Fisher Chimneys route Mt. Shuksan, Day 1

Oh my poor, neglected little blog. What can I say? Sometimes you're just too busy doing it to write about it. :-) Right now, we seem to be in between seasons, so I have a little extra time to write.

Let's see, when last I left off, I was spewing about my Live Your Dream Grant from the AAC to climb the Fisher Chimneys route on Mt. Shuksan. If you prefer the Reader's Digest version (SPOILER ALERT) we did it!

Betty & partner on the summit of Shuksan

If you prefer the whole story, well, grab a blankie or some down booties and your favorite adult beverage and sit back….

It was a bit of an auspicious beginning when we arrived in Seattle late at night and had a bit of trouble securing a rental car, but by the morning we were ready to spend a day gathering supplies and making our way to North Cascades National Park. We planned to hit REI for fuel then head to Sedro-Wooley to get our permits for the climb. We would spend a night there, then launch the next day. Unfortunately, when we got to the ranger station in Sedro-Wooley, we were informed that we could only get permits for Shuksan at the Glacier ranger station, an hour's drive away. They called ahead for us and from the sounds of it, if we waited until the following day to get our permit as we drove into the park, there was a better chance then not that we would miss out on getting a permit for the days we planned to be on route. Fortunately, it was still early in the afternoon, so we had the time to drive two hours round trip just to get the permits.

We did meet with a lovely park ranger at the Glacier station who seemed pretty... impressed? pleased?… to see a team of two women and no dudes getting a permit to do a route like this. I won't lie, that did feel kind of cool. I definitely felt like a pretty badass chica in that moment. However, it also made me sad. Where all the ladies at? Why is alpine climbing such a male dominated sect of the sport? Are the gals afraid, uninterested or unskilled? Or all of the above? Sure, I see females out when I'm in the mountains; its not like we are an endangered species out there, but on Rainier and Shuksan, the few women I did see were almost 'token' members of a male team. On both mountains, I was fortunate enough to be part of an all women's team. I'd like to think that maybe that was an inspiration to those 'token' females in the other groups- 'you can do this, you can be the leader, you can be self-sufficient in the mountains'- or maybe that was just a pipe dream of mine.

After a great Mexican meal that evening, we packed our stuff and got ready for the climb ahead. In the morning we drove north into the park on 542. There is a small little crossroads of sorts right at the border of the park. This is the last place to get gas for quite awhile. Unfortunately, we had driven about 45 minutes into the park before we realized this. Since we were kind of low on fuel as it was, we opted to turn around and fill up rather then getting stranded somewhere. This turned into a not-so-funny comedy routine when we drove into the park a second time, only to realize that we had forgotten to buy lighters while we were at the gas station- facepalm! Luckily we had only driven about 10 minutes in the park this time. When we finally reached the trailhead, it was 1:30PM instead of the 12 PM start we had planned on. Once we finally got started, we had a scenic and thankfully, uneventful, hike into Lake Ann.

After arriving at Lake Ann, the real fun begins. You start to gain some pretty significant elevation rather quickly in a seemingly endless series of switchbacks. Then there is your 'test run' for the Fisher Chimneys where you have to cross the lip of snowfield on to slimy, mossy covered rock, then gingerly scramble up a Class 3-ish chute. There is a rappel anchor at the top of this section if that gives you any idea. Passing this obstacle leads you to a part of the trail that is quite steep with loose sand and rocks for a trail. Careful attention to your feet is necessary to avoid sliding backwards two feet for every one forward. From this section, we gained the top of a shoulder of the Shuksan mastiff and entered a cirque that is at the bottom of the awesome hanging, Lower Curtis Glacier. (For the record, I am no geologist, so geologists and cartographers of the world, please forgive me if I am using terms like 'mastiff' and 'cirque' incorrectly. But they sound cool and after all, blogging is all about sounding cool, right?)

The Fisher Chimneys go right throughout that center couloir.

The Chimneys still lay head, but at this point we had been hiking for hours. It was nearly 6:30 pm and while we probably had 2 solid hours of light left, the shadows were getting longer. It also didn't help that we could see a party trying to descend the Chimneys and looking lost. My partner seemed to want to press on, climbing through the Chimneys, then setting up camp at the top of them, making for a shorter summit day. This would increase our chances of summitting. I argued that we should make camp in the cirque, go to sleep early and then we would be able to climb through the Chimneys unencumbered. It would a bit longer, but we could make up for it by moving faster. So we set up camp, cooked a nice meal of dehydrated something or other and watched the sunset over Mount Baker.

