My last post started off somewhat upbeat and optimistic. As I neared the end of it, it became considerably less so. I know I have a tendency to let local minima influence my mood. I know that I cannot turn back the clock, undo what happened to me – my accident – and therefore, all I can do, is be cognizant of the upward trajectory my life has, overall, taken since then, and the potential to get stronger, not weaker, with each passing year. But, as I was thinking about Moby Grape, about how I could find myself so exhausted from the approach that I would not be able to do “my” part on the climb itself i.e. do my share of the leading, not fizzle out part way through the climb…I started to cry, reminded of the sense of loss, the delta. My partner says I need to let go of the grief and forgive myself. Forgive what, exactly? I asked. He responded, that I needed to forgive myself for once having been here and now at a different absolute level (by some criteria).

I am not a boundlessly optimistic person by nature. Never have been. Which is maybe why this tendency for me to be mired in the grief, is so hard for me to shake sometimes. It is practice, I know. But, it is going to be a very long time, and probably quite a few more years of practice, before it feels second nature.

Due to time-constraints, a friend and I made a day trip to North Conway to climb some classics at Cathedral. I had climbed on one occasion with Lian (sport climbing at Rumney), but this was the first time we had climbed trad together. Due to my perpetually broken PIP joints, we chose to stay away from any finger cracks, and warmed up for the season on routes like The Roof, Funhouse and Bombardment. The last two are well-known moderate classics; but the first climb, a 5.8+/5.9 climb was actually super fun. Even though these are very easy climbs, it was nice to just get moves in on a nice (this translates to “not rainy” in the Northeast) day. I think Northeast ratings are also pretty stout! The combination of the wetness and foliage definitely makes things a bit challenging, especially when you do not trust both feet.

It is easy for me to look at climbs like this and think, man, these barely would have been warm-ups in my “prior” life. And not beat myself up too much about feeling a bit sketched out on some sections I led which felt incredibly run out, when I know, objectively, they were not. My pro was solid, the fall would have been clean…yet, it would make me slightly nervous. Lian said, you always look so calm! I replied, clearly you didn’t hear me swearing…

I don’t think Lian was aware of the trauma and lasting physical effects of my accident. I was curious to hear from him if there was anything about the way I climbed that surprised him. He said, no, not really, you looked really comfortable. We agreed that I spend a lot of time in sections, where I am figuring out the sequence of moves I am going to make with my right foot and where I would lock my left leg out. He said that I clearly was very comfortable hand-jamming. Well, yeah. It was nice of Lian to say that I climbed harder trad than most of his friends; but a) it’s New England – not that many people climb trad/cracks, and b) he doesn’t have that many friends who climb trad (related to (a)).

I guess on the one hand, this should all be interpreted as a compliment; that the strength I have developed in other parts of my body, and the way I use my body around my gimpy leg, hides theses deficits. On the other hand, I still feel a sense of frustration, that I can’t just stick my left leg in a crack, torque it, walk up a crack like a staircase and feel totally secure.

I think one thing that came out of this brief outing, was how these climbing trips seem rather normal now. How I am out with a partner, not as a handicapped person to him/her, not as someone to babysit (although I did ask Lian if he could carry the rope and a lot of the pro), but as an equal who swings leads with them, and who can just hang out with them, climber-to-climber. All good things I guess.

But in some ways, things are not entirely normal. I now do much more research about the approach/descent to climbs now, and I have to eliminate a lot of climbing options because of the length/steepness of the approach and difficulty of the climb. I know this is the case for most people, but it seems like the field of options is smaller for me now, and I hate feeling limited like that. Right now, I am on the fence about doing a total New Hampshire classic, Moby Grape, on Cannon Cliff this weekend, solely because of the approach and descent. It would suck to have to turn my back on some of the best cracks around here for this reason. We will see.

I finally made it to the Gunks this past weekend, after bumping into a friend from our Stanford/Palo Alto days at one of the local climbing gyms. It is always funny to re-encounter old acquaintances a rather long distance from where you first met/knew each other, but I suppose the academic and tech scene around Stanford, CA and Cambridge, MA make the two spheres overlap with each other considerably. Dave was the house-mate of an ex-boyfriend (who taught me a lot about climbing and really nurtured my development as a climber); a really strong telemarker, and all-round mountain man. I think there is both comfort and slight discomfort in doing activities, like skiing and climbing, with people who did these things with me, and knew me, before my accident, like Dave. Comfort in that there is a shared knowledge of how I “used” to be (I hesitate to use the word “perform” as well, although that was my first instinct), what happened with my accident and its effects, and therefore an appreciation for how I am back at it and getting out. But also a slight discomfort on my part because I worry about holding old friends back, compared to how hard I used to be able to [insert activity]. I did not feel quite so bad with Dave though, because he is a full foot and almost 100 lbs heavier than I am; so he has always been much stronger and faster than me. It also made me feel less bad about asking him to carry a lot of our gear (ropes and pro) to the base of climbs. It looked like a very warm, dry weekend at the Gunks; Dave had never been, so off we went.

We had never roped up together. Most of the time, I will not climb with folks outside unless we have lead-climbed indoors together or they are a guide/pro-climber etc. But, I know Dave is an experienced trad-climber, having climbed with mutual friends before, so I was not worried. The weight difference did make for some very attentive belaying on my part though! Since it was Dave’s first time at the Gunks, we worked on knocking off the various moderate classics e.g. CCK, High E, Son of Easy O, and so on. If you are not familiar with Gunks ratings, they are pretty stiff. The fact that the grades are “old-school” (e.g. 5.9 was the highest grade at the time, so any climb 5.9 and above was given a 5.9 rating, even 10’s, maybe even 11’s!) and that the climbs are often over-hanging and exposed, makes for some great, but heady, climbing.

