Vis-à-Vis

August 5, 2023

It was damn hot. Hot and wet. And as Robin Williams playing Adrian Cronauer in Good Morning Vietnam says: that’s nice if you’re with a lady; that ain’t no good if you’re in the jungle.

My new La Sportiva Tarantulas were great. I would have remarked on that twenty feet below the anchors on Vision at Global Village if I had not been cursing and whimpering and begging for a better stance, a better gear placement, less lactic acid in my forearms and calves, and less runout over a bull$#!+ 0.75 Camalot above a Charlie Brown Christmas tree waiting to impale me straight up my rectum. I was not in a good place. I could not downclimb. My brain was telling me to push on like Arno Ilner would (WWAD?). The Warrior’s Way baby! And I started to, but then I realized I was already runout. I was already looking at a bad fall even if the whore of a Camalot held my fat ass in free fall. I made one move up to an awkward stance and realized the next move wasn’t secure and the gear above might be better but it sure wouldn’t be easy to place. I was pumped silly, hands uncurling on every hold and arches and calves so burned up I couldn’t stand long enough to place anything anyway. In desperation I looked west toward the top of Kentucky Pinstripe. The anchors on the sport route were waist level and about eight feet away.

I started gunning over.

My fingers were hard like wood. I clawed into the rock and stabbed westward with my great new climbing shoes, hoping against all futility they’d land on something solid. If a foothold blew...if my fingers failed...I was going to be violently impaled on the tree.  My lungs were pumping like the bilges on the Titanic. My heart was hammering like John Henry. My dad had a stent put in three days ago and I was pretty sure we’d have matching ones if I didn’t make the traverse clean over to the rings. Damn all those cheeseburgers. Damn all that pizza. Damn that impression of said ass in my couch. I had only gotten on this route to condition myself for leading up the Exum Ridge on the Grand Teton two months hence*. I didn’t want to wreck myself bouncing down VISION at Global Village and wrapping my torso around the pine tree.

Somehow, I made the moves without chuffing into certain spinal destruction. I clipped a draw to the rings with hands that no longer worked normally. Though gasps and wheezes I told Tony to take. Somehow, I got a second draw clipped and started chanting “get me down!” over and over.

I laid on the boulder at the base feeling it’s cool mass, chest heaving, absolutely spent. My body and brain were flooded with adrenaline. It took a while to come down. And I felt like I was crashing. I drank water and ate a little. I coached everyone through the lower half of the route (actually my preferred variation of the lower splitter of Vision, pull the roof left, and finish on Kentucky Pinstripe), and began wanting to go back up it on top rope. I wasn’t sure how my body would respond. But I knew I needed to try. It went surprisingly well. I didn’t feel as bad as I expected I would. I hiked it on top rope and enjoyed it. I needed that. But I almost took Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. That was scary. Vision shouldn’t be at my limit. It wouldn’t have been as bad if I’d had any kind of decent gear. 

I survived. That’s all that matters.

Lily resting on Kentucky Pinstripe
after I hung the rope.

* I did NOT make it to the Exum Ridge in October like I planned.