Story Time: Jugging a frayed rope

[slabby]

*** Warning ***

 

*** Melodramatic, psychoanalytic, full of adjectives! This might be the biggest Chestbeat ever. Proceed no further if that ain't your bag! ***

 

 

Hanging on a rope, I'm slowly spinning counterclockwise. Looking out over the Skykomish River Valley, the sun has just risen between the craggy spires of Mount Index and Mount Bering that lie to the east. The valley is still deep in shade, a thick mist obscures the forests and town below. The peace of a crisp fall morning is disturbed only by the sound of a freight train rattling past. I continue to twist around, the valley now to my back, the rock wall ten feet out in front of me. Without having to look down through three hundred feet of air to the talus and steep forest below, I can feel the insistent fingers of the void pulling at my feet. Above me, my line hangs taught ninety feet through space before reaching the lip of a large overhang. Hidden from view, maybe forty feet beyond this, the rope is securely anchored to the cliff.

 

Something is wrong. Too far to go to where the rope is anchored above the overhangs. Too much bounce in the rope as I climb up it.

 

Each time I thrust my body upward, gaining another foot or two, I can't help but unweigh and weigh the rope slightly. Somewhere above the overhangs I imagine the rope sawing across a rock edge with each bounce. At first fraying, then the fibers of the sheath splitting. The core becoming exposed and the edge cutting through its individual strands.

 

I've convinced myself that what I do is safe, that the solo-belay system I use is redundant. That nothing will fail and if it does there will be a backup. But hanging in space on this pencil-thin cord there is no backup and that sixth sense of intuition is telling me that the system is slowly but surely failing.

 

I am committed to going up. All my gear is arranged at the anchor above me and the end of this rope is still two hundred feet off the ground. So I continue to ascend the rope, as there really is no other choice.

 

As I approach the overhangs the wall comes closer. Soon I can reach out and steady myself against it. Looking up, the anchors have come into view. Thirty feet above me I can see where the rope is fraying. I am not surprised, like I said I already knew this was occurring. Oddly enough I am not shocked or afraid either. It is as if there is no need to panic when there are no options.

 

A fine powder of rope fibers blankets the wall, the rope itself appears noticeably thinner. I continue to climb up and with each effort I can actually watch the rope sawing across the edge. By the time I reach it the sheath has been cut through and the core is just beginning to go. I climb past the damage and continue up the wall.

 

Only that evening on the drive home do the potential outcomes of that event hit me, the what-ifs, the possibility of a very different conclusion to this day. A surge of adrenaline spikes down through the pit of my stomach. I feel like pulling off the road and throwing up.

 

I swear that I don't have a death wish, that I don't seek out these experiences. But through my own stupidity or bad-luck, more than once I've had the chance to press right up against the fine edge between life and death. To deform that thin boundary a bit, push my fingers out into its elastic surface and feel the calm indifference of the abyss. Holding my first climbing partners' crumpled and dead body in my hands, watching the immense wave of a serac-induced avalanche pour down above me, and now climbing up a rope that is being cut in half.

 

To me these moments are sacred. They are of such unfathomable intensity they can leave all other stimuli in life seemingly dull and flavorless by comparison.

 

I wish I could tell you that I gain something of real value from these experiences. But I don't. At best I carry with me a little insight. Through all these close calls there was always a sense of absolute calm when the options ran out. Should I make a mistake, should something horrible happen to me, I am quite confident that in those last moments there will be no fear or remorse. I promise to do my best to stay alive,

but I will always continue my pursuit of adventure.

 

 

Epilogue: This event occurred early in my rope-soloing career, as did the writing of this letter.

 

Self-taught by reading and experimenting, today I almost get anxiety attacks thinking about some of the subtle techniques I once used and shouldn't have or didn't use and should have. I feel liked I walked through a valley of death without realizing what dangers I had exposed myself to until I was safely on the other side. I also think I’m considerably less fatalistic in my attitude about life these days than I was then. That's nice! If you ever choose to rope-solo I highly recommend getting a mentor!

 

Edited November 15, 2003 by Off_White

[slothrop]

A good story well told. The inevitability of your situation is captured nicely.

 

for the ’'s, though.

[layton]

you sir need to fix your apostrophes. there in lies the problem. plus you know you wanna die. come on, admit it. that zero point of gravity. that sudden feeling of anger and helplessness. the imensity of it all. the pure power of gravity. the bone breaking, viscera rupturing unforgiving hardness of the ground. it's so fast. so real. dieing is totally Zen!

[EWolfe]

michael_layton said:

you sir need to fix your apostrophes. there in lies the problem. plus you know you wanna die. come on, admit it. that zero point of gravity. that sudden feeling of anger and helplessness. the imensity of it all. the pure power of gravity. the bone breaking, viscera rupturing unforgiving hardness of the ground. it's so fast. so real. dieing is totally Zen!

 

Still fresh in the old brainpan, eh, Mike?

 

...or maybe it's the cadaver?

[layton]

I went through and ENTRIRE ROLL of paper towels today to soak up the egg white-like synovial fluid from the bursae I popped by accident. I could barely hold on the the trusty scalpel. Many, many, many dry heaves later, it got the mess under control

[Off_White]

I fixed your apostrophes for you. Good tale.

[bigwalling]

What route was this on? Sounds like an interesting experiance.

[lummox]

michael_layton said:

I went through and ENTRIRE ROLL of paper towels today to soak up the egg white-like synovial fluid from the bursae I popped by accident. I could barely hold on the the trusty scalpel. Many, many, many dry heaves later, it got the mess under control

'synovial'. 'dry heaves'. riiight. fess to the self stroke ya onanist.

[EWolfe]

lummox said:

michael_layton said:

I went through and ENTRIRE ROLL of paper towels today to soak up the egg white-like synovial fluid from the bursae I popped by accident. I could barely hold on the the trusty scalpel. Many, many, many dry heaves later, it got the mess under control

'synovial'. 'dry heaves'. riiight. fess to the self stroke ya onanist.

 

Zzzzzzinnnnggg!!!

[catbirdseat]

Nice post. I hope you always write that well. So who are you anyway?

[slabby]

catbirdseat said:

Nice post. I hope you always write that well. So who are you anyway?

 

My given name is Jim Beyer

[lummox]

slabby said:

My given name is Jim Beyer

plab. but ya know that anytime someone says 'I swear that I don't have a death wish' it makes it seem like they gots a death wish or sumpin.

[slabby]

Seriously! I swear that I don't have a death wish!

[catbirdseat]

Welcome to CC.com, Jim. You've made a good start. Now, can you start a thread as good as "Muir on Saturday"? We could use the diversion.

[schnitzem]

This experience brought back a number of similar memories for me.

 

I am very interested in peoples take on anxiety attacks post-climbing trips. I have had a number of close calls and now even years later I catch myself day dreaming ....imagining that I am falling off a ledge, or taking a big aid whipper, or water ice is heaving below me....and I get a minor anxiety attack.

 

What is this? I am usually a very carefree - mellow - stress free person.

 

I have always thought climbing experiences whether good or bad at the time, make us stronger in the long term?

 

........or are climbers damaged goods?

[lummox]

schnitzem said:

I have had a number of close calls and now even years later I catch myself day dreaming ....imagining that I am falling off a ledge, or taking a big aid whipper, or water ice is heaving below me....and I get a minor anxiety attack.

What is this?

prolly werent breast fed as an infant or sumpin else equally impossible to overcome.

cheers.

[chelle]

Hi Jim. Check your pms.