The view of Mt. Baker from out campsite. Those are my green Scarpa boots in the pic.

As twilight deepened, we could see the headlamps of the climbers still in the Chimneys. They still appeared lost. At one point we couldn't tell if one of them was trying to signal us or if the flashes of light were just the glint of sun reflecting off of a snow picket at just the right angle. After some deliberating and a few phone calls (yes, there was cell service here!) for some respected advice, we decided not to go after the lost party. They were all still moving, no one appeared injured, and with us being unclear if they even wanted assistance, we determined that it was best not to put ourselves at risk by entering the fray especially in the waning light. When we went to sleep, they still hadn't made it down. The last we saw of them, it appeared that they decided to backtrack through to entire chimney in order find where they had left the proper trail. We heard them come through and were awoken by their headlamps about midnight. I thought about how long the day had been for them if they had gotten an alpine start. I hoped we would not meet that same fate.

Still a smiles after Day 1

And that seems like a good place to leave this story for now. Come back and read the next blog post where I'll tell you all about summit day. I promise not to make you wait 6 months!!!!

Sometimes dreams do come true.

The dream: climbing on the summit pyramid of Mt. Shuksan, photo by Ryan Stefiuk at Bigfoot Mountain Guides

I have been rock climbing now for 15 years. In that time, I have mostly pursued trad climbing. To me, trad climbing is about freedom- freedom to climb anywhere, anytime, no need to have bolts placed for you. (I don’t want to start a trad vs. sport thing with this post, I’m just pointing out how I saw it as new and naïve climber.) Trad climbing was the key to bigger, bolder climbs- the climbs that really captivated my attention, the bigger alpine climbs in the mountains. As a newbie climber, I cut my teeth on and stoked my imagination with the classic stories from the lexicon of mountain literature- stories from ascents in the Himalaya, Alaska, Patagonia, the Alps and the like.

One little snag in my dreams of big adventure in the big mountains- it turns out, that as a climber, I kind of suck. I’m not pushing big numbers. I’m a mediocre climber at best and I get crazy scared on lead, so I’ve never really led anything harder then 5.7. Despite being a sucky climber, I enjoy it well enough to sink most of my free time and way too much of my financial resources into doing it. The best climber in the world is the one having the most fun right? In my opinion, though, this is one of the truly great things about climbing- there are challenges to be had at all levels. At the end of the day, I like to think that what we really respect in our fellow climbers is that they push themselves, not the numbers.

Last summer, I had the opportunity to take on the challenge of Mt. Rainier. Never having done any sort of technical mountaineering before, the mountain would definitely challenge my skill set. I fretted about ‘succeeding’ on the mountain, by which I mean summiting, but finally surrendered that fear and decided I would learn a lot no matter the outcome. I had always assumed Rainier was the sort of climb that I would have to spend a lot of time and energy working up to, learning the ropes on smaller mountains first. So when I stood on the summit that August day with the other two women of my team, the experience was surreal. And addicting.

Gunks goils on top of Rainier, August 2012

Before I even left the Cascades that trip, I knew I wanted to come back, to do more. A whole world had opened up before me. I challenged myself and met that challenge. I found a strength and confidence that I never knew before. Instead of Rainier being a culmination- an end point, it was just the beginning. The mountains were calling me and I had to go. My climbing partner and I talked about logical ‘next step’ climbs. She proposed the Fisher Chimneys route on Mt. Shuksan. She also gave me another invaluable suggestion- why not submit an application for one of the American Alpine Club’s Live you Dream grants?

Folks, I’m here to tell you dreams do come true. I received an email from Sarah Garlick, the Northeast Regional Coordinator for the AAC on Friday afternoon to notify me that I was one of 3 people in the northeast region receiving a Live Your Dream Grant. I cannot tell you how elated and honored I am to be receiving this grant!!! *jumping up and down* I get to go climb Shuksan this summer!!!

Receiving the email filled me with so much gratitude, so I want to take a moment to say a heartfelt thank you to the AAC for sponsoring this wonderful grant program and especially for the Northeast selection committee who wadded through many worthy applications and somehow saw fit to fund my humble little project. (If you’re not an AAC member, you should be!!! If for no other reason then to support awesome stuff like this!)  I also want to thank my climbing partner for providing some inspiration for the dream. Her ambition to go after her mountain dreams has definitely inspired me to work to materialize my own as well. I’m also going shout out to all my awesome female climbing partners- you ladies kick axe! The fun I have climbing with you all is a wonderful source of inspiration and a great reminder to simply get out there and enjoy it, whatever “it” might me. And last but not least, I want to thank my DH for all his love, support and understanding when the house is a wreck because I went climbing instead of cleaning J

BIG News!!!

