A Beginner's Ascent

We walked beneath a thousand stars, the moonlit crescent and a small flashlight was just enough to light the two-mile gravel trail around the giant rock.

It was my second attempt to climb on real rock, if you don’t consider the small boulders that take two technical moves to ascend the elementary rock and climb the ladder of my in-much-need-of-assistance ego.

I’m normally a pretty confident person, someone with just enough security to know that if I set my mind to a challenge, my body and mind will collide with a somewhat successful performance. But this adventure to Enchanted Rock struck me with an uncomfortable sense of inability and insecurity as new and foreign challenges trembled the fingers and toes of a falsely confident, life-long athlete.

This new sport has drawn my interest in the past few months as I have witnessed videos of supernatural athletes conquer unimaginably technical routes, some climbers with a bravery even Great King David couldn’t conjure up. With the tunnel vision of a heart surgeon and a faith blinding all impossibilities, one single moment of hesitation could lead to a thousand-foot, life-ending flight to an unmerciful jagged, hard ground.

My experience at Enchanted Rock was not that dramatic, but every shaking moment that I reminded my head to remember my foot was secure as my toe dug deep, my hips leaned in and my hand reached to the next finger-tip crevice of a rock a little to smooth and slick for my in-experienced taste, I might as well have been free-climbing Yosemite’s Great El Capitan.

Matt went up first. This was only his second time to lead a person on real rock and strangely, I held every ounce of security and suppressed every “what in the hell am I doing?” thought in his two trembling hands. I held the rope as he ascended to the first silver bolt some 10-12 feet up. With a little difficulty at the beginning he seemed to be clinging quite tightly to the rock face, almost like a smooth, romantic dance, close enough to feel her skin and just distant enough to make the next move.

By the time he got to the second bolt to lock in his carabineer, I felt the rope trembling in my hands, I looked up and saw the rope laying on top of his right foot, which was uncontrollably shaking. This is apparently called the “Elvis Shake” in climbing lingo. At this point he was nearly 20 feet off the ground and the only sense of comfort he had was the secured bold 10- feet below him and the grip of rope between my two hands. All I could think of at this point was the 18-some years I played tennis and the obvious handicap in my net-game that always lacked the split- second reaction instinct necessary for success. “Just breathe, focus and trust,” I thought to myself as I exhaled a much needed breathe of tightly compressed air.

After his foot dance, Matt was no longer, “All Shook Up,” and he took a leap up and attached the next carabineer to the bolt. He was almost to the top, just a couple more moves to go, but with his body a little closer to the bolt he was hooked into, I could only imagine the relief and relaxation he felt as he completely the lead route.

He sat at the flat space on top of the curved rock he just climbed, elbows leaning forward on his knees as he breathed deep breathes in and out, with very little words spoken between each breathe, As I looked up at him, affirming him with, “good job babe, you did it!” I looked just above the back side of Enchanted Rock, illuminating through one of those mysterious rock trees was a beautiful, bright, big crescent moon making its way over the rock and far above our heads. But at this moment, it was a delicate peak at something so soothing and crazy beautiful. I have this theory that you only see awesome things when you’re doing awesome things. May not be exactly true, but it was a pretty life-awakening moment that could be greeted with something as stunning as this great moment.

Once Matt caught his feet on a somewhat steady ground, he set up an anchor around a different, strange and mysterious rock tree. He could have come down but we made the decision for him to stay and belay me from above so we could enjoy the sun-stunningly setting vies together.

It took a while for him to get set up and I annoyingly nagged him at the bottom, continuously asking him if I could climb yet. As more time passed, I subconsciously made a built-in excuse for failure by complaining about my cod body and numb fingers.

Yes, there was some truth to this, but really, rock climbing is a sport that challenges me in ways that I have never experienced, and my lack of strength and ability to succeed with little practice just doesn’t seem to work like it can for me in other sports. So yes, I will call it my ego that feels like I should explain my inadequacies in this field. But I also must admit that is also a driving factor in my passion and pursuit to be a climber.

It was time to ascend. With Matt setting up the bolts for me, my job is to unlock and gather the carabineers as I come up, a moment of vulnerability for both the person setting the locks in place and the one releasing them. I’ve always been an advocate for freedom but I think Janis was mistaken when she said, “Freedom’s just another word for ‘nothing left to lose.’” The moments of freedom on a rock feel like everything but a faded memory, lost in the gaping stance of time is left to lose.

I put my fingers in the cracks just above my head and set the inner part of my left foot in a small space in the rock. The idea was to launch off my left foot to give my right hand the reach for a bulge higher than my position, meanwhile landing my right foot on the tiniest stool of security. This, however was not happening. The rock was slick, there was barely places to gain enough footing or grip, the rock was cold, it was getting darker, “How the heck am I going to do this?” I thought. “How did Matt even do this?” Attempt after attempt did nothing but drive my frustration. “This is only the beginning!” My negativity furthered, Matt saw my struggle and asked if I wanted a mercy pull with the rope. This was not a moment of pride, nor was I even in the place where I could pretend to be self-sufficient, “Yes!” “Please!” I shouted upwards.

The rope tightened and I was able to make the next couple of moves with a little less complications than my not-so-eloquent start. Sometimes in the rock gym I stand back and watch great climbers gracefully placing the tip of their toe into a crevice, lifting a soft arm to the next groove, gently bracing their position upwards. They are like delicate ballerinas, performing a beautiful routine, swiftly and smoothly, mesmerizing onlookers with a symbiotic dance between man and rock. Never mind that these routes are treacherous, rugged and require a finger-tip strength to endure. My climb thus far reminded me just far off I was from a beautiful climb.

I reached the first bolt, and followed Matt’s instructions to release the carabineer from the bolt and rope, and attach it to my side. My conversations with him were spoken in trembling, soft words. I was scared, the whole time, I was scared. The rest of the route was somewhat of a blur, I remember finally making it to the next bolt and feeling hopeful and assured that I was almost done, and even if I had trouble up ahead, at least I was confident that I was secured to a bolt very close to my body.

I have climbed mountains alone in the middle of who-knows-where Tennessee, I was hit by a car on a solo bike ride from New York to Toronto, I took shelter from bombs during a shelling between Israel and Palestine, taken and given rides to plenty of strangers, and spent many nights camping alone with little knowledge of my safety or location. And this little 40-some foot ascent at a very friendly rock climbing location was the venture that broke the chains of my fearlessness. Yes, I have felt adrenaline, shock and nerves before this climb, but trembling hands, shaking feet and serious doubt in the secured sustainment of my life was something no adventure up until this moment had given me.

I made it, I made it. Finally, I made it to the top. I sat in the same seat I watched Matt sit from below, in a very similar stance, elbows on my knees, deep breathes in and out. My head lifted slowly and my eyes met the most stunning orange-brimmed horizon. Darkness fell all around us as we rested on top of the rock. The fleeting orange blanket faded to a thin line beneath the night sky. We repelled one by one to the bottom, softly bracing our feet against the cold, dark rock.

A small flashlight helped us navigate back to the trail. The awestruck beauty of the billion stars startled us as we made our way out of the woods and stepped out into the open skies. The two mile hike back to our car that cold, dark, starry November night was filled with disclosed thoughts and fears from our day’s adventure, random story-telling, laughter and further dreams of the next adventure.

We walked with an existence that had been sparked into reality. The stars fell faithfully, fearlessly out of the sky as I admired their boldness with a newfound awe and wonder.