 250 feet above the base and comes in four pitches. It’s rated anywhere from 5.8 to 5.10a and the top of the climb–the spire– is a corkscrew-like appendage that resembles something from a Dr Suess cartoon. The very top of the spire is a one foot wide “platform”. It’s one of the most popular desert tower climbs in the area. It’s said that if one is serious about climbing desert sandstone one should really get on this one, not so much because it’s there, but because who knows how much longer it will be there.
All the same, I felt pretty secure about it staying put while I heaved my graceless body up along its flanks. Until I got to the last pitch.
. . . . . . .
But I get ahead of myself. Pitch one was easy. Nothing to write home about. Didn’t even break a sweat. Pitch 2 was longer, climbing up through the mud chimney. My guide had placed protection so I was following, pulling the protection as we went up.The chimney narrows towards the top and one encounters a sort of lid that requires climbing out and over. While in the chimney I felt calm, secure, totally relaxed. It wasn’t until I had to push out around that lip and become more exposed again that I started to taste the acrid bite of fear. I only had another 12 feet or so to the next huge platform, so I calmly pushed through it, stopping to snap a photo through the “keyhole” at the top of the chimney. Looking so far down below to the desert valley was nauseating. When I reached the landing, I felt myself glazing over with fear.
Gazing through the keyhole. Oh boy that's a long way down.
Pitch 3 was a short route but challenging. I was determined not to pull draws to get up, attempting to free climb it. I could not. The finger and toe holds were too thin. I pulled myself up using the draws. No harm, no foul. I came here to explore, to climb, not to be a perfectionist.
The moment of defeat. Or... Something.
Pitch 4 is where it all fell apart. Or rather, I did. My leader lowered off the spire after clipping in to the anchors to top rope me up. There’s a narrow ridge spanning the main body of rock toward the summit spire. It’s all of about 14″ in spots. Heart pounding, I shuffled across, taking a few tentative steps then finally succumbing to crawling the last few feet. Next, an awkward full-body mantle move onto a sort of pommel horse type ledge slightly above hip height. Throwing myself onto to it with a graceless belly-flop, I slowly rose to standing. This was the end of my journey. Only two or three bolts remained,but I could not get past this ledge. The next move eluded me. I worked it for what seemed an eternity (probably abotu 7 minutes, really). It was an awkward, balance-y move, with a thin spine for a grip.
My trusty guide Larry was patient, encouraging and supportive. I wanted it! I wanted it BAD. But… not badly enough. In all honesty my head was swimming with fear. I couldn’t even believe I’d made it this far. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable and suddenly very mortal and fragile.
Interestingly enough I never once had a quitter thought like I do when I’m racing. When I’m racing I hear myself saying ” Who thinks this is a good idea?” Or “whose idea of fun is this, anyway”? Or “can I just flat now and be done?” I always manage to pull it back around to positive thinking, but I know how much of an energy suck it is to even have those thoughts at all. Clearly more work is required to get to the point where I just don’t even go there.
There was no room to think these sort of thoughts up here, dangling by a thread hundreds of feet above the desert floor. The only reason I’d gotten this far was because of my yoga. I could breathe. That is the only thing I had going for me at the time. My breathing was constant, steady, relaxed, even though my mind wasn’t.
I honestly can’t say why I couldn’t make it past the ledge at the base of the spire. Maybe I was just spent from a week of riding epic amounts of singletrack. My climbing teacher Michael would chastise me for suggesting it could have been hand strength (but I swear… it was super pinchy and thin and…). I tried everything to get past that damn move but I couldn’t. After many attempts, I finally succumbed to the reality that my faith in myself had run out. I didn’t believe I could do it. And up here, high above the desert floor, not even Callie’s angelic faith in me could move me. I was done. Defeated.
Or was I?
I will go back. It’s honestly not that spectacular of a climb. It’s very scenic, but I’d rather do something else; more face climbing. But I will return to pull through that move and bag the peak.
Maybe.
Or maybe I will let it go, and chalk it up as a learning experience. What I learned: Physically, except for a couple of moves, this was not a difficult climb for me. I learned I need to quit protecting my climbing, meaning I need to work on harder stuff instead of doing more of what I already do well. But mostly, I need to work on my mental training. You’d think after all these years of yoga and meditation it would just directly translate to the climbing. A lot of it does. But there’s a key difference between yoga and climbing: I am never afraid just doing yoga.
I'll be back!
I don’t like being afraid. I really don’t. But I refuse to be limited by fear. It’s taken far too much of my life already. I’m not talking about being reckless. The risks I take are calculated. People can quote climbing accident statistics to me all they want. The numbers are not actually that impressive. I know people who get out of bed wrong and ruin their backs. Or step off the curb and break an ankle. So please, spare me the scare tactics. I won’t STOP because of fear. I would stop because I was in over my head, or I was sick or tired. I would stop because I wasn’t interested anymore. But I will not let fear stop me from doing something I enjoy.
. . . . . . . .
My return to Portland has been a difficult one. Something happened to me in Moab. I realized how lost I’ve felt lately. And I got a little closer to really understanding it out there, so supremely exposed, vulnerable. So I’m going back. I’m planning to take a short sabbatical to go back to the desert and learn its secrets. She has something to teach me. You know what they say, when the student is ready…
I’m taking my bikes and a computer. I’ll be riding and climbing, but mostly, being alone and silent…and writing. It is time. I’m no blogger. I’m a writer. I tell stories. There are stories in me whose time have come. These stories are part of my offering, my work. People think I do these things—ride and climb—for recreation. That’s definitely true in part. But really I do them to learn. I’m a teacher. This is how I learn what I teach. There is nothing I do with my body that isn’t also for my spirit, or with spirit, or for spirit. They are indivisible. There are NO empty moments.
. . . . .
Upon returning to regular workouts at the Rock Gym, the warm community of climbers I’ve connected with there were very supportive and happy for my attempted climb. Many said it was a pretty burly first face climb and echoed the scariness of the high level of exposure. Last night, when discussing my fear of falling with my climbing partner, something shifted. We both knew it. I had to push on, mentally. Though I had never climbed with Scott before, I see him at the Rock Gym 4-5 times a week. At the end of my second route, as I clipped in to the anchor bolts at the top, he started to say something…
“I’m going to give you…” he yelled up.
I let go and took the fall before he could finish. Somehow it just felt right to both of us to do this. That we both intuited to work together on this… To put this much faith and trust in another person who literally holds your life in their hands. It’s a humbling and awesome thing.
I’ll be back on that spire soon enough. I’ll be ready this time. I’ve already begun training the weaknesses that showed up in Moab.
And who knows… Maybe I’ll just fall anyway, laughing at the old me, and smiling at the new.
Climb on! Or should I say “Drop in”?
I know… More cowbell 