I got some big news today. HUGE! I am floating on the proverbial cloud 9 and still a bit incredulous that it is really happening to me. I want to tell the whole world, which is why I am blabbing it here.

But not yet.

Because I'm evil like that. OK, not really. I'm not posting yet because well, you probably have a life and are out doing something awesome on a Friday evening (you are doing something awesome, aren't you???). Hopefully you are doing something way cooler then, I don't know, ironing socks. Since I am way excited and I want to share my news with everyone, I figure I'll wait until Monday morning, when you are more likely to be held hostage at work in front of your computer anyway.

Until then, here's a clue, courtesy of Ryan Stefiuk at Bigfoot Mountain Guides.

The climber you think you are vs. the one you really are

I recently came across this little meme on Facebook, posted by Strong is the New Skinny. It really resonated with me because in many ways it sums up how my winter season has gone.  Which, in one word, is AWESOME!!!

To begin with, I never considered myself much of an ice climber. I always felt a bit weird on ice, like the movement never flowed. My footwork was terrible and I'd pumped out by the top of 50 ft WI3. Of course, the more pumped I got, the more stressed out I became, the more I over-gripped the tools, etc. We all know this goes nowhere good. So even though I've been climbing ice over 8 seasons, climbing 2-3 times a season wasn't really getting me anywhere.

I can't even remember how it began, probably one of my climbing partners who prefers ice climbing to rock. Or it could have been getting ditched by my partner on Christmas for a desert climbing trip, but somehow, back in November I got a wild hair to do some training for ice season. I kept it simple- some deadhangs off my front porch on my tools. Then doing some ladder sets of assisted pull-ups off the tools, then doing some endurance-focused stuff, using small feet to pull-up and lock off on the tools while I 'swung' them and repeating that movement for as many minutes as I could hold on. I even got lucky enough to do a little dry-tooling at the local gym back in December, while we all sat and waited impatiently for the ice to come in.

The routine was modest, but I kept at it. More curious then anything else to see what, if any, affect it would have on my ice season. From the first day out, I noticed a difference. It wasn't huge or obvious, but I did notice that I climbed 3 or 4 pitches that day without having a major flame war in my forearms. I took that as a good omen.

My next trip out was pure fun. I went climbing for the weekend with several girlfriends and we had as much fun giggling and laughing as we did ice climbing. The beauty of this experience was that by having such a fun time climbing, I was much more motivated to continue to going out climbing. In fact, this season, I have climbed more then the last 5 years combined and almost all of my days out have been with other ladies. I think that has had a lot to do with having such a great season. Watching them push themselves and succeed is so inspiring and intoxicating, one can't help but want to push themselves a little bit too. In fact, thanks to those ladies and their incredible energy, I took on one of my first leads on ice. Then my third, fourth and fifth.

photo credit: Ryan Stefiuk of Big Foot Mountain Guides

I never thought I would lead on ice. For the longest time, I had been content to let others do that, but never thought I would be a strong enough ice climber to pull it off. Turns out, the ice climber I thought I was was no match for the one I really am.

Another thing I never thought I would do happened to me yesterday at the climbing gym. My first full body weight pull-up. I'm still so surprised by it, I have this urge to do pull-ups off of everything now, just because I can. I didn't intend to do a pull-up that day. I came to the hang board with the intention to simply do some hangs off the open-handed slopers to build some contact strength. For whatever reason, I grabbed the small jugs at one point and began to pull and was shocked when my chin was suddenly level with my hands. I've never been able to do an unassisted pull-up before, but then again, I've never really worked this hard before. I've been running nearly every day and cleaning up my diet in order to lose a few extra pounds that gravity likes to toy with when I'm climbing. I've also been doing bodyweight exercises like push-ups and squats. Achieving a pull-up for the first time is validation that the hard work I am doing to optimize my strength to weight ratio for climbing is working. I still have a ways to go, but getting that pull-up is a milestone along the way that just motivates me to keep working hard. It's also a great reminder that I'm stronger then I think am and that I am more limited by my thoughts then my strength.

