Birthday, and The Bear

For my 34^th birthday, I decided I wanted to go climbing.  My wife and I spent the night in Pennsylvania and were going to visit Mount Minsi at The Delaware Water Gap on our way back to Jersey and climb the Practice Face.  The Practice Face is a 40-50ft tall buttress of rock that can be easily accessed by a well-protected traverse across the “Cat Walk” to the large ledge up top.  My wife belayed me as I lead across the Cat Walk (placing two cams) and then I brought her out to the top of the ledge.  I built an anchor off of two trees on the very edge of the ledge, but just beneath was a smaller ledge and on the rock face was a bolt.  My plan was to lower myself to this smaller ledge, clip into the bolt, and then help my wife down to that ledge (while tied-in) where I would lower her off the anchor so she wouldn’t have to rappel.  But as soon as I stepped onto that ledge a large copperhead slithered just inches away from my ankles and buried itself into a crack.  I quickly climbed back up and decided we would not climb that section, for fear of the snake reemerging.  While breaking down the anchor I heard a loud rustle of branches and looked out over the Cat Walk area into the woods where I saw a Black Bear.  This was the first time my wife or I ever saw a bear in the wild.

The first thing I did was make our presence known to the bear by shouting (not screaming, or yelling).  Normally, bears will run away from humans when they see or hear them.  Oddly enough, all the bear did was look at me.  I continued to shout, but the bear didn’t seem interested and was more or less sniffing around the area.  This is where I got worried.  I felt we were somewhat protected on the ledge, but wasn’t one-hundred percent sure whether or not the bear was capable of climbing up the Cat Walk to reach us.  At the same time, descending would put us either right next to or downhill from the bear…so we were essentially stuck up there. 

After what seemed like an eternity, but were only a few minutes, the bear started off in the opposite direction and headed along the cliff.  My wife and I were relieved, and I began formatting how and where we would descend the ledge.  But, just as we started coiling the rope the bear returned, and this time he came much closer to us.  The bear didn’t exhibit any aggressive behavior, but the fact that he came back after all the noise we made had me very concerned.  All I could think of was protecting my wife, who wasn’t quite panicking but was obviously terrified.  I moved us down the opposite end of the ledge and threw the rope around a tree and set my wife up on rappel telling her not to go all the way to the ground.  From the face of the buttress, I could see around the corner where the bear would come from, if he was to come.  By this time, there was no sign or sound of the bear and I felt like we were in the clear.  I had my wife descend slowly, stopping every few feet, and I told her when she was about 15 feet from the ground that when she touched down to immediately unclip herself and head down the trail.  I told her not to run, but to walk quickly and keep looking back.  I was already set up to rappel, so I was never more than a few feet away from her.   

When we reached our car a few minutes later I called the Park Service and asked if they could send a Ranger to accompany me back up to the cliff so I could retrieve my climbing pack (it contained no food, so I was sure the bear would have left it alone).  My wife waited at the car, and the Ranger and I headed up finding no sign of the bear and my pack and its contents still intact.  The Ranger told me that the bear was foraging the acorns that had littered the forest floor.  The bear wasn’t exhibiting any aggressive behavior because he wasn’t interested in us, as much as he was the acorns (which kept him in the area).  He also asked if I saw any tags in the bear’s ears, and I didn’t.  He said the Park Service will tag aggressive bear’s ears; thankfully our bear wasn’t one of them because he told a story of a double-tagged bear’s aggressiveness with two fishermen a few weeks back where the bear had to be shot.  I asked the Ranger if the bear would have been able to climb the rock to the ledge we were on, and he said no.

I’m not sure I would have handled the situation any differently than I did.  My main concern was keeping my wife safe from the bear, as well as getting her down from the cliff safely.  As shook up as we both were, neither one of us feel like this will keep us from the woods, or from climbing.  I suppose this situation was a bit of an oddity in that the bear didn’t leave us.  The bear was busy eating, and since we were up on the ledge he might not have felt any threat where he would have to run or need to pursue us.

Autumn on Deck

It’s been over a month since I last went rock climbing.  As usual, it’s not for lack of interest as much as it has been for lack of time and/or scheduling conflicts with partners.  In May, I had written a post called “Road toThe Cross” about my venture into the world of CrossFit.  And along with my wife, we have devoted a lot of our free time to CrossFit and I decided to pursue it even further by attending a Level 1 Trainer Course the last weekend of August.  I successfully completed the course and passed the test, earning the title of Level 1 Trainer. 

