Episode 17: Geeking on Rock, and NOSC

Synopsis

What experiences do we miss out on because of an incomplete perspective? What opportunities do we shut out when we decide what something means too soon, without the broader picture? Let's provide some real life application and context of the idea that transcending bests solving, and examples of how that can happen both spontaneously and intentionally. What better excuse to share one of the most harrowing rock climbing experiences I ever had: the very first time I was being taught to follow a leader up a multi-pitch trad route?

Show Notes

Someone asked me the other day about climbing, and it brought me back to the first time I was taught how to climb multi-pitch outdoors.  Even though I climbed rock in Tennessee with my dad when I was little, and climbed in the gym in the suburbs of Atlanta in my 20’s, and climbed and scrambled mountains in Colorado and the Whites and Acadia at earlier points in my life…  when someone asks, about actually climbing technical rock with protection and gear, there’s only one memory that comes to mind.  

But the first time I went rock climbing was almost the last.  

It was fall of 2012.  The first time I really climbed outdoors was multi-pitch weekend in Intermediate Climbing School, which I was taking part in with the Mazamas in Portland Oregon where I was living at the time.  Heading into the weekend I was motivated, hopeful, expectant.  I loved all our teachers, and felt so much gratitude for the volunteers who were teaching me to do something I wanted to learn more than anything.  But I would discover this was different from any challenge I had undertaken before, and unlike other experiences with the Mazamas, this was not a safe exp at all.  

There are a couple types of outdoor lead climbing on real rock.  Class 5 rock climbing is when you need feet AND hands in contact with the face to ascend vertical rock.  Class 4 is typically understood as scrambling, and Class 3 tough hiking, and so on.  So if we’re just focusing on Class 5 climbing, there are many ways that can go, and some of those are essential to the story.  You can face climb, crack climb, or boulder. You can aid climb or climb things free. There’s alpine and crag.  You can lead climb or follow.   There’s single pitch, or multi-pitch.   You can solo, or climb with a rope.  And when you’re protecting your fall with a rope, you are either placing removable gear in rock cracks, which is called traditional lead climbing, or someone has pre-bolted the route by drilling into the rock, and affixing bolts with hangers, which you can then clip into with carabiners, draws or slings, and your rope as you pass.  

Bolted climbs are called sport climbs - and in many ways climbing sport can take some risk out of the equation, because your safety during a fall is almost guaranteed as long as you’ve properly clipped clipped the gear properly - bolts last a long time, and bolted routes are often well-known.  

Trad climbing on the other hand is very fluid, and less predictable, unless you know the route well.  Sometimes the natural places to insert gear into rock such as cracks or pockets simply peter out for stretches, so you have to climb a great distance above your last piece of gear before you can place more gear.  This means you’ve got longer distances if you take a safe fall  - on top of rope slack and stretch.  You need the right number of pieces of the size of gear needed for the crevices you encounter.  You need to conserve gear so that you don’t use all the sizes you need in the first half of the climb, and find yourself with nothing to protect the second half, or worse yet nothing to make an anchor with should you need to bail on the route before topping out or completing the pitch.  These are the difficulties but also the thrill and mental challenge of trad climbing.  

Climbing trad is the way first ascents are made.  It’s the cleanest way of climbing, and the most traditional.  Climbing trad leaves the wilderness a pristine place without littering it with human garbage, and marring the very rock itself with bolts and hangers:  since you climb in 2’s or more almost as a rule climb (one leads, the other follows and cleans the route), the second climber removes all the passive and active gear as they follow.  Then they might swing leads and take the next pitch.  Rope length upon rope length, you can go anywhere that there’s cracks the size of your gear, and within your ability.  Trad climbing to me was both freedom and connection to climbing’s history and origin.  

Because of the reasons I wanted to climb rock, which largely included being in places that were less traveled by, and more remote and beautiful, it was essential that I learn how to lead trad.  Before you can lead you have to learn how to follow.  Climbing bolts, even where bolted routes exist in the mountains which is somewhat rare, is in some ways like unlocking a puzzle or like painting by numbers.  Trad climbing has a lot more fluidity and judgment involved, as well as risk.  I got to experience some of those variables right out the gate, on multi-pitch weekend with the Mazamas.

