Friday, 18 April 2014 at 11:47 AM *[14 Noble Ave, Yonkers, NY, United States](https://www.google.com/maps/search/?api=1&query=14+Noble+Ave,+Yonkers,+NY,+United+States&map_action=map&basemap=satellite)* # A Slippery Slope John and I went back to the Gunks on Tuesday. We stopped at Rock & Snow on the way up and dropped some more money on gear. This is becoming an expensive hobby. Indoor climbing only requires a harness, belay device, climbing shoes, and maybe a chalk bag. You can get totally outfitted for less than $200 and still be climbing with quality gear. To climb outdoors, you need all that and so much more. We use 600ft of climbing rope, two dozen [quickdraws](http://www.backcountry.com/black-diamond-oz-quickdraw?ti=UExQIEJyYW5kOlF1aWNrZHJhd3MgJiBEb2dib25lczoxOjk6MTRfYmNzQ2F0ODExMTAwNDI), maybe thirty [nuts](http://www.backcountry.com/dmm-wallnuts-set?ti=U2VhcmNoIFJlc3VsdHM6bnV0cyBzZXQ6MToyOm51dHMgc2V0) of assorted sizes, at least a dozen [cams](http://www.backcountry.com/black-diamond-camalot-c4-package-.3-6?ti=UExQIENhdDpQcm90ZWN0aW9uOjE6MjpiY3NDYXQ4MTEwMDA3MA), a few [runners](http://www.backcountry.com/black-diamond-nylon-sewn-runners?ti=U2VhcmNoIFJlc3VsdHM6c2xpbmdzOjE6MjpzbGluZ3M), five or six locking carabiners, helmets, and [cordelette](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF4A85CPr8c)s. The good news is that John's regular climbing buddy is out of town and has let John have free access to his gear while he's gone. Most of this stuff is his. But there were a few things I needed to add to my own growing gear collection. If I'm going to move to Portland, I'm going to need my own set of climbing tools, and buying them all at once would be financially crippling. So I decided to add a couple of pieces at a time. Last trip to the Gunks, I bought a helmet and some belaying gloves. This time, I invested in some quickdraws, ten nuts, and a cordelette. It's an expensive hobby. But my parents taught me that when you're buying gear that you may have to trust with your life, it's better to invest wisely than choose a cheaper option solely on the basis of budget.  John and I paid for our gear, then ate a heavy breakfast at a nearby diner before heading out to the rocks. John had picked out a three-pitch route called "Beginner's Delight." It was going to be a quick, fun climb that would give me some [leading](dayone2://view?entryId=E85A2FD9604B45A78B400FB8662BE5DC) experience. John tied in and I put him on belay so we could start our ascent. The first pitch (75ft) was uneventful. The rocks turned out to be quite warm and dry, so we had a leisurely climb in the sun. I used my cordelette to create an anchor and reset so John could climb up to the second pitch. When you're the belayer, you have to keep your eyes on the climber at all times, so you know when to feed them rope or when to brake. Depending on the height and length of the route, this can mean a lot of prolonged neck strain, looking straight up the rock face. It was almost noon, so I got to enjoy the added discomfort of staring almost straight into the sun as I tried to pick John out in the shadows. (Note: climbers have solved this problem with [belay glasses](http://www.powernplayusa.com/details.php), for another hundred dollars.) The route was a difficult one to read too. In the gym, every hold on a route is marked with brightly-colored tape, but outdoors there's only a guidebook to tell you what landmarks identify which route. This lets you choose your own difficulty, as you can easily turn a 5.4 into a 5.8 by linking in the crux from a nearby route, but it also means that it's easy to get lost. John was persistent, and eventually traversed far enough to find the right anchor point. But I noticed that our rope was getting caught in the crotch of a rock about 30ft up from where I was standing. It was still moving through it, but I could tell that the directional pull could lock it up pretty tight if we weren't careful. I continued to feed John rope. By the time he reached the second pitch (150ft from the first pitch,) the rope was completely stuck two or three stories up from me. Now, this is a dangerous position for both of us. If the rope is stuck, then I can't belay John back down from his position. He also can't belay me up. We were essentially trapped, with neither of us able to move from our position. We shouted a couple of ideas back and forth to each other, but it was not a pleasant conversation. One of us was going to have to take some serious risks, and John was way higher up than I was. It had to be me. Stretching as far from my anchor as I could, I tied in to the middle of the rope (most of it was still flaked at my feet) so I would have the most support possible. Then I disassembled my cordelette anchor and assessed the situation. The rope was stuck in a crack thirty feet away from me, the same distance as the top of most routes in the indoor gym where I climb. If I fell at any point on my way to reach it, I would fall all they way to the first pitch if the rope held. If it slipped out of the crack, the rope would stretch all the way up to John, and I could plan on falling at least another ten or fifteen feet. There was no other choice, so I got on the wall. There were three anchors between me and the snag, so I climbed slowly and carefully to the first one. With my feet firmly wedged into cracks, I removed the anchor and applied it to my belt. I dipped my hands into my chalk bag and climbed up to the second one. I repeated the process, planting my feet and dislodging the anchor before chalking up and climbing to the third. Then my foot slipped. If you've ever been walking up stairs and slipped on the edge of a step, then you know what it feels like to slip on the rocks. Except a staircase slip just drops you down to the previous step; slipping