Deep Thoughts

Deep Thoughts

Reflections on the Sounds of Climbing

Story by Dingus Milktoast

You're on pitch 10 of a 15 pitch climb. Your partner's leading. Out goes the rope. Around the corner he goes. Then comes that pause. You know the one... that 10 minutes of Twilight Zone where you wonder what parallel universe, what convoluted worm hole, what fugue state your partner has gotten himself into this time (we all have these kinds of partners from time to time; Hell, we've all been this kind of partner from time to time!).

The rope simply remains motionless.

Distant suns form in stellar clouds of dust while others obliterate themselves in a flash of glorious death. Still the rope remains motionless. Fires rage in riotous anger in L.A.; wars are fought in former communist countries. Still the rope remains motionless. The President tells yet another lie to anyone who cares to still listen, Voyager travels another 10,000 miles.

Still the rope remains motionless.

The worry of the day is undiminished. Those storm clouds only appear closer. The route above is no less threatening, no more apparent. You have no idea if you're even on route. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF YOUR PARTNER HAS SIMPLY TOPPED OUT EARLY, UNTIED AND LEFT YOU THERE AS PAY BACK FOR THE TIME YOU LOCKED HIM IN A WILDERNESS OUTHOUSE AND DROVE OFF!

The rope is simply, utterly motionless. You begin to chant... "come on... come on... come on... come onnnnnnnnnnnn. The rope doesn't even so much as quiver.

And then, you hear that sound, that wonderful sound. A sound more melodious couldn't from the gates of Heaven come. CLICK... pause CLICK. And you heave a sigh of relief as the rope begins to pay out again. Not a big victory. Not even a sign of things to come. But surely a mark of progress, a signal that your partner has returned yet again to save your ass from the very mess you tried so hard to place yourself within. Yes, the sound of a biner clicking shut is a comforting one.

How about the opposite? How about the times when you're barely hanging on, desperately trying to drag up 8 pounds of rope, your other arm quivering in anticipation of failing, thousands of feet off the deck and the Grim Reaper herself cackling in evil welcome, when you finally get the rope up into the mess of gear hanging down between your legs and you snap that rope through the biner and... hear no click at all? You just know the gate has closed on the runner, or on the rope, or on the edge of your harness or, most Dingus of all, has clipped itself (avoiding any hint of personal responsibility in the process) back on your harness and missed the rope entirely. That is the opposite of comfort. In fact, shameless whimpering and loud invectives, coupled with tears, is the only appropriate response at all!

Deep thoughts indeed.

DMT