The Pace of Youth: Not Crane’s short story, a climbing road trip!

    

     It seemed strangely ironic to me that my week-long climbing holiday in Arizona happened to coincide with the spring break I’d never had. Rowing all through college meant that Spring Break was spent in the misery of two-a-day practices, with lethargic, binge intervals of food and sleep in between. I left my watch at home and turned my phone off at the base of Mount Lemmon. Yes, it was a shameless rehash of the scene in Easy Rider where Peter Fonda ditches his watch as they speed off into the desert, but I wanted this trip to be about the experiences of climbing, of waking up when the sun was too bright and the birds too loud, and of hyperbolic stories of the day over IPAs in the evenings.  As we sped out to Arizona as fast as a hybrid could, I made a resolution that this would have to suffice as the break I never had while in college.

    I’d hazard to say this was the best climbing trip I’ve been on to date. The only expectation I woke up with each day was that we were going to climb from whenever the hell we woke up, until we ran out of light and started drinking beer. The objectives for the day changed as many as a dozen times, from trad lines, to mellow sport climbs, to mult-pitch objectives with heinous approaches, and then back to harder trad lines. The mercurial nature of our days probably originated from the pithy and often macabre humor found in the guidebooks we utilized while drinking and “planning” for the next day. Climbing guidebooks are one of the greatest examples of flash fiction or poetry of our time; I’m being serious here. They are works of art in their ability to be vague and detailed at the same time, in giving a description that seems innocuous, but at the same time its brevity belies a gnarly line which, when you begin to get experience at reading between the lines, will make your asshole pucker in fear. One of my favorites from an anonymous climb, which I‘ll paraphrase here: “Breathtaking movement up this sparsely protected, runnout line will delight the experienced leader who is not shy at the potential for a disastrous ground fall…” sounds like a hoot, right? There’s enough here for a stand alone blog in the future. The trip was a growing experience for me, in that I was able to let go of my inclination towards myopic planning and enjoy the sheer pleasure of climbing whatever the hell we ended up at, and the experience was much more pure for that reason.

    Another striking aspect of this trip was just how well the four of us got along. There was hardly any swearing (at each other that is), no meltdowns, and the only real mishap of the trip occurred when a stuck rope forced Gavin to rappel into a patch of cacti, from which a great deal of profanity, cursing of the gods, and general animosity towards nature ensued. Overall the group dynamic was super positive, and we climbed well in two man teams which we switched daily. The best part was that we never used double ropes, and no one decided to reengineer a belay while someone was climbing on it… good stuff! Also, from a purely egotistical standpoint, it was great to watch so many cyclists (Mount Lemmon is a world-renowned cycling mecca) who thought they were badasses riding up the mountain tuck tail and look away when they saw our gear and realized we were climbing the sandstone cliffs above them; sorry gals and guys, but climbing is the sport of Kings and Queens…cycling is that of lesser nobility. 

    Alright, on a heavier note, this trip meant so much to me not because it was some specious attempt to reclaim lost youth, but because it reminded me I am still young and nimble and able to adapt and change. I’m nearly thirty, yet I was able to cast off for a week of climbing, no showers, no real internet connection. I found delight in the basic joy of sleeping when I wanted to, eating when I wanted to, and climbing just to climb. A tangent on the climbing itself: I pushed myself to climb some pretty runnout trad lines (for my mental and physical ability) where I was able to shift my focus from the fear of a forty foot fall to the movement and holds which would get me safely to the next rest for gear. I recall getting off my first lead of the trip to hear one of the guys laughing… “dude there was one point were we all thought you were going to peel off and fall for about 30 feet, good job staying on!” I’m glad I stayed on, and I’m glad I was able to keep my head cool and not back off a climb that albeit scary, was definitely within my ability as a budding leader.

    I believe we all need trips like this, where we focus on the purity of one activity, but don’t get bogged down on a specific order or itinerary. Where we cast off all the electronic ties of the everyday, while connecting IN PERSON with other human beings but still enjoy solitude and silence in the wild. Where we pick an objective that keeps us up and claws at the back of our minds while we try to sleep on a pad that’s way too thin and, when we finally find ourselves at the start, we go for it and carry doubt along with us as a silent passenger which we neglect through a positive focus. Best- spring- break- ever!