But now that I’m past that, and autumn is approaching, I find myself longing to be outside at the crag climbing the cool rock in the pleasant temperatures.  And this past Sunday, getting a 7am start in 45 degree temps, Andrew and I did some strenuous top-roping at the local crag.  Andrew just came back from a Colorado climbing trip and had amazing stories of 2am starts, two hour approaches, and eight-pitch epics.  We quickly burned out are forearms and grips on slopers, pinches, and crimps and decided to use the time we had left to explore the lower cliff.  As mentioned before, the lower cliff at this crag is of lesser quality and with little features.  Most of the overhanging wall is blank, with the exception of a few thin splitter cracks and a knobby arête.  We did, however, come across this splitter which looks a bit friendlier. 

 

 

 

It stands just less than 30 feet, with the crack expanding to about fist-sized at its widest.  The crack also appears to be just deep enough to take gear, but it remains to be seen if this route is within our leading ability.  It definitely needs a cleaning, so we’re thinking about making this a late fall/early winter climbing project once everything dies out and dries up.        

Porters and Caddies

The other day, while climbing Mt. Minsi, I was carrying a heavy pack.  I brought along a full trad rack (which I climbed with) – doubled cams and two single larger cams (total cams, 14), a full set of stoppers (10 total), doubled pink and red tricams, 10 alpine draws, 4 extra locking carabineers, a 20ft x 7mm cordellete, and my belay/rappel set up which includes an ATC, prusik, and an extra-long sling, all with their own locking carabineers.  In addition to that, within my pack were my shoes, helmet, harness, 70m climbing rope, extra slings and cordage, and two large bottles of water.  My pack was nearly full and at 40 liters (2440 cubic inches) and that’s a pretty decent sized climbing pack.  The heaviest objects were the water bottles, and since it was a hot day I was carrying double what I would for a regular day (I always drink a bottle before and have one for after in the car).  Not sure what the exact weight was but it was well over 30 pounds, easily approaching 40.  And I’ve carried this kind of weight before to go climbing; it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

To reach the cliffs on Mt. Minsi, you hike up a steep talus slope.  The hike itself is only about 10 minutes, but that’s without stopping.  Try walking up stairs, without stopping, for ten minutes.  Try walking up stairs for ten minutes, without stopping, with 30+ pounds on your back.  Try walking up hill made of boulders and rock, some that move, for ten minutes with 30+ pounds on your back in the sun, 85 degree weather and high humidity without stopping.  See how the progression works?  Most of the time (but not always) when I go climbing there’s a strenuous and usually uphill 10-20 minutes hike.  But personally, I feel that the downhill hike back is always harder.     

My point is that in climbing, you got to hump your own gear. 

The other day I was at the train station on my way home from work.  To get to my train’s platform there’s a stairwell and an escalator.  I always take the stairs.  The escalator wasn’t functioning, and there was a slow shuffle of bodies trudging up the stairs.  A saw a woman, late 30’s or early 40’s, and she had a very large bag.  She was just standing there with a confused look on her face and I asked her if she needed a hand with the bag.  It turned out she was carrying Golf Clubs.  The bag was large, but it couldn’t have been more than 20 pounds and had a padded shoulder strap.  I easily carried it up the stairs for her, along with my own commuter bag that is surprisingly close to ten pounds. 

Now, I love to pick on Golf.  I’ve been to the driving range and putting green before, and I realize it takes practice and skill to hit the ball.  But Golf is NOT a sport.  There’s actually a Supreme Court ruling that states one doesn’t have to walk from one hole to the next in order to participate in the PGA Tournament.  You can simply take a ride in a cart.  Couple that with the fact that most golfers (definitely the pros) have caddies who carry their clubs I’d say Golf is nothing more than an outdoor game.  

Mountaineering is climbing’s close relative.  What I call “climbing” is near vertical, class 5 (hence all the 5. ratings) roped climbing.  Mountaineering may include rock, ice, and snow climbing as well as scrambling and walking.  When you think of Mountaineering, you can think of Everest.  Mountaineering has its version of Golf’s caddy, the porter.  None more famous than the Sherpa, a Himalayan People who are physiological adapted to living at high altitudes.  Sherpa often accompany well-financed climbing parties on Everest, and other high peaks, carrying supplemental oxygen and equipment, and often pre-place safety equipment at their own peril, to facilitate climbers.  Outside Magazine recently penned an article about the sad fate many of these people suffer while doing the majority of the dangerous, technical, and laborious work that allows wealthy novices to ascend some of the world’s highest peaks with little or no experience as mountaineers or climbers.  Personally, I have no desire to go where I can’t bring myself to by my own will.  Every inch I’ve ever climbed, whether following or leading, has been due to my own effort.  And if I’m not leading and placing the gear, I’m cleaning it and racking it on my harness as I second. 

