Seeking the Struggle

A short piece I wrote awhile back:

Climbing days were few and far between. The end of a semester and holiday preparation took far too much time and energy. Plastic was a poor substitute, and even it seemed elusive. For weeks, maybe months, I planned this getaway. The details were still vague. Roughly a week. Somewhere in the southeast. Climb as much as possible. Where would the weather be best? Who would be available? All that really mattered was being outside doing what I loved and missed.

The voice of one crying in the wilderness. The Book of Luke says John “the Baptist” grew strong in spirit and lived in the deserts until his public appearance. That has always intrigued me. What was it about living in the desert, wearing camel hair, and eating wild locusts and honey that prepared John for his role in ushering the Christ of Israel? God used wilderness to prepare others as well. After the exodus from Egypt, He made His people wander 40 years in the wilderness before they were fit for the promise land! I had only a week to spare. What did he have planned for me?

Tennessee Wall is my favorite crag. Perhaps it’s the way the repetitive corners and arêtes allow me to feel hidden away from other climbers and their crag dogs. The features also restrain my ego, which so often manipulates me when surrounded by crowds.

Golden Locks is my ultimate happy place there. Nearly one hundred feet tall with maybe seventy feet of that pure hand crack, it is difficult for me to walk by and not climb such a phenomenal route. The crack is clean and smooth. The jams are perfect slots, requiring minimal twisting or cupping. If I were ever to practice free soloing, which I likely never will, it would be to feel the unencumbered flow that comes from ascending a climb like Golden Locks.

For now, it serves as a confidence booster, as I choose and place just enough pieces between bomber rest jams, swimming upward in smooth movement, smile on my face, using the critical crimp for the single crux lunge to a jug at the top of the crack. That move always reminds me of my own on-sight effort: sweating an ocean, thrutching between moves, carrying way too much gear, and nearly exploding off the crux move before gingerly moving to the chains. The efforts where failure is so near, yet I somehow succeed are the most memorable and satisfying.

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led around by the Spirit in the wilderness. During that mysterious time of preparation in the desert, the devil tempted the God-Man with all the desires of our own hearts, particularly an easy way out. But it wasn’t to be easy for Jesus or for us. Jesus knew what He had to do. He knew it was going to be difficult, even asking the Father to remove the cup if possible. Yet He endured for our sake. God is constantly refining us throughout our lives, and I have to remind myself that there is value in every struggle.

The last climb of the day had to be a good one. This particular climb my partner and I had looked at many times . . . and walked away from just as many. Fortunately, it was his lead, and a moment of decisiveness took us to the base once again. Crack Attack is highly rated in every guidebook, but it’s not a typical, well-known classic. Past the main area and largely hidden above a blocky start, it has an aura of mystery and adventure, and that’s exactly what we found.

Back on the ground, after the most impressive lead I’ve seen from him, my partner didn’t have much to say. What can you say after finishing a challenging, scary lead? A simple exhale is enough. Those moments fall into the “Type 2 Fun” category for me, fun to reflect on later but not very fun in the moment. Donning my headlamp and reluctantly leaving my parka, I prepared for my own adventure. I was glad to finally get on this route.

The opening chunky stuff is followed by a flared offwidth kept mellow enough by a handcrack in the back. Over a bulge, I worked thru delicious, thin fingers on a slab. The crux comes about three-quarters height. In catching a couple lead falls, I had the benefit of seeing my partner work out the beta. Still it wasn’t easy. I pulled a small roof using a hand crack until I could frog squat above the roof. Tenuously stepping right over a void, I toed a small nubbin with the hopes it wouldn’t explode off the wall. The subsequent step thru on slopey gastons and crimps was spicy even on top rope. The hardest part of the climb, though, was finishing the final fifteen-foot wet chimney in the dark. Hanging over the 100ft tall wall, above the trees, above the Tennessee River, fearing an eminent nasty slip out of a stone tube, I was glad my sight was limited to just the bowels of the chimney. Grateful to reach the chains, I took a moment to regain my composure and simply appreciate the opportunity to climb.

At the base, I had just one thing to say: “That was terrifying.” Terrifying but rewarding. Uncomfortable but worthwhile. Is that not life? Hopefully, every moment is not a struggle, but the struggles make us better. I’m grateful for every day the Lord lets me enjoy His creation, and I’m grateful for the refining fire He brings me through, even if it’s an off-width of my own choosing.