After lunch, we stood on the ledge and I could see the wind blowing in the treetops and watch hawks glide along through the trees. It was a grand moment. How often do we see the wind blowing the tops of trees or a hawk picking its way through the woods? It was time to continue upward. We had about another 50 feet to go.
Burton went ahead, placing the protection. All I could see was a rope going up the cliff. I heard him yell"off belay." Now it was my turn to ease up that rock.
I found the first foot placement, the first hand placement, the second foot placement, and the second hand placement. I had traveled about 18 inches upward. I could find the third step with my hand, but couldn't see any place to put my feet, either one of them. It just wasn't there.
The harder I looked, the less I could see. Burton had just climbed the rock, so the steps had to be there. Why couldn't I see them? They were there. Why couldn't I see them? Anger started getting the upper hand. I called for slack, moved down, and tried it again. First step, second step, third step, nothing. I called for slack again. Moved down again. First step, second step, third step, nothing. The sun burned at a million degrees. It's a good thing no one was monitoring my blood pressure. I knew I had to get off that ledge. "After all," I muttered, "I can't spend the rest of my life up here." Even if the view was wonderful, I was going to have to get off that ledge, and I certainly didn't want to climb down. But where was that blessed fourth step? Where? Where?
This moment taught me the most about rock climbing, about why Burton emphasized brain control. I was defeating myself because I allowed anger, not reason, to manipulate me. Burton tied himself into the rope to come down to coach me. I looked up and found the first step, the second step, the third step. "Look between your feet," coached Burton. Sure enough, the inscrutable rock became readable. By looking at the project from a different point of view, I saw a tiny jutting ledge of rock. It was maybe two inches across, maybe three inches deep. But it was enough. I put my foot on it and pushed upward.
The rest of the climb went well enough, and once I was back in control and had sent the anger packing, I was having fun. I was embarrassed, but Burton seemed to treat it as no big deal. I guess he sees brain lock often and accepts it as part of his job to coach his students through it. At the summit of Table Rock, I felt a major sense of accomplishment. As we crossed the summit, I knew I had met and done worthy battle with a personal demon.
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