One could argue that climbing isn’t a sport, and I would agree.  While there is “sport” climbing which is loosely defined as clipping bolts (vs. using traditional protection) as well as sport climbing competition and indoor wall climbing.  I see and define climbing as a discipline, more akin to martial arts.  Climbing can be competitive, as can Golf, but the competition is the course, or route.  Competing against another participant is secondary, and only in terms of performance comparison.  Most, but not all “sports” are direct individual or team contests that involve back and forth offensive scoring against an opponent's defense.  But I digress into another topic.

Carrying my heavy climbing pack, on my own, for a day of physically demanding activity only to have to help carry a Golfer’s light bag, meant for a leisurely paced activity done on the comfort of a groomed course with carts, restrooms, and likely an air-conditioned club house that has a bar and grill, really got my wheels spinning in terms of things I place a great amount of importance on.  Health, Strength, Mobility, and overall Fitness.  

Being healthy is health insurance.  Catching a cold or getting a stomach bug is just my body fighting off foreign germs.  Eating good foods is my every day medicine.  Taking care of my body is waht will ensure its longevity, thus I am my own insurance provider.  Strength is the ability to exert force on an object.  Lifting weights is nothing more than that.  People have skewed misconceptions about those of us who pick up the heavy weights in the gym.  I train my body for function.  I squat, deadlift, and press…all functional movements that the human body was designed for.  Squatting is sitting, deadlifting is picking up an object from the ground, and pressing is putting an object over your head.  Mobility is everything.  People end up in nursing homes when they’re not able to get around on their own.  Take away a person’s mobility, you take away their life.  And finally, there's fitness.  I don’t have a definition for fitness but understand it along the lines of having a strong and functional body and mind that is ready and able to serve a purpose.

When we stop challenging our bodies to perform under stress they weaken.  We don’t need to grind ourselves to the bone every day with grueling exercise regimens.  However, we do need to ensure that we are capable of functioning as we were designed to.  And if one lacks the ability to carry a 20-pound bag of lightweight Golf Clubs, then maybe one should consider skipping the driving and putting (carting and caddying) for a little bit of 20-pound calisthenics. 

Acclimating

Most of the country, and without a doubt the North East, has suffered the past few weeks through a brutal heat wave.  Last week temperatures were in the mid-90’s and with the radiant sun and humidity the heat index reached the 100 degrees mark.  Power companies reported record usage last Friday when the heat index was a scorching 107 degrees.  To cope with the heat that day, I went for a run.  Yes, you read that correctly…I ran, two miles, in the 107 degree heat.  Why?  Simply in order to acclimate.  The body adapts to stress, and the intense heat is definitely a stress for many people especially those who spend the majority of their day shielded from the elements in the air conditioning.  I’m not advocating prolonged periods of high-intensity work or exercise in these conditions, but it is important to expose yourself throughout the day to the heat in order to better prepare yourself physiologically. Humans are well-adapted to the heat with our ability to sweat.  Hydrate, sweat, cool down, and repeat.  I attended Basic Combat Training in South Carolina, arriving in August.  A few days into boot camp I found myself in the hospital after suffering a heat stroke with an IV in my arm, not remember how I got there.  But not long after my daily regiment was hard work, training, and of course punishment in the hot southern summer sun.  I adapted, hydrated, worked, rested, and continued.  It’s called acclimating. 

On Sunday, I partnered up with PA local Larry S. to do some climbing at the Delaware Water Gap, this time on the Mount Minsi (PA) side which had been seasonally closed up until recently due to nesting raptors.  Larry and I met at The Gap last year and I have been in touch for a while sharing stories and beta, but this was our first time climbing together.  I would put Larry in the above-average category in terms of climbing strength and skill.  Yesterday’s temperature was mercifully cooler in the upper 80s and the humidity wasn’t too unbearable, but it was still hot!  The hike up the talus field of Mt. Minsi is short but very strenuous, easily soaking my bandana and shirt with sweat.  And the section we were climbing, the Teardrop Buttress, was facing the southern sun.  Thankfully we got some scattered cloud covering but at times we were in direct sun and climbing on hot rock.    

