It's late, it's cold and Brad and I are holed up in the basement of a pizza place that doubles as a campsite for climbers. We had just finished up our first day of climbing and we were in the middle of an exhausting attempt to warm up inside. I was reading and Brad was messing around on his phone.We were both also subtly listening to the conversation behind us. Two climbers were lounging back at a table and tearing down one of their friends. They ripped on this guy for everything; his technique, the fact that he said his hands hurt, what he warmed up on and how hard he climbed. Brad and I had come on this trip to do some really easy climbing, not to crush some difficult stuff, I can't speak for him, but it was like these guys were talking directly about us.
Now normally people are nothing but supportive when I climb easier than them. Those who can climb incredibly well like to encourage those with high ambition, at least where I'm from. Yet, it seems when climbing on the same level, often times, not always, but often, there is a resentment of confidence. Everyone enjoys stating that climbing is a community and helps build confidence, but I've observed on numerous occasions people demonstrating said confidence, only to be ripped apart in private conversation within there communities at another time. I've witnessed tons of climbing communities featuring that one dude that everyone hates because he's really braggadocios. I've even felt it bubble up in me a couple of times! I can feel this aura in certain people, people who want their climbing partner to fall on certain moves so they can be the only one who hits the move that day. How does a world of such competition and contempt breed a world of such confidence and community?
On our second day, it was almost the same story, but worse. This time we were eating pizza with sweet potato, tomato, artichoke and banana peppers and playing a game of chess in the main restaurant area. I watched a super buff climber mercilessly pick on this skinnier guy. The buff climber told the skinny kid he was disgusting, said he had filthy, clammy hands and that if he touched him with those hands he would fight him. This didn't even have anything to do with climbing, this was like I was watching a PSA about bullying right before the camera freezes and we learn that what was happening is wrong. The skinnier climber just took it in a way that we often accept bullying from people that we believe we admire. This began to boil up a loathing for climbing and climbers that I think I had been sitting on for awhile. While I understood that this is not all climbers, this is not the first time I've seen this or other selfish behaviors in the climbing community and I wondered if it was even a community I wanted to be a part of at all. If it was a community I wanted to continue to usher young kids and innocent first timers into. That night, I had some serious doubts about my all time favorite hobby.
The next day Brad and I woke up and got ready to leave. We were going to do three more routes that day, some really easy, good to end your trip on, stuff. When we got to the location we walked up a 5.6, a 5.7 and a 5.8, all fairly cut and dry. The entire time we were climbing I could feel Brad's eyes move to this 5.10a called Dynabolt Gold just slightly to our right. When I finished the .8, I told him we could give the 10 a whirl, we thought it would be good to end the trip on. For those of you who don't climb, 5.10's are harder, but not the hardest, it was also cold outside and the route was slightly overhung, so you couldn't really rest on your feet and your hands were pretty numb. After the previous night, I was severely lacking in the confidence to climb it, so Brad led it first. He took one take, meaning he rested on the rope one time, probably because his hands were cold. When he came down, he pulled the rope back down with him and told me to go for the send; this meant, no rests on the rope and no falls. I tied into the rope and began climbing.
The 10 was harder than I thought, everything I grabbed was good enough, but the moves were big. There were good natural points to rest, like a giant flake or a double knee bar (where you jam your knees into a horizontal crack and take all your weight off your hands). Brad walked me through every move that was remotely difficult, any time he heard me exerting effort I heard his voice crack like a whip, telling me to "come on". He pointed out the knee bar and victoriously cheered when I clipped the final two bolts on the route. We were one of two groups in the valley that day and our sense of community, our confidence, could be heard in echoes all across the gorge.
Climbing has given me a lot; a job, a hobby and a hell of a work out, but after this trip I realized where I went wrong. Climbing never gave me confidence or a community, Brad did, or any number of my climbing friends who are encouraging and genuine. I think because I enjoyed climbing so much I tried to pull out of it these qualities that are not unique to climbing, but are unique to friendship. You can't really climb alone, you always need a partner and in that way climbing has given me friendship. But I will never again believe that climbing alone is what has inspired in me to drive myself, it is everyone I love that's done that, climbing is only an immensely fun vehicle in which to get there.
And now, a poem:
Imagine you are Alex Honnold climbing the north face wall of Half Dome, 2000 feet and no rope or safety precautions. 60 Minutes’ camera crew is trained on you. You climb the mountain the way God intended it, you climb to feel a part of the sky. You trust your body and it responds by squeezing out the last of your adrenal gland. Pain begins to ignore you as you dance up the side of the cliff. You begin to make the mountain uncomfortable; you are a breath of hot air on its cheek. With less than 50 feet remaining fear begins to catch up with you. You are racing up the cliff now, taking all manner of gray matter into your wet bloody fingers so you can place your feet on dew drop sized marbles glistening on the rock face. Your foot doesn't place just right and you almost die. The cameras roll none the wiser as you pull yourself to the peak.
The white wind sings past
Trees purr, the sun drums feebly
The mountain is deaf
Thanks for Listening,
Kyle
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