First climb and lead of the day

It took me awhile to get used to and feel comfortable on the rock. I tried not to be too harsh on myself for not leading any of the hardest pitches.

I love how the mood of the Gunks varies so much.

Yay, rope management. That is the brace I use to protect my left-knee a bit. Cool tree, too.

Like any climbing partnership, it took Dave and I a little while to develop a successful dynamic. I would say the first day was spent doing that, so that by the time Sunday rolled around, we were making a pretty good team. I was also feeling more confident on Sunday, so was able to swing all leads with Dave.

Belaying Dave on P2, the money pitch on the famous High E(xposure). Pretty cool rock.

The awesome third pitch of CCK. Even though it is only a 5.7-5.8, it is spicy!

Cool panorama. And, no, my biceps are not that big (or flabby).

Despite my anxieties about climbing with an old acquaintance (I know I get even more anxious climbing with people who didn’t know me pre-accident – I know I need to work on this lose-lose situation, I was very glad we got out. It was lovely to re-connect and spend time with an old Stanford buddy; get some very enjoyable climbing in and start to build up my trad-leading abilities for the season; and re-invigorate myself by getting outside and hang off some cool rock with enjoyable company. (Photos courtesy of Dave Johnson).

…a little crag in Central Mass. (I should clarify that NIAD = Nose-in-a-Day).

My friend Clint, a Yosemite encylopedia who did a fair bit of climbing around here in his student days at Harvard, suggested Crow Hill Ledge as a spot to practice jumaring, given the proximity to Cambridge (less than an hour), not very long approach (I would have said “super short” in my pre-accident days, but approaches are never too short for me these days), and sufficient height and over-hang at Fisherman’s Wall. Fisherman’s Wall is about 90-100 feet high, over-hanging and from what I had read, there is a trail that goes right to the top of the ledge.

Nevertheless, I was nervous about the planned endeavor for a number of reasons. I had not jugged a line in over five years; I would need to figure things out from what seemed like scratch because my memory was foggy, I have been out of practice, and I would be switching the handedness of things – I used to have my right ascender at the top, left ascender on the bottom, and step up with my left leg on over-hanging terrain.

I knew I wanted to go out there on my own because (a) I do not want to have to rely on someone to help me schlump my gear every time I want to go somewhere (b) I knew I would feel more comfortable flailing alone while I figured out how to do this all over again, and (c) I don’t want to feel like I have to be with someone every time I explore a new climbing area, although company in unfamiliar territory is certainly a nice thing. My partner does not really climb outside, and I don’t know many people around here who are psyched on cracks and trad, let alone aiding. Most of my anxiety centered around me not being sure how I would manage on the approach to the top of the ledge to fix my line, given that I would be carrying a thick rope and all sorts of heavy anchor building gear because I did not know what to expect up there. There is also something a little un-nerving to me about not having a partner around to double-check my set-up.

In any case, I knew I’d feel like a total pussy if I didn’t go do this, so off I went. The walk to the base of the crag was manageable. It was a bit slower walking to the top of the ledge and finding the right trees to build anchors off of. After building a meticulously safe anchor, I descended a little bit only to find that this was not the part of the crag I wanted to throw my line down, so I had to break that anchor down, re-coil the rope and walk another 50m or so, before I found two nice live trees to build anchors around, and a third tree for a re-direct. Something I am realizing about New England climbing (that is not sport-climbing), is that I need to bring way more/super long slings/cord to build anchors. I was also reminded of how I rather dislike single rope raps. Nevertheless, I zipped down my fixed line with no incident.

Fisherma’s Wall. The left diagonal crack is a 5.8, and it is difficult to make out in the photo, but there is a 5.11 crack on the far right of the picture. I like the shadows of the trees.

All these horizontal features are still a bit alien to me :) The rope actually falls about 20 ft away from the base, which gives some indication of the not so obvious overhang of the wall.

It took me awhile to dial in my system e.g. adjusting the daisies to the right height, getting used to pushing up with my left hand over my right one, dealing with annoying things like biner gates facing the wrong/annoying way etc. I think I worked out the kinks after the first lap or two. I decided to do five laps, then take a little break. I even allowed myself a few sips of water, despite my worries about peeing in my pants.

I then did another five laps. I was tired. I had also forgotten how much chafing action there is going with jugging (and I’m not talking about my rolls of skin :)). But the limiting factor in me deciding to make my tenth lap my last one wasn’t so much fatigue, as it was me not being at all psyched about my rope running over the edge like that. After the first lap, I moved the rope to be over a less sharp part of the edge, and would check every time I reached the top of a lap; but nevertheless, I was not enthusiastic about this and decided to cut out while I was ahead after a nice round number like Ten. Next time I will bring even longer slings and cord to run the master point over the edge.

Hanging out.

All in all, in spite of my anxieties going into this, it was a rather successful day. I didn’t die; I didn’t get hurt; I figured out how to steeps/over-hangs again. Next steps will be building up jugging stamina, and figuring things out on non-overhanging terrain, where I will have to put my left foot in the aider and use my left leg. Also, I will have to figure out the hydration situation :( I found myself very dehydrated, even after this little affair, and I’ll have to figure out how I can drink enough to keep me hydrated without causing me to wet my pants with my incontinence issues; and how to cath myself on a wall. I am guessing there will be some trial and, unfortunately, error here.