I repeated Teardrop Buttress, 5.3 G (it’s the name of that section of rock as well as a route) leading a short section, maybe 30 feet.  I had lead the lower part of this route before with Barry Rusnock latein 2012.  I haven’t been on the sharp end in some time, so a quick ascent on easy terrain to a somewhat comfortable belay with adequate protection was just enough to satisfy me.  Larry took over on Pitch 2 and pulled the crux bulge which Barry and I avoided by going right.  While following, I found that section to be about 5.8 difficult but it does take gear.  Not sure if I would lead through it myself, but I cleared it on top-rope. 

From the top of Teardrop Buttress the rappel line is between Tears Are Falling, 5.5 PG-13 and a gulley that forms the Minsi Curtain (ice).  I’ve wanted to climb Tears Are Falling, it’s a long somewhat slabby climb, but protection looks sparse and the upper section is rotten and broken rock.  I asked Larry if he wanted to drop a top-rope line on it but he said he would go ahead and lead it.  Protection was a little better than expected, but definitely PG-13.  A little more than halfway up the route is a ceiling and the guidebook says to move left to avoid the ceiling and carefully top-out through the open bowl section of rotten and loose rock.  Larry chose to climb through the ceiling and continue right, instead of left, through a thin slabby section before linking up with the upper arête of Teardrop Buttress about ten feet before the top out.  The ceiling is a bit reachy, but doable.  It’s about 10-15 long so there are a few options to climb through.  I found the face climbing above to be a bit thin and came to a crux just past some bushes I had pruned (yes, we carry pruners at The Gap). 

 

Larry putting in protection in the ceiling. Bushes to the right were pruned on my ascent.

 

Now, this is normally (well, more like recently) where I panic.  I’m more 100 feet off the ground, climbing an exposed cliff face overlooking several hundred feet, on thin holds, weakened and exhausted from the effort and heat, and about to make a difficult move.  But I was able to corral my fear this time.  I think I had built confidence earlier that day by leading (albeit a short lead) and climbing on familiar terrain.  In other words, I acclimated.  I mentally warmed-up and put myself in the zone for climbing.  From there I was able to focus on the moment, relax, think clearly and just keep my eyes on my hands and feet and concentrate on where they were going next.

 

Happy Climber!

 

Just before topping out Larry suggested I climb straight through another bulge, just to add a bit more difficulty.  I could have stepped to the right and avoided it but instead I smiled and went for the harder moves instead.    

 

View of the Delaware River from the top of Teardrop Buttress

 

Bad Boys

How I found Andrew is a long story.  But to make that long story short, let’s just say his involvement with a certain New Jersey access-sensitive climbing area got my attention.  And when I reached out to him to discuss I found out that we are practically neighbors, living just a few miles from each other.   

June 2013 set the record for rainfall in New Jersey.  Following my last post, and climb, I was determined to find the time to do some climbing in an effort to begin my return to form.  Blame it on the rain as well as the usual scheduling conflicts, Andrew and I were having a hard time meeting up.  I was on vacation the last week of June and completely disconnected myself from my cell phone, Facebook, and the internet.  Upon my return, I had several emails from Andrew who was trying to meet up (despite the record rainfall, the days of my vacation were sunny and bright).  I told Andrew we would definitely without a doubt climb on Sunday, and if it rained we would gym climb.

A little bit more about Andrew…he’s a lot like me in terms of wanting to take advantage of all the climbing NJ has to offer.  There’s not much in this overcrowded and over-developed state, but that’s not to say there’s nothing to climb.  In fact, there are several climbing gems but in an overcrowded and over-developed state like NJ there are liability laws, property lines, and plenty of folks who view climbers as trespassers and potential lawsuits.  Andrew has either been to, or knows of, many of these forbidden locations.  I personally have only been to a couple, but definitely know of the majority of Jersey’s legal, illegal, and questionable climbing locations.  Neither one of us encourage breaking the law and trespassing on private property or putting access-sensitive climbing areas at risk.  But for those places where there aren’t any obvious signs that clearly state “no trespassing” or “no climbing” if one chooses to go in stealthily, climb quietly, and leave without a trace…then I say go for it. 

 

This past Sunday the humidity was at brutal 98% but Andrew and I got a 7am start at a local access-questionable climbing area that is currently under a heavy curtain of summer leaves, protecting the cliff and active climbers from view.  The cliff is just over 30 feet tall with about a dozen routes, mostly in the 5.8 - 5.10+ range.  The climbing is pumpy and strenuous as the rock is slightly overhanging and the holds are mostly rounded so it’s very difficult to get a positive grip.  There is a second cliff a few hundred yards away but this time of year it is very wet and mossy (I climbed an ice route here earlier this year).  I was surprised that someone as well-traveled as Andrew had never visited this cliff; it’s less than 30 minutes from where we live!  Andrew was very impressed with the challenging climbing and like me, will use this area as an “outdoor gym” to train on its physically challenging routes.       

