The Trough (part 2)

written shortly after November, 2003

Back at my securely anchored belay stance half-way up The Trough, I struggled with a growing feeling that we weren’t as adequately prepared for the conditions as we'd thought, and perhaps a 4-5 pitch climb on such an exposed face in November was a foolhardy endeavor.  Just the pitch prior, while leading up a narrow hand-crack between two minimally featured granite slabs, I was caught in a moment of silent terror.  A lead climber knows that for a given level of experience, the relative security of one’s position is measured by the difficulty of the route, the confidence in one’s last pro placement and the height climbed above it.  Mind tricks abound.  Allowing the smallest erosion of confidence in any of these factors can quickly turn a great climb terrifying.  I spent a sobering, ego-jarring three minutes hanging directly from a hastily placed tri-cam while mustering the ‘stick-it’ attitude required to finish the pitch.  Determined not to make headlines or cause the combustion of aviation fuel for my benefit, I soon found myself reflecting upon my life and recent events.
 
Four months earlier, just before his 71st birthday, my father had died unexpectedly in a fall while hiking on a familiar trail.  I was now beginning to appreciate the buffering and numbing benefit of the innate coping mechanisms that allow us to function and face circumstances as needed under given conditions.  I had weighed constantly the desire to move on and accept life as it is dealt to us, versus the easy release offered by giving up.  Had my reckless behavior of late been a test of these two states?  To be or not to be.  Was that a stupid question?

As my left shoulder suffered the bite of November winds, I gazed north across the rocky valley below and felt the weight of this life, and a renewed desire to taste and enjoy everything possible from nature’s ever-changing buffet.  Only in moments contemplating ones mortality can heady subjects be reduced to their basic, black/white components; but had I ever really considered my own life with such finality?  I re-affirmed at that moment that this almost-40-year-old skin wasn’t nearly done with its’ corporeal journey.

“Still there?” I called a few minutes later.  “Can you pull me up?” came the hesitant reply.  Typically, almost any break in the monotony of a prolonged belay stance is welcome, but the dread of additional exertion required to compensate for partner fatigue was easily outweighed by my growing concern over the cold wind and the remaining light.  How could it be getting towards 2:30pm already?  I discovered a short time later that Peter had spent an exhausting and frustrating 10 minutes attempting the removal of a single hex nut I placed in an irregular crack approximately 50 feet below my belay position for that pitch.  Compounded by the unexpected difficulty of the route, the effort was drastically sapping his already-taxed energy reserves.  The nut would remain to be retrieved by another.

Relieved to be together again on the same ledge, there was little time to rest and reflect on our decisions this day.  Now, it was only continue up or rappel back down?  The specter of an embarrassing encounter with rescue services on descent (or worse, still on the rock!), along with the unnecessary worry of our spouses prodded us into action.  As I had anticipated, the route was becoming less and less challenging as we drew nearer the top.  Another long pitch with moderate pro placement was followed by a shorter one which required only 5 – several of these courtesy of climbers decades since gone from this spot.  The top of The Trough route saw us just before 4:00pm – and delighted to have succeeded with plenty of available daylight.  Our elation was short-lived when the location of the shorter, friction descent off the lower shoulder of the south side of Lily Rock eluded my detection.  All routes down from this point appeared too smooth, too steep or too high to attempt without great risk.  Having no wish to jeopardize our safety to any further degree, I fumbled in my oversized pant pocket for the photocopied pages of my climbing guide in hope of an answer.  My relief at finding the required passage was replaced with consternation when it identified the alternate descent as being further up the rock!  With little time to waste, however, we embarked on a ropeless, counter-intuitive ascent up another 200 feet of class 4 surfaces.

(continued in part 3)