The beginning of my climbing experience consisted of Andrew Fulks stranding me 25 feet in the air on my first line (Heat Wave 5.9) with no one belaying me. While Fulks took his sweet time putting the rope into the grigri belay device the correct way, I tried to not fall off the route and die. This first hazardous adventure became the benchmark for my journey in climbing. From that point to present I have experienced a grigri ripping off of a harness, a 30 foot lead fall while climbing by headlamp, an episode involving exposed bone and 18 stitches, getting robbed of everything I possessed while bouldering in the Dominican Republic, and most recently a runout rated R route that had 3 bolts in the last 80 feet of climbing on chossy stone. In spite of this, I can’t get enough.
Climbing is its own culture complete with its own language. For example, a climber might say: Dude, I just redpointed a heady multi-pitch line that had a super crimpy crux but then eased up on some bomber side pulls, but I was so pumped while I was climbing it that I just had to yell, JERRRY!
There is so much to this sport. It’s not only the language; its the gear, the rock, the technique, the difficulty, the wilderness, the adventure, the freedom, and the community. The scope of rock climbing can only be explained by experience So here it is, the last 4 months of climbing; the last 4 months of life on the line.
The name Cactus Cliff did not disapp Continue reading