My First Epic

Climbing chalk is sometimes referred to as powdered confidence, and many of us cling to it like a child's blankie before facing our own potential boogie men on cliffs everywhere. What about new gear, though? Don't you feel stronger and braver from slipping on a fresh pair of shoes? Doesn't the fresh snap of unblemished cams lead to thoughts of running it out (and paradoxically not using those same cams)? I know that is all true for me, but I learned it the hard way during one of my first multi-pitch trips.

The cliff was relatively short, not to mention slabby, and it was a beautiful sunny day in the Sawtooths of Idaho. Riding high from reuniting with my new girlfriend after a couple months apart, I was not alarmed by the late hour. We had a plan that we were going to keep! She had just graduated and was spending the summer and fall working at a guest ranch. I was a year behind and spending my summer in Leadville, CO, learning the ropes of being an Outward Bound instructor. I'd been honing my trad skills for the past year in Tennessee, had received further instruction and practice through OB, and was (in my mind) fully equipped with a new trad rack through my prodeal. After a brief demo of how to remove my new gear, we were ready to make our first multi-pitch ascent as a couple!

Our progress was initially delayed by a middle-aged, local couple bailing from the second pitch. Amateurs. Surely we would easily dispatch this backwoods 5.7 in the next couple hours, possibly with them even witnessing our prowess. Then we would celebrate with pan-cooked pita pizzas, creek-chilled wine, and starlit skies.

The first pitch followed a shallow runoff groove choked with dirt. Rather than grovel up that, I decided we would ascend the clean, adjacent slab. Given the easy nature and lack of gear, we would simul-free-solo. We tied in, and both set off up the 5.6/5.7 slab. Fortunately it was easy climbing but the slab arced upward as we climbed higher toward the tree ledge. About 85% through, my girlfriend got spooked. I talked her anxiety down and traversed to the tree ledge to offer a belay. Good thing we were tied in already. We would see that tree ledge again.

The second pitch followed a shallow corner up to a jumble of tat around a giant choked chockstone. Suddenly I found myself in the same spot as the previous party. From the belay cave I could not tell where to go for the 3rd pitch. Without a topo and with little multipitch experience, I swallowed my pride and we set to descend. Thus began one of most tense experiences of my climbing experiences.

A half-rope rappel from the belay cave could not take us the full pitch to the tree ledge, but I remembered there were two pitons about  four feet apart mid pitch. I rappelled first set a belay using the two old pins. For the next rappel, I sent my lady down first. The rope was thread through a screwlink on the bottom pin, while I backed up the rappel with my body and a runner to the higher pin. She recalls how stern and quiet I was during the experience. I imagine now that it was probably to hide my foolishness from her. Safely reaching the tree ledge, I don't think she realized the gamble I took rappelling from the single pin with no backup. I was grateful for the "near miss" of the situation.

It was nearly nightfall and cold by the time we made camp that night. Our celebration was dampened by fatigue, fright, and a lack of matches. We drank unchilled white wine and choked down our cold, lunchables-style pita pizzas before turning in.

My wife and I have gone on to successfully complete (and bail from) several multipitch lines since then. I've acquired more gear, and sense, and we always carry an extra lighter in our first aid kit.