I hope to take this lesson with me into the rock climbing season. For awhile now, I have been limited in my leading abilities, mostly by my head. My goal this season though is to take the achievements of ice season to heart and remember in those moments where I am gripped with fear, that I 'can' and that the climber I am is stronger then the climber I thought I was.

Climbing & The Power of Vulnerability

My partner had sent an early morning text. He wasn’t feeling well and needed to bail on our ice climbing plans for the day. I was secretly glad. The previous day as I waited for him to come pick me up, I had had just enough time to ruminate about the sanity of leaving the safety and comfort of a nice warm bed and house for a day of standing out in the cold freezing my ass off, possibly getting hit by chunks of falling ice and contending with something so terrible it has been dubbed the ‘screaming barfies.’ No wonder the rest of the world seems to cast looks of pity on the ice climber.

So now, with the whole day free, what to do?  My initial thought was to go for a run and hit the gym for some plastic pulling. Despite my earlier plan of ice climbing, I decided that it was too cold to run outside and since today was a major construction day at the gym, it was best to be avoided.  I briefly thought about going skiing, but the thought of contending with the weekend crowds and the lack of uninspiring snow pack made me quickly put down that idea too. So I went with my last option: a fuzzy robe, down booties, hot coffee and a copy of Alpinist 40. It was going to be an armchair mountaineer kind of day.

I do the armchair mountaineer thing really well. Too well actually. For me, being an armchair mountaineer means being lazy. Engaging the beauty and freedom of climbing without the weather, without the discomfort and without the risk. It also means giving into my inner gear whore. As I flip through the glossy pages, I see ads for this new boot or that new soft shell hybrid jacket and I buy it. No, I don’t mean that I literally buy it, but I buy what the marketing guru behind that ad is selling, “buy this piece of gear and you too can climb like a badass, just like athlete X, pictured here. All of your dreams of a rockin’ bod and hard sends will come true for a mere $399.99 plus applicable taxes.” So while I do enjoy my armchair mountaineer days on a certain level, I am also disgusted by them. Or more accurately, disgusted with myself and my laziness. At some point in the day, my inner critic will oh-so-lovingly remind me that my climbing dreams won’t be realized through the purchase of a new piece of gear, but through hard work, dedication and commitment to be something other then a fat-ass on the couch in a fuzzy robe with the down booties on.

Today is no different, perhaps even a little worse. I don’t make resolutions but somewhere in January, I got a wild hair and decided to set some goals for myself. I was going to change up my diet and exercise routine (I say ‘change up’ but since I didn’t really have a routine in the first place, that’s a bit disingenuous), lose a few pounds and get a better strength-to-weight ratio going, you know, for climbing of course. Not because I think I’m fat and unattractive and people would like me more if I was skinnier. But that's a post for another day. No, in my mind, getting a hotter bod means climbing harder will be easier. At least, that’s the motivation I’m using when I really want to eat another chocolate bar. I figure it’s better then pure self-loathing.  I also decided to start doing some training. I’ve been climbing for 14 years and never once have I ‘trained’ for climbing. I just go out and do it and have some fun. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. However, one of the things I love about climbing is traveling and the sense of freedom, My sense of freedom with climbing is seriously hampered when I look in the guidebook for a new area I want to visit and realize I can only do about 20% of the climbs because the rest are too hard.  So I need to up my game. I’ve been doing some training and I have been seeing some progress. I have to use a magnifying glass, but hey, it’s only early February right? I can’t expect to be crushing 5.13 after only one month of training and while still being on the pudgy side. So, with all theses goals in mind, what do I decide to do with my day? Sit on my ass and essentially do nothing. Nothing that gets me further towards those goals, at least.

But sometimes you need those days, those days of rest. It allows the body to rest and gives space for growth of the mind and heart.  And today the Universe decided to give me a little guidance about vulnerability.  It started when I came up in this video of Brene Brown’s TED Talk, “The Power of Vulnerability.” You should definitely go watch it, after you’ve finished read my drivel here, of course. She started off trying to study connection, which she ended up understanding more through stories of disconnection, ironically. One of things she found though is that in order to experience connection, we have to be vulnerable.

