8/14/24
Scooting up Cloudsplitter yestereve was just the boost I needed. I felt solid. I felt in control. I ventured into blanker territory on the north slabs of the sky rock.
The climb: It’s a bump to a ledge from the saddle—but first the tiptoe crab crawl into the saddle—then toe scoot, toe scoot, waist-high sculpted crimps…sure I could snag one on the way down if I slipped—slip?! I ain’t gonna slip on my grippy sandstone in my sticky shoes—one committing stretch on smears and fears and I was into deeper digits. Then the reprieve before the ascension.
Southwestern aspect of the skystack involves muy verticality and a paucity of paw holds. Combo moves of smear/mantle/high step put me square into no-man’s-land. No up or down without the cajones you bring with you. Nowhere to tie a rope. No solid holds on which to yard. Upward and onward into the wild blue. Then the summit bollard and glory!
Stupid grin, silly feeling, solid rock under my feet. Another me—Twentysomething me—would have inched back down the heady slab toward a terminal drop into the treetops with nary a blip on the EKG. Fifty-year-old me tossed a rope and slipped on a harness.
My dynamic neon parachute then returned me to second class terrain. But I had to a-send my way back out of the saddle. The downscrambling is as important as the upscrambling. Maybe I'll work up (or down) to reversing the climb up.
I lingered on a sunny slab nearby taking in the late afternoon vistas—shirt off because I’m too old to care anymore—hoping to bank some vitamin D for the coming winter. While I didn’t bring my own six pack, there was a carton of cars in the parking lot, but I saw not a living soul asides myself.
Living in the past does you no good. I had great experiences. I will have great experiences. I am having great experiences—that is what matters.
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| 4th class scramble over my right shoulder |
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