|
| | | |
| |
|
| Climbing | |
|
| | Climbing | | 4 Hrs 19 Mns | | 0.00 mph |
| | | |
| | |
| Partners |
|
none
[ show ]
| no partners | |
|  | ••• | The Razors Edge |
 | Solo | 5.6 | Sport | G | 3 Pitches | | | | Fun climb, great exposure, big views, interesting formation!
I'm a fairly recent transplant to Arizona and I picked up rock climbing when I moved here. I've become very passionate about climbing, which I think can become an extension of the exploratory nature of hiking.
Anyway, I'd been climbing a lot at all the usual places (think: rock gyms and popular sport crags) but I was still longing to have a little more adventure.
Well, I can say I found some of that adventure today!
I really don't know where I come up with my bad ideas, or why they seem so appealing to me. Not having any solid plans for my weekend, I had a couple of ideas brewing in my head about where I could climb that would be warm, and what I could do to climb by myself, if I weren't able to string any climbing partners along.
No climbing partners for the weekend. Bummer.
I asked my good friend Google for recommendations for climbing around the Phoenix area that was easy and more than one pitch. When I came on The Hand, it seemed just the ticket. Some research on a couple climbing sites and HAZ gave positive reviews and seemed to promise adventure with great exposure, huge vistas and a little bit of time travel, as the route still has fixed pins left from the early days before bolting became the norm.
I arrived at the Crosscut trail head by 7:30, and was on the trail and taking pictures by 8:00. At this point I was not optimistic about climbing.
When I left my car, the thermometer read 41 degrees! I moved to Arizona because I don't deal well with cold weather, and even the low 40's is less than what I want to deal with. I was bundled up; hat, gloves, jacket, neck gator--and my fingers were still chilled to the bone.
So I made myself a deal: I'd hike to the climb with the intention of climbing. If my hands or the rock were still cold when I got there, then I wouldn't climb.
The sun was just starting it's lazy trip across the sky, and had yet to hit The Hand when I started.
Seeing this, I decided to take my time and smell [take pictures of] the roses [cacti], so to speak. This was a way for me to think of something other than the climb, and to also enjoy the trail, which is actually very nice!
In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed the trail, taking pictures and moseying along--something I don't normally do.
While I enjoy taking pictures I must confess I don't know much about photography. I decided to try taking pictures in .RAW for the first time and see how hard it was to edit them. What I'm trying to get at is an apology if the pictures are a bit cliche, trite, or over done 
Anyway, the big moment! I arrived at the base, surveyed the rock, assessed the weather and how I was feeling. The temps had warmed up and the weather was perfect. Another beatiful Arizona day  In the sun it was warm enough to doff my jacket and hat and just wear a long sleeve t.
I put on my shoes and prepared for my first solo multi-pitch climb. Scary!
I must pause here and insist that free soloing is not something I condone for anyone else to do. It is strictly a personal choice and I do not recommend you climb without proper and adequate safety precautions. I freely admit it's a dumb idea and I could have had a nice hike without climbing by myself.
Nevertheless, climbing by myself is exactly what I set out to do. And now I stood at the base, looking up at 150 feet of stone.
Starting up the climb was nonchalant, easy climbing and accomplished with little fear.
I wonder now if I'm able to do things like this that can apparently petrify normal people because I lack some kind of emotional center, or if I'm just plain too stupid to know better. It could be either. I honestly don't know. But I am somehow different, that much is sure.
Climbing further up I found myself starting to have a little fun. I was scared, but I had known from the outset that I would be scared, and I had set about to manage the fear as early as possible. Visualizing success, accepting the probable and possible outcomes. These were the strategies I used to get myself climbing.
Taking pictures and exploring beforehand was what I did to distract myself to keep me from building up the psyche, and a possible psyche-out.
Now on the climb, I knew I had to remain calm, focus on the process, and maintain positive momentum.
The climb itself is fun and easy. I've led routes 5 grades harder than this and my ability to complete the climb was never a doubt in my mind. The downclimb posed a scarier prospect, because I don't practice downclimbing on a regular basis, and nearly everyone will tell you climbing down a route is almost always harder than going up the same said route. I don't necessarily agree.
In any case, it's obvious climbing up the spine, or arete. It was fun to be able to hold both sides of the formation, and interesting to have to use vertical holds to pull yourself onto/into the slabby arete instead of strictly horizontal holds for pulling down.
I made it to the top, took some pictures, took in some views and immediately started down again, knowing that fear could paralyze me and rob my momentum, stranding me at the top.
Transition is the scariest part of climbing for me. Whether it be the transition of control from myself to my safety equipment, or vice versa, I've always found it scariest when one system (a human being or a rope/anchor system) must cede control and the other take it up. These are the times when I feel most out of control, and helpless.
On this climb, transition came when I was climbing back down onto the arete from a level platform, either one of the belay ledges or the summit. Those few short moves to bring me back onto the arete were the most nerve wracking, although they were no harder than any of the others.
There were a few places where I stalled while searching for that bomber hold, both going up and down. The hold never presented itself, and I just had to accept what was there. Always a good lesson and reminder.
When I finally made it down I was relieved but not overjoyed. Again, this may come back to being too stupid, or somehow emotionally dead, but I was more just happy to be done. I couldn't even tell you if I'd ever want to free solo again. Just that I was glad that I had done it, that the climb was fun and worth it, and that the experience was actually very meaningful (although the full impact may be yet to come).
I packed up my gear, took more pictures and strolled back to my car, feeling lighter and better than when I had arrived. |
| _____________________
| | |
|
|
|
Route Editor
Route Scout
but it just really bothers me.
