A young Royal Robbins. I don’t know when the idea of climbing El Cap first started to take shape in my mind. From very early in my life as a climber, I have loved the history of routes. My heart yearned first for the great classics in Eldo like The Bastille Crack, The Yellow Spur, and The Naked Edge, and for routes like Durrance on Devils Tower in Wyoming. Something like El Cap has always been out of my league—a dream to be put aside like the idea of being a jockey (until I got too big), or the idea of being a ballet dancer (until I got too big), or the idea of being an actress (until the professors at college pointed out that I couldn’t act). I have always known that Abram would climb El Cap, but I assumed he would do it with one of the more accomplished members of our climbing “tribe” like Tyler, Arthur, or Ronie.
On October 28, our climbing anniversary, I tell him outright that I want to climb El Cap. We’ve been drinking and he’s just had a giant steak so maybe he’s a little less sensible than usual because when I say it—“I want to climb El Cap”—he smiles and shakes his head yes.
On October 28, our climbing anniversary, I tell him outright that I want to climb El Cap. We’ve been drinking and he’s just had a giant steak so maybe he’s a little less sensible than usual because when I say it—“I want to climb El Cap”—he smiles and shakes his head yes.
We both know that I’m a liability, because I don’t have anything like the technical skills I need to be a solid climbing partner for something like El Cap. Abram leads everything when we climb and takes complete responsibility for setting up the rope on a solid anchor so I’m safe. He is the only one who is regularly in any danger during our climbing adventures.
I have my place. I’m really good at carrying stuff uphill, bringing a yummy lunch, keeping my mouth shut when I’m scared or frustrated, and doing whatever Abram tells me to do without question. On El Cap, it won’t be enough. There is no way that Abram can lead every single pitch. El Cap is 3000 feet of rock climbing broken into 31 pitches, and the lead climber hauls the bag of water, food, and camping gear while the follower ascends the rope and cleans the pitch. I’ll have to lead some of it, if only to give Abram a break from managing the haul bag.
I have my place. I’m really good at carrying stuff uphill, bringing a yummy lunch, keeping my mouth shut when I’m scared or frustrated, and doing whatever Abram tells me to do without question. On El Cap, it won’t be enough. There is no way that Abram can lead every single pitch. El Cap is 3000 feet of rock climbing broken into 31 pitches, and the lead climber hauls the bag of water, food, and camping gear while the follower ascends the rope and cleans the pitch. I’ll have to lead some of it, if only to give Abram a break from managing the haul bag.
Abram and I in Eldo after a day of climbing. “Okay,” I tell myself. “I’ll learn what I need to learn, I’ll train hard, and I’ll lead.” Here’s the thing. When you lead, you have to place pieces of gear into the rock to protect yourself in case you fall. If you fall, you have to trust your gear placement (e.g. Did I place that piece of gear in the right spot, the right way, so that it can hold the force of this fall when the slack in the rope is exhausted?). You might take a long fall onto the gear and it might hold, or it might pop out of the rock and you might keep falling onto your next piece of gear. Hopefully, you placed something well enough so that eventually a piece of gear catches you before you deck.
I have a question now for everyone reading this. How many of you would trust yourself with your own life, 30 feet up when you are hanging by your fingers to a rock face? Okay, how about 200 feet up,or 1000 feet up—or 3000 feet up? On El Cap you might be hanging ten feet above your last piece of gear, on one exhausted arm, while you hunt frantically around on your harness for the right piece of gear to plug in a little crack, and you’re looking straight down a vertical wall to the ground 2500 feet below. So, how many of you trust yourself? I know I don’t!
All of the high places that I have reached in my lifetime, I have reached because Abram does trust himself in that situation. Perhaps this is the reason he says “yes” to me when he could climb El Cap with a better climbing partner. He knows that we share something in our spirits that make us willing to push ourselves to the limit. Our limits are different—his is certainly more extreme than mine—but the sense of challenge is the same. So, Abram makes El Cap possible for me and I want it for my life. I want it with everything in me that wants. I want it bad.
Anyway, he’s “tied in” now that I’ve booked the plane fare!
I have a question now for everyone reading this. How many of you would trust yourself with your own life, 30 feet up when you are hanging by your fingers to a rock face? Okay, how about 200 feet up,or 1000 feet up—or 3000 feet up? On El Cap you might be hanging ten feet above your last piece of gear, on one exhausted arm, while you hunt frantically around on your harness for the right piece of gear to plug in a little crack, and you’re looking straight down a vertical wall to the ground 2500 feet below. So, how many of you trust yourself? I know I don’t!
All of the high places that I have reached in my lifetime, I have reached because Abram does trust himself in that situation. Perhaps this is the reason he says “yes” to me when he could climb El Cap with a better climbing partner. He knows that we share something in our spirits that make us willing to push ourselves to the limit. Our limits are different—his is certainly more extreme than mine—but the sense of challenge is the same. So, Abram makes El Cap possible for me and I want it for my life. I want it with everything in me that wants. I want it bad.
Anyway, he’s “tied in” now that I’ve booked the plane fare!