The problem is, none of us like to feel vulnerable. Whether its pulling a hard move when you’re run out above your last piece or loving someone knowing they might eventually hurt you, vulnerability is scary because it comes with a real risk of being hurt.  People use all kinds of things to numb themselves from having to deal with the pain of feeling vulnerable- drugs, addiction, food, and in my case today, simply being lazy. From her research, Brene found that there are basically two categories of people when it comes to dealing with feelings of vulnerability: those who feel worthy and those who don’t. People who don’t feel worthy don’t feel they are enough and so that vulnerability carries with it the heavy weight of shame. These are the people who tend to numb themselves out so they don’t have to feel so vulnerable. The other group, those who do see themselves as worthy- believe they are enough- don’t like being vulnerable anymore then the rest of us, but understand it’s a necessary part of the human experience and are more accepting of it. With the knowledge that they are worthy and they are enough, being in situations where they are vulnerable becomes an opportunity to connect, instead of turn in on themselves and protect. And this place, this place of vulnerability turned into connection, is where love, joy and happiness are rooted.

Back to my armchair mountaineer day, I flip open the copy of Alpinist 40 and started reading Katie Ives’ The Sharp End and came across this:

“’Peering over the edge attunes you to mortality,’ Michael Kennedy says. ‘Climbers have already seen it. It’s not mysterious.’ For the most part, mainstream Western culture shifts the subject of dying into the periphery, where it hovers in the shadowy, almost taboo realm. To discuss it explicitly seems “morbid.” To engage willingly in activities that might incur it, we’re told, is ‘irresponsible.” But there are other hazards that come from losing the awareness of our end: the risk of not experiencing, fully, the raw and urgent joy of life: of not taking conscious responsibility of our brief presence in the world.”

After reading that last sentence, it sounded a lot like what Brene Brown had said in her talk about vulnerability and about how that is where true joy and happiness were forged.  In that moment, it occurred to me that that is the true joy of climbing. We willing put ourselves into physically vulnerable situations in order to appreciate and experience true joy. It’s what George Mallory meant when he said, “what we get from this adventure is just sheer joy.” Freezing cold, falling ice, scary run-outs above marginal gear, yes, to the mainstream world we are nut cases. But I’ve never known a group of people who love and experience life so simply and beautifully as climbers do.  Now I understand why. And with this understanding, I’m going to make another goal for myself for this year- to be more willing to engage the risk with the knowledge that I am enough. Take on that hard lead that I know I can do, even if it is going to scare the crap out of me. Train harder even if I know its going to hurt a bit before it get better. Stand out in the cold, freezing my butt off, if for no other reason then to know within the depths of my soul that by being vulnerable, I have also proven that I am strong and I can survive. To love myself just the way I am, no matter how hard I climb and to train for harder climbing for the sheer joy of climbing, not the need to prove anything to anyone else. 

And on that note, I think I'll go for that run now. :-)

It's the journey, not the destination

The summer has been going by so quickly. Since July brought with it the oppressive heat and humidity,  I haven't been climbing as much. Call me a fair-weather climber, but when it's so hot the rock is sweating, I lose all motivation to climb. Wake me up when it's fall.

In the meantime, I've been preparing for a climbing trip of a different sort. This time next week, I'll be on a plane, headed for Seattle. Our objective: to climb the Disappointment Clever route on Mount Rainier. Three ladies, no guide. Just us making the decisions for our team, shouldering our own loads, the only ones responsible for our success or failure.

I've never been on a glacier before. About ten years ago, when working in Colorado one summer, I did have the opportunity to play around doing some self-arrests on a tiny snowfield. Also while in Colorado I had the opportunity to hike 14,256 feet Long's Peak. I did OK with the altitude then, but I also had spent the whole summer living and working at 8,000 feet. That is the full extent of big mountain/high altitude experience. In comparison to something like Rainier, it seems laughable.

So Rainier is going to be quite an adventure. A foreign environment, new skills, and unknowns about how my body will perform. Part of me is very excited, part of me is scared to death. I'm looking forward to the challenge, but not sure how I will handle it if I don't meet it. This is perhaps the most important thing I hope to gain from this trip.

In my climbing, I struggle with remembering to enjoy the journey. I only count myself as having succeeded when I top out the climb, lead the climb or otherwise meet what a general consensus would consider the 'end point.' I often get so caught up in chasing numbers and grades, I forget to stop and smell the proverbial roses- to enjoy the journey of climbing.

But as I began to prepare for this trip, I have had Ed Viesturs famous quote, "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down in mandatory" repeated to me on more than one occasion. And it's a good reminder for me. The summit rate on Rainier is 50%. I have a 50-50 chance of reaching the mythical end goal. If I consider my trip a failure because I didn't summit, then what was the point? What was the point of taking time off from work, spending all that money, flying to the other side of the country and freezing my butt off? There will be no point.

