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inthebivy · 7 years ago

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Fear & Trembling in the Winds

Late July, 2016

I’d been scared all day, since Tommy and I started up the Wolf’s Head at dawn. My friend Zach had warned me that three groups of his friends climbed it and all said “Horrifying, terrible, don’t do it!” I already knew I didn’t like being on top of vertical cliffs, where there’s no escape. But here I was anyway. Here, halfway through the “Piton Pitch,” the most notorious 50 feet of the route. It was easy for a while, a ledge traverse with a crack nicely protected by old pitons, so plenty of places for my hands and feet - then I rounded a corner and suddenly the ledge and crack petered out into nothing, into a sea of holdless slab. 15 feet away I saw the end, a huge sandy ledge you could sleep on. But in between was nothing - just one old piton hammered into the middle of it, what seemed like a very far way away.

I started out towards that piton, and found nothing good to hold, or stand on. Shit. I retreated. There was another way, going up a hard-looking crack, also with a piton in it. Maybe I should go that way? I pulled out the “beta,” information on which way to go where, and confirmed that indeed, I should just head out the slab. Damn it.

I looked out, and down. The exposure was relentless. “Exposure” meaning cliffs falling away below you for hundreds and hundreds of feet. Still no good holds. But a storm was threatening, and there was no going back, or down, so I cast off into the void, the sea of nothing.

Wolf’s Head ridge looking steep from Pingora

How I got into this pickle

A couple months ago I wrote about my mountain mentor and great friend Ben. I wrote about how he took me up climbs that scared me so much I couldn’t move. And now I was back in what I knew was Ben’s favorite kind of climbing - ridge traverses - like Evolution, or Palisades, or Forbidden. This is a climb Ben would have loved. It’s a climb Ben would have taken me up, dragged me up, me paralyzed with fear, “gripped,” rattled, lost it, but still there.

Today I want to talk about that fear more.

Most climbers I know don’t have the same fear of heights that I do. Sure, everyone says they’re scared of heights. Even Will Gadd. But Ben would hop up on a tiny summit pinnacle. Greg does that too, and Ryan - “climbers” do that. They’re comfortable in thin air, like mountain goats. It’s not like that for me. Get me even 5 feet off the ground and I cling tight, I stay seated, I don’t want to stand up, I feel the vertigo, the “what if,” “what if I fall?” I like to hold on tight. I’ve bailed off beginner routes because I was scared - a 5.6 in Lander last spring, a 5.8 (with bolts!) just last week. So … why do I climb? I used to say “I’m retiring” after every climb. But then I go again. I’m probably the worst climber who’s been climbing for 10 years, because my fear resets my skills to 0 every season.

I’ve felt fear for a long time. Growing up, I was afraid of the dark. I would jump from my bed to the safety of the hallway to avoid being nabbed by the monsters under the bed, or on the floor. I wasn’t scared of heights, I don’t think - I spent much of my waking hours climbing trees in the yard, looking down at our roof. But as time went on, I gained that fear. The Fear, I called it. The paralyzing fear.

I’ve tried to work with the fear a few times. It’s a knot in the pit of your stomach. It’s a tight chest, or neck. It causes me to leave, to run away. In DC, in 2005, I tried “exposure therapy” to fear - I’d stay in dark rooms, or shut the door in the bathroom (with monsters hiding in the mirror). I re-read “Dune” and found the Litany:

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

I read Buddhist philosophy and practice about detaching from the illusions we think are our true self.

But I lost my nerve and stopped facing fears. When I hiked half the Appalachian Trail in 2008, I was scared of being alone, and never sat through to see what was on the other side of it. I clung to other people. And I grew ever more scared of heights.

Fear and the Diamond

Three mountains stand out as the peaks of my fear, all 2010 trips with Ben: downclimbing a 4th class slab onto the Little Bear - Blanca traverse (Ben had to talk me down); getting totally paralyzed, unable to move, on the East Ridge of Forbidden Peak (Ben had to break out the rope and throw me one end); and what has become the Ultimate Fear, the ultima thule of terror: getting three pitches up the Diamond on Longs Peak (also with Ben) and completely losing it; we bailed and he noted the cause as “Skye altitude sick” - a generous diagnosis. I may have been altitude sick, as I went from sea level to 13,500’ in a day. More to the point, I was completely psychologically shattered.

Little Bear to Blanca. Intense fear, and eventually came to terms with it.

Ben rapping down to the start of the Diamond, after my first rain-bivy, also at 13,500′. Note his smile.

Here’s me, petrified, on the side of Longs Peak just before we bailed. Note the terror in my eyes.

Into the Winds

The Winds have been on my list for 2 years, and were high on the list for this fall. I planned to go in September, after the legendary mosquitos died down, but an old ranger friend from Philmont, Tommy, hit me up on Facebook a month ago.

