After finishing Godzilla one late fall day, Kevin and I were headed back to the car, walking beneath the Slab routes. On the ledge above the first pitch of the Lizard we noticed a guy anchored to the tree belaying another guy starting out on the thin corner of the second pitch. Obviously out of his comfort zone, he had placed one piece low and was standing on the holds above the first move, sketching more than a bit. I said to Kevin, "If he comes off he's going to rip that piece." Seconds after I finished speaking, the guy peels. The piece rips as he bounces once on the ledge and goes over the edge. His belayer locks off as he swings helmet first into the small corner at the bottom of the first pitch. My first thought was broken neck until he starts screaming and wiggling. Now I'm thinking brain damage. Kevin and I hurry over to find the guy quite dazed and freaked, but otherwise undamaged. I check him for signs of neurotrauma ("Where are you?" "Follow my fingers with your eyes.", etc.) as his partner raps from the tree. After a heavy dose of lecture about proper anchor position/directional placements, we left the newbie to contemplate taking up another sport.
On the other hand, as a rank beginner, I once launched onto a route at Patrick's Point State Park on the north coast of CA named appropriately Low Tide Crack. It was the day after my last finals at HSU and I felt huge.
I climbed up about 15 feet, placed an old #4 Chouinard stopper and continued jamming. I stopped to place another nut about ten feet higher and barndoored as I fiddled with the bundle of wires, ripping the skin off my left index finger down to meat. Brian caught me as my toes scraped the barnacles at the base of the route. I readily relinquished the lead and Brian, in a show of magnanimity never since equalled, lowered off to give me the easier upper third. It wasn't a big ride, but right below where I touched down was another 20 feet into the 48 degree water of the Pacific. If that stopper hadn't held, I would have bounced once and then been dashed to bits by the rollers beating on the base of Wedding Rock.
