For those who don’t know me well, I feel that it’s important to explain that I have an intense fear of heights. Your (completely understandable) first thought is probably “Why are you a rock climber?” I myself have tried to find some sort of explanation for my behavior besides masochism. The best I can come up with is that I enjoy the thrill. For instance, I love roller coasters, but the first drop always freaks me out. However, the first time I went on a coaster that replaced the first drop with magnetic acceleration, I realized I was bored. I NEED the fear. However, in the world of climbing, that fear means I am always on the verge of a freak-out. If enough factors build up, then it’s no longer a fun thrill and the fear becomes all-consuming.
This is why climbing in El Potrero Chico, in Mexico, was such a hurdle for me. It has some of the tallest vertical faces in the world (the tallest clocking in at 23 pitches and about 2300 feet). Even the ‘short’ single-pitch climbs often require a 70 meter rope. Compare this to the fact that all my previous climbing experience had been around Austin (where most climbs are less than 40 feet tall) and you can imagine how much of a shock Potrero was.
Coming into it, my goal was to complete one 3-pitch climb by the end of our week there. But John was having none of it. On my first day of climbing we arrived at a wall where our friends had already started up a 3 pitch climb. Not wanting to be left behind, I reluctantly agreed to be thrown directly to the wolves. To add to it, John somehow forgot to bring his climbing shoes to the wall. Instead of going back to the campsite to get them, he decided to climb barefoot… on the condition that I would lead.
In retrospect, I’m not sure why I ever agreed to this. I knew that a multi-pitch on the first day was already a stretch, and then adding the fact that I would need to lead (surprise! I’m also afraid of leading) was just plain crazy. But my stubborn side kicked in and I resolved that I would do it.
In Austin, where I had done all my previous climbing up to this point, a 30 foot climb will probably have a bolt every 5-8 feet. Since I was still quite new to climbing (and again, have this issue of an over-abundance of fears), leading there still freaked me out. Potrero, on the other hand, will put a good 20+ feet between bolts. Especially on easier climbs. It’s like they assume that everyone is a 5.11+ climber, so a 5.9 is easy and shouldn’t require many bolts. But what about the people who are actually 5.9 climbers? They may be struggling through a section that feels crux-y to them, yet they are 10 feet above their last bolt and nowhere near the next one.
So day one, I found myself on a three-pitch climb, leading a bunch of 5.9s (I was probably about a 10b climber at this point) that were incredibly sparsely bolted. Needless to say, I made it – without any falls – although I am pretty sure I was crying the entire time. And I don’t just mean nervous – I mean tears streaming down my face crying.
However, I did make it. And the feeling of accomplishment was enough to erase (most of) the misery of getting there. And apparently it was enough to cloud my judgment and make me look towards bigger- and more frightening – challenges. A few days later, this mindset is the only way I can explain how I found myself dangling 900 feet off the ground, with nothing below my feet besides open air. I had somehow agreed to tackle the first 9 pitches of Yankee Clipper, and was dangling from the bottom of the ninth pitch. John had climbed out of my line of sight, and I could no longer hear him over the howling wind. It was in this moment that my fears caught up to me and I lost it. (Although I thinks it’s worth pointing out that this means I went 8 whole pitches without crying!)
Needless to say, I did eventually finish that pitch (where a friendly ledge was waiting for me), driven primarily by the fact that in order to get down, I knew I needed to go up first. Unfortunately for us acrophobic types, getting to the top doesn’t complete the exposure to heights. Going down is still a long process since you have to repel from belay station to belay station. This can take hours, and doesn’t provide the distraction of climbing.
In retrospect, I am able to look back at Yankee Clipper with pride, and I still consider it one of my greatest accomplishments. At the time, however, all I could think about was getting back to solid ground and never putting myself in that position again. Thankfully, I never seem to listen to my better judgment and continually throw myself into situations that scare the shit out of me. But what fun would life be if I just played it safe (and wouldn’t my stories be far less entertaining)?
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