Hey Skye! Nice looking pictures, you defintitely have the beta for Wyoming. Im looking for a climbing last weekend of july to climb Pingora or something in the Cirque. Ive got a rope and half a rack. Seeing if youre interested

I was interested. I hadn’t seen Tommy in a decade, and I remembered him as a bit of a wildman, so I made sure we were on the same page about risk:

Me: Also as a general caveat, I am pretty darn cautious / conservative when it comes to risk, and have lost the "summit fever" I used to have... my priorities are 1. come back alive 2. come back friends 3. get to a summit. You down with that philosophy? Tommy: Absolutely, Ive definitely learned to swallow my pride when it comes to summits. No more of a humbling feeling than when mother nature decides whether or not you send. Here are my priorities, 1. get on the route. 2. get off the route safely 3. enjoy the climb 4. summit.

So it was on. A month went by, I got my gear together, and I headed south after work, through the Cliff Creek fire zone (props to the wildland firefighters out there!), met Tommy in the morning, and hiked in to Cirque Lake.

Hiking in, Pingora at right and Wolfs Head atop a cloud.

We climbed Pingora Peak’s South Buttress, the chillest sweetest sunniest rock, huge ledges and nice climbing and straightforward rappelling.

We looked at Wolf’s Head from the top and were both fully intimidated. We camped at the lake again, shooting star photos. Tommy dreaming of Wolf’s Head. We woke, and we headed up.

Wolf’s Head

I was scared from the first step onto the rock, up grassy ledges to the start of the route on the “Sidewalk.” Tommy was fine.

We got near the Sidewalk, and I felt inside: I should climb this. This is what Ben taught me to do - and I’m ready. I can do this. I told Tommy I was up for it, and he protested not.

I headed up the Sidewalk, 2 feet wide, unprotected, cliffs on both sides - and I wasn’t really there, mentally. I was moving tentatively, clinging. Halfway out I thought maybe I could get a piece of gear in, so I pulled out the “nuts” - metal chocks that fit in cracks to hold a fall - and, something I’ve never done before, I dropped half of them off the side of the mountain. Now I was trembling for real. This was a problem - a major portion of our safety gear, gone, and me shaking in the middle of an unprotected skinny slab.

Looking back down the Sidewalk

The nuts had landed on ledges below us, so I retreated back down the Sidewalk, downclimbed the ledges, retrieved the nuts, and got back up to the Sidewalk. Take 2. I breathed deep - this time, just go for it. And I just went for it. Feet, rubber soles smearing on sticky granite. Hands, holding the two edges, corners, solid holds. And I just moved. No funny business trying to put a nut in halfway - I just went. I crossed the Sidewalk, got to a solid spot, I put in solid gear, and I whooped with joy. I had done it. And my head was in the game. But The Fear was still there, underneath - fear of what was to come.

We climbed 4 pitches to get to the towers. The Towers. Four towers, each with its own “crux” or hard move. The “hard moves” were only 5.6 - easy, by any good climber’s standard - but still bone-chilling to do above hundreds of feet of thin air, when you have an almost-debilitating fear of heights like I do.

This whole time, I had The Fear. It was ever-present. And in turn, I worked on being present with the fear. On seeing the fear as something separate from me - so that I wasn’t consumed by the fear, but could hold it at arms-length, thank it for keeping me safe, and still not be paralyzed or ruled by it. “Ah, fear - that’s a feeling.” And keep moving.

Getting to the base of the first tower move was a scary and awkward down-crawl on loose rock without good protection, and we both got rattled. “Good gear, good rope, keep moving” became my mantra. I saw a rappel station and thought “maybe we should bail…” - better yet, maybe we should get the Canadians behind us with double 70 meter ropes to bail, and slide down their ropes back to our camp. But they weren’t bailing, and we kept moving.

Tommy did the boulder hug move in style, then got into a very tight awkward chimney and stopped, inside the slot, before the piton ledge. The Piton Pitch. He was around a corner and kept shouting back about how awkward it was. “Awkward is fine” I shouted back, “just make it safe.” He did. I followed, and popped out on the ledge. Tommy was not stoked, which is unusual with him, but he was hanging in there.

The ledge looked great, and I saw two pitons in the crack in the corner. Pitons are old-school climbing gear, metal hammered into cracks too small to take other gear. Solid. All’s well. I walked out, around the bend - and the ledge petered away into nothingness. There was another piton, out in the middle of a sea of slab. Slab meaning no cracks, nothing to really hold on to, grab, stick a hand or foot in securely. Just little holds. This is fine when you have bolts the whole way, and a short walk back to the car. But here, although safe, it still was terrifying.