Late in the day on Saturday, wind was whipping and light was starting to fade from the sky at Smith, which if you’ve been there or seen pictures you know has an iconic and beautiful skyline.  I was two pitches off the ground, and the person leading us wasn’t managing the rope well.  There was a loop of rope out hanging below my feet because I had accidentally out-climbed my belayer above.  In multi-pitch, the person who leads the pitch belays the followers up from above.  They take rope in as the followers climb to keep it practically taut as followers ascend.  But now there was tons of slack in my belay, I didn’t know how to downclimb, and the leader couldnt hear me calling to notify him.  In fairness, I was on the side of a the crag face at Smith Rock screaming my lungs out.  I was angry, I was crying, I was terrified - to no avail.  He couldnt hear me, or feel the slack in the rope to pull it up so I could feel safe.  And the more minutes that passed, the more my grip was growing weak on an awkward section of the pitch.  If I fell, I would fall the distance, plus stretch.  I’m guessing 10 feet or so.  Basically, I was petrified.  It was really scary.

Finally,after what seemed like an eternity I felt the rope start to move again.  The leader was taking slack in.  When the rope was tight against my harness again, I felt safe to begin climbing upwards once more.  

After struggling quite a bit, I finally got to the leader and the trad anchor he had built, and what I encountered was arguably more disturbing than our lack of communication and the lack of security I could feel in my belay.  The anchor which was supposed to be protecting us both was made of cams placed very shallow in flaring cracks, and these pieces of gear were not secure, but were walking and wobbling visibly everywhere.  Even to my beginners’ eyes could see this was not a safe anchor.  Had I actually fallen on his belay, and him against that anchor, I was not certain hat either of us would have remained connected to the rock.

What we think happened with the rope slack, which can happen, is that it was caught somewhere on the route between us, and with it being stuck or snagged, he didn’t realize there was slack to take in on my end.  But that night I was as close to being in shell shock as I’ve ever been in my life.  My eyes were glazed over, and if nothing else, I was I was comfortable with the idea that I would never climb rock again.  It was a matter of fact to me.  

I was talking to a different volunteer leader of our program at the Mazamas, when I told him as well very matter of fact:  I would not be climbing again the next day.  This wasn’t for me.  

This man Derek and I later became friends, and he is still dear to me to this day.  When he heard my account, he said in no uncertain terms, that that shouldnt’ have happened.  

I said, yea I’m never doing this again.  I wanted to climb mountains, but this wasn’t for me.  

That was out of control.  There is no way I feel comfortable doing this.  There’s no way I’m doing this again.

Come with me tomorrow, he said.  You’ll have a diff experience.  I was willing to give it a try, but my expectations were extremely low.  At the minimum, I felt reassured that I would have a little more top cover, that someone would be paying attention, but the thought that I would feel capable or change my beliefs about my future with rock climbing didn’t cross my mind.  

The next day, all I can say, is Derek was right.  

It wasn’t dangerous.  It was controlled, it was moderate, there was oversight, we were actively taught and communicated with along the way.  

Looking back, I think I was also partly to credit with the new experience.  I felt like I had surrendered any expectation that I had previously placed on myself during the day.  I knew I was a beginner.  I knew I didn’t know what I was doing.  I knew I might be scared.  I knew I needed help.  I wasn’t afraid to express that before, during and after if needed.  I was more willing to be reliant on the guide, which is actually really important!  And the guide was leading my experience.  The day was brighter, the route was more forgiving, and the sun was on our backs all day, warming us up though we were exposed to the wind on the ridge.  I left with my hope restored.  Not only could I do it, but I wanted to.  

There’s something beautiful there that stands on its own.  What if I wouldnt have had that second experience.  

Thank goodness that happened.  

What it means to me.  

That bad experience was my second day ever attempting to climb outside.  It was such a bad experience.   Day 2 gave me an opp to correct it right away.  If Derek hadn’t have stepped in, maybe i would have walked away and said, I can never do this.  He assured me it wouldn’t be like that every time.  That it shouldnt be like that ever.  That it would be diff.  

He could see something i couldnt see.  I was in physical shock, having a beer, eyes glazed over at the fire, basically, I’m not doing that again tomorrow.  I had never not done anything in my life.  I was there to climb mountains, but i was like, fuck this.  That’s not gonna happen.  I dont know what all these other people are here doing, but I cant do it.  

I thought the problem was rock climbing.  

My friend said, no that’s not real.  Thats not what this is like.  That’s not what rock climbing is.  Essentially, mandy, the problem that you’re perceiving is not the real problem.  It was only the other day that I realized when I was relating this story to someone for the first time in a long time.  I was there to climb 200 feet into the air with nothing but rope and removable metal gear keeping me from falling splat.  I didn’t trust the gear, and I didn’t have any skill yet.  I was there to learn to climb rock, to be led, to press my skin and bones against unforgiving rock and into cracks and use friction to keep my body and rubber soled shoes attached to the surfaces - THAT was already a big enough problem on its own!