After a few hours of climbing, pulling, falling, hanging, and sweating, both of us were exhausted and left satisfied with our morning’s efforts.  The two of us will definitely be climbing together and are already discussing plans for the coming weeks to visit the particular area he is involved with (his involvement includes route cleaning, trail maintenance, as well as an open-discussion with the land-owner who has allowed that the area be under a temporary “climbing assessment”). 

For me it was exactly the kind of day I needed to rekindle my love for climbing.  I was physically challenged, socially engaged, and didn’t have to battle with my fear of heights (climbing 30 feet off the ground).  Summer is definitely the slow time of year for climbing but I’m going to continue to make time when possible and focus on finding enjoyment in this thing I do.       

Large Gaps

Normally by June 1^st I’ll have somewhere around 10 rock climbs for the year.  But this year between scheduling conflicts with partners, rain, plans with the family, or whatever other obligations I may have put me at an all-time low.  Not only that, my first day out was a quick two-route top-rope day and then my second day was abruptly cut short by rain.  It’s clear by last weekend’s climbing (rock climb #3 for 2013) that I’m suffering from a lack in quantity as well as quality.

John Leading Pitch 1 of The Rib

Me, looking down at my shoe from the 1st belay ledge on The Rib

John, rapping off of The Rib

 

This past Saturday, June 1^st, my partner John and I were at The Delaware Water Gap climbing a route on Mount Tammany called The Rib, 5.3 PG.  I had climbed The Rib a little over a year ago with Barry Rusnock and remember it being stiff for 5.3, but well within my abilities.  The route certainly felt the same way I remembered it, but this time it seemed a bit hard and even a little scary.  Once again, I found the height to be an issue but even worse is the fact that I felt very stiff.  I didn’t glide hold to hold, foot to foot as nimbly as I’m used to.  Thankfully my partner John was there to lead both pitches, and I should mention he did this as an onsight climb.  Later that afternoon, we took a walk down cliff to a classic top-rope, Little Shop of Horrors, 5.8.  Once again LSOH is a route I had climbed before, several times actually.  It’s pretty much a sustained climb, beginning with some delicate moves on slab beneath a capped roof, pulling the roof, and from there a couple of hard moves before topping out.  There’s a tricky sequence to executing this climb, and for the most part I remembered exactly how to do it.  But on the roof my grip was weak, my feet were too low and I pulled and pleaded to no avail trying to clear the roof.  I tried not to be too disappointed in myself, but it’s really hard to come off of two climbs you done before feeling like each one had somehow become harder…when in fact it’s me who has become softer.

I’ve dedicated more of my time to running (I ran a personal best 5K of 24:28 a few weeks ago), CrossFit and weightlifting (PR’s in all my recent lifts), as well as more time spent with my wife and son.  And for those things, I’m thankful, happy and proud.  But it’s sad to see how my climbing abilities, physically and mentally, have deteriorated the past few months as well as the increase of fear.  I know that to be good at anything in life, you must do that thing consistently.  Going back to last year, I was climbing outside almost every week and throughout had remained mentally comfortable and physically strong in conditions where now I feel scared and weak.  It seems like what I'm experiencing now is something more along the lines of what I felt when I first began climbing - feelings awkwardness, insecurity, and even vulnerability.  Over time, and through a series of positive experiences, I slowly got rid of those fears and found myself more comfortable and stronger.  I feel now is the time for me to start over fresh.  As with many things in life, be it work, relationships, or even sports, I know many people reach plateaus and lose their interest or passion.  But if it is something that you truly love, you find a way to sort through your frustrations and reconcile.   

In a few more weeks the heat of summer will make climbing almost unbearable and I’ll be spending more time at the beach than at the crags.  I’m hoping to get in a couple more climbs this month, as new opportunities and partners have come up in discussion.  But I’ve realized that if I’m not going to be consistent then I’m going to have to head back to the smaller cliffs and leave The Gap and The Gunks alone until I’m ready again for big heights, trad leads, and multi-pitch climbs.  And I know for certain I’m going to rededicate myself in order to take advantage of the cool autumn season, one of the best times of the year for rock climbing.  I'm sure that's when I'll rediscover what I had thought I lost.