I saw another route, a vertical crack, with a piton in it. It looked harder, and it wasn’t clear if it “went” all the way to the ledge. I looked back at the horizontal route. The ledge was only 15 feet away, huge, and inviting. I just had to get there across an infinity of slab, and one piton.

Tommy entering the Piton Pitch

I checked the beta again. Yep, definitely have to go out that slab. And so I went. Good handholds, one at a diagonal but it worked. Decent footholds. I headed down and right to the piton. I clipped it with a sling. And I headed out, into space, towards the ledge. There was another crack. I reached it. I let out a whoop and holler. I was home free. I placed a cam in the crack and headed to the ledge. I built an anchor, and told Tommy I was off belay. I was safe! I had made it through the hardest part! And I hadn’t really even looked down, down the hundreds and hundreds of feet to the ground.

This is just how climbers climb. It’s not anything special. But for me, with my fear of heights, it was downright magical. It was a breakthrough. The Fear was gone.

Waiting for Tommy to take down his anchor, I thought about Ben. I thought about Ben like I had thought about him on the Grand last summer, “my first big mountain alpine lead.” I thought he would have loved it, and I thought Ben I miss you fuck I miss you. I missed him, and I cried, and my eyes stung from the sweat and fear and sunscreen. Then I had Tommy on belay, and he was climbing.

Tommy followed to the ledge, unhappy on the slab too. Then he headed up around Tower 3… and right then, the sky opened up and the rock was instantly soaked with rain. Tommy continued, aiming for a cave at the base of Tower 4. He climbed quickly, then I followed. This was a hand crack traverse, over infinite space again, on a rope, and wow: heady.

Tower 4, the final crux. I wanted to hand it off to Tommy but instead just went for it. Did it. Climbed it, had fun with it! I stuck my foot in the crack, along with my 2 hands, in order to be solid to place a big cam in the crack. Now this is fun! The Fear was gone. I was just climbing.

We got through tower 4, then climbed 2 more pitches of easy, fun rock, and I ended up on the summit. The summit!

The clouds had vanished when Tommy was halfway through Tower 3, by the way, and stayed away for the rest of the day.

We headed down 6 rappels and a bunch of ledge-walking, some exposed, some mellow. I had a new rappel system down, taught me by my roommate Mike, for extra efficiency and safety. I felt efficient and safe on the rappels. I felt safe in the mountains.

We got back to camp, swam, ate, shared food with the Canadians who were right behind us all day, drank a beer and stayed up late taking star photos.

From camp, at night under stars and Milky Way, surrounded by mountains, and in the morning, sunrise advancing over the granite peaks, I bowed to the four directions:

Thank you, mountains Thank you, family Thank you, friends Thank you, Ben (and all who’ve gone before)

Life, death, what is this existence anyway??

This life, and the fact that it’s going to end for each of us, is a crazy thing to me. It doesn’t fit in with the day-to-day in our society, or the stories we tell, or what we take for meaning. Save money, buy a house, get promotions, buy a bigger house, buy a bigger TV, a bigger truck. All of that falls away during climbing.

Up on Wolf’s Head, a thousand feet off the deck, dark clouds all around and rain coming down, no escape other than keep going all the way over, for hours, with fear and trembling - that truth, that mortal truth, is very present. And the focus and presence, the “lead head” or “lead mind” that I have to get into in order to climb - that place of sheer utter presence, because you have to, of separating from The Fear, of sitting with it, not running away from it, for hours, on top of a 2 or 10 foot wide ridge, counting on your partner to stay with it too, to save your life by building a safe anchor and catching you if you fall - that specific mental focused place - that’s why I go climbing.

I headed up Wolf’s Head for Ben, because I knew he would have loved it, and would have taken me up it. I fought fear for hours, and found the presence and place that lies beyond fear. And by staying through it, I found something deeper, not for Ben or for anyone else, but for me.

Thanks to Tommy for being a great, fun, and safe partner (not in that order). Thanks to “the Canadians” - Rob & Jill - who were right behind us all day with a double-70m rope, giving me some extra security if we’d had to bail. And big props to Max and Ryan for free-soloing pretty much that whole route, in about an hour, early in the morning before we even got to the Sidewalk.

Postscript, June 2017

This is the Diamond. Two months before Wolf’s Head, I climbed a peak across the valley from the Diamond with Philmont friend Chris Sawyer. I’ve spent much of the year since re-learning the physics, mechanics, and safety systems of climbing. I bought a new harness, new rope, better shoes. And this year (almost a year since Wolf’s Head) I’ve climbed 50 pitches of “sport” climbing and am back in the game. I’m climbing as hard as I was at my peak in 2012, and getting better. This story about the Diamond may not be over yet...

#maintainthelight

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jobsearchtips02 · 4 years ago

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