The problem that I walked away equating was something different - it was an unsafe leader, a team member I didn’t feel good trusting, and a complete lack of stewardship over my experience as a new climber.  

Because when you’re climbing a mountain, or living your life - having your first day at school, or working the grind for 20 years at a job that makes you ask, is this all there is?  There is a big problem.  You have to climb a big mountain.  That’s enough.

But what we often experience is not the problem of climbing the mountain, or making friends, or fulfilling our obligations -  it’s the problem of climbing mountains in completely unsafe ways.  And as someone who is new to the sport, or the day, or accustomed to the job, you can’t tell the difference.  

This is what I mean in the intro, about shifting the conversation from solving problems to transcending them.  

Sometimes when we think we’re looking at a problem, what we’re looking at isnt the problem at all.  We can perceive a problem, but be focusing on the wrong thing entirely.  Sometimes there might not even be a problem if we switch perspectives.  Can you think of a case where this was true?

There are times that time, or space, or a new position can find you on a high ground where you realize, there actually IS no conflict.  I think it’s easy to imagine why transcending problems would be desirable, but much harder to grasp onto what that looks like acted out in our lives.  Harder to believe that it’s possible in a world where we’re problem-addicted and we get too comfortable with unhealthy pain.  

I remember when I worked in design, engineering, and manufacturing environments it felt like we were in some ways talking about this dance:  between proactivity and responsiveness about important issues or threats, versus a tendency toward hyper-reactivity, which drives the whole org into the ground.  

If you fixate too soon you spend energy on things that aren’t truly problematic.  But the greater risk is when you fixate too soon, and don’t actually understand what the real problem is.  So all you solve is a phantom a symptom, or a red herring.  

Can you see now if I had concluded in my limited awareness that that experience WAS rock climbing, what I would have missed out on?  Some of the most rewarding years, weekends, and moments of my life.  

I can’t help but see the similarity in what I do with people too.  Honestly, it’s what all of us do with each other, in whatever role or capacity we do it as.  That quote comes to mind, we’re all just walking each other home.  

But what’s different in what I do professionally with people is that I don’t bring answers to others with my conscious knowing.  I facilitate others’ conversations within themselves through altered states of consciousness to tap into their own unconconscious resources.  

Sometimes we have to rescue each other from other experiences that should have been safe but weren’t.  I was totally in shock and it was needless - all it took was a new experience.  Since that next day’s sun was setting and we were all walking to the parking lot with ropes over our shoulders, I felt slightly surprised, exhausted in every way, but accomplished.

I’ve always been thankful for Derek for just being himself.  Just being an authority in the space he was occupying.  He restored the hope I HAD in myself - the little flame of hope that I needed to get right back in the saddle.  It was his certainty that reminded me.  

I’ve been in dark places in my life, when I knew - because I had tried for so long by myself to experience safety - it wasn’t going to get better for me.  I didn’t have hope - I was convinced I shouldnt.  I would be fool to think otherwise.  And you know, I worked with a lot excellent people along my way.  People who I have forever felt indebted to.  

But only once or twice in a healing setting did someone impart to me what Derek did about rock climbing:  authority and certainty from someone who should know and did.  Who could make a big commit and trust himself to follow through for me.  That’s what I try to be.  Because I know my craft, and I can’t expect others to know it.  It’s my gift to bear.  

What special certainty do you bring to others - what reassurance is uniquely yours through experience?  Maybe you haven’t entirely found the way through your story yet.  But I trust you will if you orient yourself toward looking.  

It’s really joyful for me to share rock and ice climbing stories.  Those contexts give us an opportunity to showcase strengths and traits of ourselves to ourselves and those who bear witness with us - things that no one will ever know about us the way that those do who were present because those shades of us don’t come to light in every day situations.  Certain sides of us only come out in hardship, you know?  Do you ever think about that?  

Somehow I believe that you’re one of those people too, if you’re listening - the type of person who shines under hardship, a little more gorgeous for the wear.  Maybe sometime if I get to hear YOUR reflections of this story of mine, I’ll get to hear the way that you are also battle-tested, and a tool that is healthiest when used for good.  Used for your purpose.  

My parting question to you, my parting thought is:

Have you already discovered what that purpose is?  Do you know it like you know anything?  Maybe if you don’t feel a clear yes to that question, the areas where you hold special certainty, life authority, or reassurance for others can be bread crumbs along the way to finding it.