on a rock face means going all the way down unless you can hold fast with your hands. Ten million years of human evolution flashed before my eyes, the severed threads of dead variations trailing alongside the single unbroken cord that connected me to the first primal ape that dropped from the trees and stood on two feet. Literally billions of individuals had died because their design was inferior to that of my ancestors, and one ill-placed foot was threatening to break that family tradition of survival of the fittest. Not today. This was not going to be how I died. In that split-second slip, I locked my fingers down on the minuscule quartz crevices and flattened my body against the cliff, transferring all of my weight onto my other foot. I brought the slipper back up into position and took a breather. I didn't look down once, because I used to have a pretty bad fear of heights when I was a kid and didn't want any relapses to interfere with my ability to continue. I was halfway to the snag. I cleaned the third anchor, and all that was left was to dislodge the rope. There was still a lot of rope drag between me and John at the second pitch, so it took maybe ten minutes for him to pull up the slack and put me on belay. I took this opportunity to appreciate how high up I was, and how this day was going to be nominated for "The Most Dangerous Thing I've Ever Done," alongside an instance of falling asleep behind the wheel of a car. There was no better feeling in the world than feeling the tension of the rope against my climbing harness again. I was safe, and easily climbed up the rest of the distance to join John on an outcropping, where we shared a well-deserved rest. It was cold in the shade, so our rest was brief. John still wanted me to get some experience leading, so I tied in and we transferred gear from his belt to mine. The scary part of leading was climbing without protection until you placed an anchor, but I had just survived a thirty-foot trial of that and was prepared for the challenge. What I was less prepared for was the snowmelt that was running off the rocks at this height. The third leg of our climb had two roofs, and the first was positively dripping water onto my back and helmet. If you think rock climbing is challenging, you can imagine trying to find a secure hold when everything was wet. I started to get upset with the situation and with John for putting me in this position. I wanted to rest, I wanted to come down, I wanted to switch roles. Whatever happened next, I didn't want to be on that rock, getting rained on anymore. Then I looked around the edge of the roof and spied a handhold. I made a snap decision to reach for it instead of yelling "Take" to John, and I stuck the hold, then scrambled up around the roof. The rocks were dry, and I suddenly felt like Spider-Man, able to hold on to anything. Instead of stopping and whining, I continued to scale the cliffside, trying my best to dodge the wet spots where ice-cold water trickled down. That got harder the higher I went, and I quickly felt my toes get numb within my shoes. Twenty-five feet from the top, the rope got snagged again. I know this because I had made it all the way to the top and was trying to take up the slack so John could climb. I looked over the edge on my belly and saw the snag, realizing I would have to climb down to unstick it and that I would (once again) have no safety for doing so. If I fell, it would be twice the distance to the next anchor point. But I didn't want John to have the experience I did, climbing without protection, especially on such a slippery slope. So I climbed down and created a different anchor point, relieving the pressure on the rope. Back at the top, I secured an anchor with my cordelette and put John on the auto-belay so I could rest for a minute. I immediately tore my shoes off and planted my feet in the warm grass that was still feeling sunlight to work the numbness out. I knew we would have to rappel down soon, because we were running out of daylight, but I rolled a cigarette for a few minutes of self-reflection. I suffer from anxiety and depression, which means on an average day, the most manageable things in the world make me panic. Any success is quickly overshadowed by the smallest failure as I dwell on what I should have done differently. But now that I've been undergoing medication therapy for my conditions, I'm able to do some truly amazing things. Three months ago, I had never tied a figure-eight knot that was supposed to save my life, or climbed any further than I could safely fall. Now, I was scaling 300ft cliff walls in the New York wilderness with absolute faith in both my skills and my gear to keep me alive. Even when I was climbing without protection, I didn't panic, I just did what needed to be done. Of course, hindsight shows me that I could have tied a [clove hitch](http://www.animatedknots.com/clovehalfhitches/index.php?Categ=climbing&LogoImage=LogoGrog.jpg&Website=www.animatedknots.com) to any one of those anchor points until I had cleaned the snag. I could have climbed around the slippery roof and avoided the water altogether. If I had just brought my socks up in my pockets, I wouldn't have risked such numbness in my feet. But these were minor things compared to the monumental success I had just experienced: I climbed the wall and didn't fall off. What's more, I helped ensure the safety of my climbing partner. This makes me wonder what else I could do, not just with outdoor thrill-seeking, but elsewhere in life. The restrictions on my intuition and follow-through have been lifted. I can make decisions confidently, plan positively, and execute them thoroughly. So what's next? --- Friday, April 18, 2014 in [Day One](dayone://open?date=2014-04-18) #dailynote ```query file:20140418 ```