To justify the sacrifice, I must learn something of value. There certainly is the potential to learn plenty of valuable things- how to travel on a glacier, how to travel as a roped team, how to pace myself for long, hard efforts at altitude, how to feed myself so as to maintain my energy, how to adapt to altitude in a relatively short amount of time, how to go to the bathroom on a glacier. But the real lesson while be if I can learn to value these skills above the value of the summit.

So stay tuned friends, for a report on the my trip, including what I learned along the way.

Plight of the Chicken-Hearted

We booked the tickets Friday night. I wasn't as excited as I thought I would be. Just that morning, I had seen on Facebook the news story about the park ranger who slipped and fell to his death rescuing 4 climbers who had fallen into a crevasse. More then anything, I felt fear and self-doubt. 'Why am I spending all this money to potentially end up dead?' I thought silently, from somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious, so remote I was barely aware of the coherent thought, only the emotion associated with it.

The following day I went rock climbing. We met up in the afternoon and climbed till after dark. As the evening deepened, it was my turn to climb the final pitch through a series of overhangs, the first of which is the biggest. I always struggle with that move, so I don't quite know why I suggested we do that climb. Belaying from under that first roof, I couldn't hear my partner yell, "Off belay!" so I had to rely on the movement of the rope. While she pulled all 70 meters of it up, I was still feeding it through my device and yelled back, "That's me!" when it came taut, hoping she could hear me better then I could hear her. I sat on the ledge and shivered. It had become uncomfortably cool now that the sun had disappeared, but I also shook from the fear. Several tugs on the rope came next as she pulled in the rope. I hoped, rather then knew, that meant I was on belay. I took a deep breath and removed the anchor carefully with one hand, too afraid to let go and risk a misstep that might send me hurtling down  the cliff. As I began climbing, the rope moved up the climb with me- a good sign I tried to remind myself. 'But just in case- DON'T FALL!' came the response, again from that mysterious subconscious place that was more clearly emotion then a coherent thought.

I climbed smoothly until I reached the roof. I removed the #1 Camalot in the roof and replaced it with my hand and found the secret, solid hand jam that would let me move my body out and around the roof to reach the jug. Too bad grabbing the jug was the easy part. The hardest part of the move for me is getting my feet up on the overhang since I'm not strong enough to campus off the opened handed jug and haul my ass up. I managed to throw a left heel hook up and the tried pull with all my might. My heart was pounding, "don't fall! don't fall! don't fall." I was stuck for a moment, my hands so wet with sweat they were starting to grease off the crucial juggy hand hold, and all I could do was lament how utterly useless my right leg felt just dangling off into space, doing nothing useful to propel me out of this predicament, but instead feeling like the darkness had grabbed ahold of it and was pulling me down, down, down into the eternal abyss. 'Why do I do this to myself?' I whined.

The adrenaline gave me enough of a boost to finally struggle up and over that horrid roof. As soon as I pulled both of my feet up and was again standing on them, the potent mix of fear & adrenaline became counterproductive and I noticed an odd sensation in my stomach- I wanted to hurl. Three pitches off the deck in the dark- god, I hope no one was standing below. I briefly thought of the parties that would do this climb the following day, would pull the classic roof only to recoil in disgust when they found my vomit all over the rock. But before I could actually hurl, the feeling subsided and I was able to take a few breaths and move on. There was now only one way to safety- keep climbing to the top.

The next day I tried to go climbing again. My nerves were so frayed from the experience of the night before that I felt physically exhausted all day. I could barely muster the energy to do anything. When I tried to lead a pitch that I've done many times before, I could barely keep it together. I climbed up & down several times, balking at doing one little move that felt too far out from the gear 2 feet to my right. I ended up shoving a few crappy cams in on the route above, too anxious to relax, find a good stance and place a good piece.

All this fear and frayed nerves prompted some intense self-reflection. I have dreams of big adventures and big mountains, but how to accomplish this when it turns out that I am a big chicken-shit? Even the smallest things that most climbers seem to do with ease- like anchoring in at a hanging belay, can send me up to the edge of having a panic attack. I so desperately want to lead harder climbs so that I can travel and do bigger routes in the mountains, but I nearly wet myself thinking about pulling through the roofs on some of the classic 5.6 climbs. It's a question that I wrestle with perpetually in my climbing- is there a place in climbing for the risk-averse people with a fear of heights?