The rugged talus slope beneath the ominus Tammany Cliffs





Acrohydrophobia

I decided I had enough.  I was roughly 70 feet above the deck, maybe another 20 feet shy of my partner belaying me off the GT ledge, but I wasn’t going any further.  A few moves below my current position the thought of wanting to come down entered my mind.  Not fearful of falling (I have complete trust in my partner and his skills) and not because I felt the climb was too difficult either.  All I did was look up.  I saw what looked like miles of vertical rock and a wide open sky and said to myself, “nah, I think I’ll pass”.  I wasn’t in a tailspin of hysterical panic; I just didn’t want to go any higher.

That was Pitch 1 of Easy-V (5.3), a popular beginner lead climb found on the Arrow Wall in The Gunks.  I lowered off not feeling defeated nor was my desire to climb deflated, but I felt like I needed a few minutes to get my head in the game.  Today is my second day on rock this year.  A few weeks back I’m top-roping 30 feet off the ground and today I’m looking at 100 foot plus climbs with exposure.  I’m trying to adjust my mental altimeter as well as differentiate irrational fear from mental discomfort.  My partners, John and Ryan, have just rapped back down and the rope is threaded through the bolted anchors just above the first pitch of Arrow, 5.8 (pitch 1 is rated around 5.6).  I waste no time in getting back on the rock and manage to work through my anxiety and climb.  I get through it, and I'm already feeling better. 

 

Easy V follows crack on right, Arrow route on rock face above the short tree on left

 

Our next climb was Northern Pillar.  Pitch 1 is more of a short scramble to a wide ledge just above a 50 ft. slab.  From there, Pitch 2 of the climb follows a well-protected face for about 75 feet until you come into a cave-like corner with a belay/rappel tree.  As I started up Pitch 2 I felt a little stab of fear but kept my focus on the rock in front of me instead of looking up.  About halfway up the discomfort made its way back into my mind and was battling with my ambition to finish the climb.  For strength, I thought of my Dad.  My Father died a little over 6 months ago after a long and cruel bout with cancer.  My Father had never been much of an athlete or outdoorsy kind of guy due to being raised in the city.  He also had physical limitations from being overweight.  I can’t say whether or not my Dad would have tried climbing if he was able to, but I’d like to think he is watching over me while I climb and proud of me for overcoming my fears.  So instead of stopping when I got nervous I would say to myself, “this is for you Dad” and make the next move to go higher.  I made it up a bit shaken, but at the same time genuinely happy to be climbing.  Despite my nerves I wanted to be doing this.  And the 50 ft. slab section below, a height I would be very comfortable with, contained several interesting climbs as well as an easy route I was considering leading. 

 

Following 2nd Pitch of Northern Pillar



John belaying from the top of Northern Pillar



But sadly, this was where our day ended.  On the drive up it had been pouring rain and the forecast was calling for showers throughout the day.  When John and I got to the Gunks the rain had stopped and the rock was dry.  After climbing Arrow we felt a few drops on our walk over to Northern Pillar.  And it was just as Ryan finished Pitch 2 did the rain begin falling again.  Rappelling down the face my shoes slid off the rock as if it were ice.  Ryan had said Gunks rock becomes extremely slippery when wet and we all agreed that climbing in these conditions is out of the question.  One thing I had been fearing leading up to this day (besides heights) was the chance it would be ruined by rain.  A few days prior, the forecast was calling for sunshine and all three of us had confirmed the day would be a go.  But the day before the chance of rain had increased from 10 to 50 percent and all we could do was hope to spared or that it would only be a slight passing shower.      

 

Rappelling off of Northern Pillar as the rain falls



One of the reasons I decided to try rock climbing a few years ago was because of my fear of heights and wanting to conquer that fear.  Along with the physical demands of climbing rock, there’s also the technical aspect of safety and if you throw in a fear of heights you got yourself quite a cocktail of challenges to overcome.  Fear is ok.  Fear keeps you modest.  But when fear turns to panic and panic becomes a distraction your performance is affected.  And in climbing performance is not just about climbing, it’s also about safety.  I know my limitations and have no desire to push myself in situations where I could compromise my safety.  However, in order to grow as a climber, and a person you do need to face your fears and find the strength overcome them.  While I haven’t quite defeated my fear of heights (and I may never get over heights) I decided not to let my emotions inhibit me.  And I learned that for next time I all I got to do is a say a little prayer, keep calm, and climb on.