Atlas Smirked

Atlas Smirked

Story by Alan Lindsay

A common element of Greek tragedies is hubris, an overreaching confidence which the Gods punish by bringing the hero low. The Climbing Gods punish hubris as well. My first attempt at Big-Wall climbing is one such cautionary tale for those mere mortals among us.

One spring my partner Chris and I decided (over beers) "By god, we're going do some Big-walls ". After about two practice climbs in Salt Lake, (and a whole summer of good intentions but no more aid practice) we roll into the Valley. Our shaky confidence vanished as we looked at El Cap for the first time. Gulp. No matter, we can do this. Let's go try an "easy" one to warm up for the Nose.

After careful packing, we end up with a pig that I can't even lift. It takes two of us to hoist it onto the tailgate, and then I crawl into the straps. I lean forward, Chris pushes and we teeter off into the dark to do the Leaning Tower. In the haul bag were some pins (6) and a hammer we had bought the day before 'cause we heard that there may be some missing on the fixed pitches. How hard can it be to bang pins into a crack?

We lost the trail on the approach, laid down in the rocks and waited for some light. Of course we got passed, and by the time we crawl to the base there are two parties on the wall and two more waiting. After staring at each other and choking back tears for an hour, (and looking up at the route) we decide that maybe we aren't quite ready for this, after all.

New day, new idea, "Let's just do the first 4 pitches of the Nose. At least we can say that we climbed part of the route". This time we *do* work out the approach in the light without loads. Big Wall experience - we're already getting smarter.

After massive dicking around, Chris starts up around 11:00 am. Feeling vaguely aware that something's wrong with the timing, he pointedly avoids making any mistakes by rushing things. 2 hours later and highly rattled, Chris actually arrives at the first anchor. Whoo hoo!

Cleaning was easier than I expected. I just weighted the rope and unzipped about 2/3's of the pitch. I just sat at the base and simply pulled the gear off the rope as it slid down to me. Cool. Uh, good thing you didn't fall, dude! With the route cleaned, I zip up to him in no time.

Of course, we had the classic chaos at the belay, with me inadvertently unclipping myself at one point. Casting a wary eye at the sun and at Crescent Ledge, I start up the next pitch. My second piece pops, I take a slide and tear all the hide off my forearm. By this time we look at each other with the unmistakable "lets get the fuck off this rock before we kill ourselves!!" look.

To reward ourselves, we got a lot of beer and sat around the Village posing. We of course, looked like hell, all scuffed up and me with my bleeding forearm. We had a blast as we regaled attractive tourist chicks with tales or our derring-do. The next morning, we couldn't look at each other or ourselves out of shame for the slime we had become. Hung over and ashamed, it was a long, quiet drive as we slinked back to SLC with our tails between our legs, vowing that we would never so much as think of wall-climbing again. The Climbing Gods had sensed our hubris and decided to teach us a little about humility.

Alan Lindsay, Salt Lake City
AKLindsay1@AOL.com