“I tried this route before but didn’t have enough gear to double down on the key placements, so I retreated about half way up,” said Jarvis as we stared up at the overhanging, tight hand crack above.
I liked what he said – he wasn’t here to prove anything to anyone by running it out, risking it all above a single cam in some sort of summit or bust mentality. I knew he’d spent years doing heinously scary routes throughout Colorado. Today he wasn’t here to prove anything to anyone, just to enjoy the routes, and to climb with an old friend. His climbing-is-dangerous-enough-so-why don’t-you-back-yourself-up attitude is what puts me at ease. Looking back, I’ve had many of my most successful climbing days while he held the rope between us, and I attribute his non-competitive attitude to aiding in my success.
That day we both had brought racks with us, so there was no concern we’d be short on gear. It was my turn to lead and was game.
The crack started halfway up the wall, with the first section protected with bolts. From a stemmed stance at a horizontal break in the rock, I slithered in two medium sized cams with plans to double down on the following placements before punching it up the remainder of the overhang. Keep it safe, I thought, maintain control, and never climb into discomfort.
Moving past the cams, I wrapped both hands on a flake that looked loose but didn’t move when tested. It suspended from the wall like a big, leaning triangle. The cams below were now at foot level. I climbed up one more move, wedging stacked fingers in the crack. My feet, being pulled by gravity, wanted to release off the ledge below. I let them slowly swing into space before pulling them up to smear on the edge of the crack.
Pulling in on the crack with my lower hand, I bumped the higher hand to the best fitting spot so I could free it to place gear. I pushed in one cam, then the next, eyed the distant hand jam ahead and went for it. Soon, my right hand grinded into the three-inch constriction, the edge of the crack piercing my skin as it sunk in. I’ve got this. With Jarvis’s cheers from below, I focused on how to get my hand free so the other could fit in the same place and place the next piece. From here, I could tell the anchors were near, pointed my head up, and jammed hands in the ever-widening crack, to a final mantle. Rolling into the mantle I could feel the rope freely sway in the air below.
Several circumstances came into play to make that climb come together. I knew I had nothing to prove to anyone and that I was free to retreat at any moment. I knew I had a chance of onsighting the route. At that pivotal moment, when leaving the first break where the wall began to lean hard, security lay in the faith that I had control. And I remembered that Jarvis had been the one holding the rope when I’d performed my best on the rock in year’s past.
Engaging beyond the gear and into the place where the rope swayed uninterrupted gave me strength and provided an avenue for focus. Keeping it together, reveling in the feeling of freedom of movement and enjoying the coarse granite crunching into my fingers and hands made me smile. I liked the feeling of the chalk bag swaying behind me in the wind like a dangling poi ball. The only time I thought of Jarvis was when I heard his encouragement.
When it was Jarvis’s turn, I provided the same low-key encouragement he shared with me. He fired the route flawlessly. As it was becoming day’s end, we soon packed up and headed out. Our footsteps crunched through occasional patches of snow.
I don’t know when I’ll climb with him again but I look forward to being in that bliss state and hope I can share that with many partners to come. I have a feeling that finding that level of trust and support in a partner may be hard to find.
Prolog — While making the final touches on this blog, Jarvis sent me the following email:
“The best partners are ones who support and push each other, but also have full trust. Thanks for helping me get to the top as well!”
