Packing for an expedition to tackle a 100’ obscure aid and free line rope solo in the Eastern Kentucky backcountry is much different at fifty years old than at twenty-three years old. All those years ago I would have just taken everything, up to and including the kitchen sink. The weight wouldn’t have been a consideration. I might have taken a single bottle of water. Probably no food. Wouldn’t have worried about rolled ankles or getting benighted or cold.
In 1997, if I’d gotten too hurt to self-rescue my only hope
for survival would have been Don Fig finding me before the turkey
vultures. I was fully aware no one would
know where I dangled like Toni Kurz awaiting my doom. The full chain of events that it would take
for me to be discovered at this obscure place in the backcountry was painfully
apparent to me. And that was—and honestly
still is—a huge part of the appeal. But if
I’d taken a bad fall on Mosaic in 1997 my skeleton would probably still
be dangling from a rope way out there.
I’m an introvert. When
my mom said “you shouldn’t hike alone” my response was then and has typically
always been: “if I wait until I have someone to go with me I won’t get to go.” That’s partially true. The other facet of that truth is that I enjoy
exploring alone. Other people complicate
and sometimes ruin experiences for me.
That’s not to say I don’t want to share outdoor experiences with other
people. I absolutely do, and I feel
lonely at times when I’ve found some amazing place and have no one with me to
appreciate it.
But I tend to want to find places on my own and enjoy them
unspoiled, in quiet, and then decide if it’s the kind of place I want to return
to with others. I’ve made the mistake in
the past of sharing places with people who didn’t appreciate them. An early visit with one of my cousins to
Copperas Creek Falls comes to mind. I was
taking photos of the waterfall and looked over to see him carving his name in
the back of the rockhouse.
This last year I have also developed an even deeper social aversion
than I’ve always had which has evolved into full-blown social anxiety. I spent about a week and a half hiding at
work and dragging myself home to burrow into the couch under a blanket hoping
even my own kids wouldn’t come into the room.
The worst of those feelings passed, but I’ve since recognized that they
were always there at times in a milder form.
Not intense enough to call anxiety, but present enough to affect my
preferences and decisions.
Anyway, I’ve matured.
I’ve also slowed down somewhat.
Not because I had to, but because I had to. I was running my own self ragged. I realized I was missing important
things. Not that I ever felt like I
missed anything when I was younger. I saw
it all. And I kept a running list of
places and things I’d seen in my haste to return to. At fifty I realize I may not find future
opportunities to return. It’s better to
try to take it all in on the first glance than plan to look again. When I was younger that wasn’t as true.
Having high blood pressure and other health issues, particularly
a few badly sprained ankles, I’ve tried to make it my habit to let someone know
where I’m going. It’s easy enough these
days to drop a pin, copy the coordinate from Google Maps and text it to
someone. I always try to explain where I’m
going with the hopes that the modern SAR team would have the best chance of
finding my old, fat carcass. But I still
maintain a strong sense of self-reliance in my adventures. Things would have to be pretty bad before I’d
call for help. Two times I’ve limped out
on the stump of a leg after rolling an ankle.
I know it can be done even though I hope it never happens again.
I let my loved ones know more for their sake than my
own. I don’t want to suffer in pain with
no prospect of help coming, but I accept the consequences of recreating
alone. And after thirty years of doing
it I can say I have the experience to back up my position. I have the experience to keep me out of
trouble, but I also better understand the risks involved. If I’m being totally honest, that is a
limiting factor to what I’m willing to do these days. Setting out to reclimb Mosaic it in
the original style is pushing past my comfort level. It will involve better preparations. I’ll need to be more efficient and smarter
about the whole affair.
Again, that’s part of the appeal both then and now. Back then my concerns were technical. I used the experience to test a rope solo
system which I abandoned the second time I tried to employ it, after taking a
test fall and having the prussiks slip and I bashed my knee pretty bad. I was in another place, but still two miles
from the road, and I limped out. After
that I did my research and learned how to modify and use a Gri-gri to rope solo
and that was my system for years until I was able to afford a Silent
Partner.
One of my planning questions is: which system will I use now? The twin prussiks worked well in ’97 for the
aid climbing. No slippage, easy and
light, and for the easy free climbing was no real problem either. And prussiks may be the best option for the
traverse on the second pitch. The
Gri-gri would work well in theory, but with the close to the ground fall potential
it adds just enough extra length in the system to possibly fully put a foot/feet
onto the ground in a fall. While I’ve
had the Silent Partner for years and used it well, I worry about using it as
well. With both mechanical systems the
traverse becomes a little bit of a complication. I feel like a combination of prussiks on the
first pitch and the Gri-gri for the upper pitch might be the best strategy.
I Dustin and I used two 50m ropes in 1997. One 70m should work well to get down from the
top in one rappel. Worst case I can pull
off two rappels, but that would defeat the purpose of taking a longer
rope.
Of course, I’ll need water and snacks. I’ll need an adequate rack but nothing crazy. I’ve pondered taking my hand drill and a few
bolts. A set of rappel anchors on top
might be prudent considering there was a fire or windstorm up there a few years
ago. But I don’t really want to spoil
the experience with bolts. And that will
add considerable weight to the expedition.
I can go fairly light if I’m careful, but there will necessarily be a
certain amount of weight no matter what.
And can’t forget the wire brushes!
At twenty-three I was just looking for novel
experiences. That’s been my desire my
whole life. But at fifty there’s also a
little bit of urge to finish unfinished things.
I feel the need to set some things aright that went wrong. I’ve been on a quest to realign the path I
ended up on with the one I meant to take. I’m slowly zippering the years back
together. This is an important event in
my past. This is how I heal the bigger
wounds of regret: by taking small doses of medicine. I’m also painfully aware that I won’t be able
to fully cleanse some things from my life or my timeline. But if I can realign my own self now, then I
think I can better accept the things I can’t fix.
I’m waiting for the right opportunity to make another go at Mosaic.
I want plenty of time, so I don’t
have to rush. I would put it off to
strengthen my rotator cuff for a free attempt, but that just ends up bumping me
from doing things I want. I will go and
clean the crack as soon as I get the chance.
I’ll work on the moves. We’ll see
where it goes from there.
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