COLUMN: How to slap your climbing fears right in the face
I know that look in his eye. I understand that look in his eye. Anyone would understand that look in his eye, because everyone has felt what he is feeling right now. Sheer panic. Absolute fear. Pure Terror.
Whatever you want to call it, you know the feeling. Uncontrollable, racing thoughts beat against the walls of his mind, threatening to blow the top of his head right off and lead to a total meltdown.
Those eyes belong to my 15-year-old brother. He is 300 feet up a granite face, hooked to the cliff with two thin loops of nylon.
We are on the third pitch – tall climbs like this one have to be done in sections – of “Big Time”, a 5.7 sport route in Castle Rocks National Park. We have been climbing for more than an hour and after handling, relatively well, the stresses of his first multi-pitch climb, something seems to have snapped.
His hands tremble as he grasps tighter the rope he is using to belay me. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbles.
A mixture of vertigo, pain in his feet due to ill-fitting climbing shoes and exhaustion from forcing his body to do things it isn’t used to have all summed together to breach the tipping point of his control on fear.
The climb has been nothing but delightful for me. The sloping granite face covered with holds has been safely bolted. I felt in my element as I scrambled up the route, enjoying the wind in my face and the feel of the rock beneath my hands.
The brown hills and valleys that frame Castle Rock complete this picture perfect day. Picture perfect … for me.
I try to focus on being empathetic. I think back to the time when I, too, felt panic on the rock wall. I remember being so scared that my legs shook, and feeling absolutely sure that I was about to plummet to my death.
I remember feeling the strength in my arms ebb away as the seconds ticked by, feeling the tenuous grasp of my fingers on the thin limestone edge fading. My breath was coming fast, my heart was beating faster, and my mind was racing fastest of all.
Then, a voice penetrated the blanket of fear.
“Calm down, Dusty, you got this. You won’t fall,” said my belay. With this simple assurance, the world snapped back into focus. The rope tied to my harness ran downwards, through multiple points of protection, to where my friend was belaying me. I wasn’t about to die.
With a new calm, I slowly extended my arm and felt about the rock face. I found a small hold I had overlooked, and, gathering my courage, slowly made the move up the face.
My next bolt was now in reach and I quickly placed a quickdraw on the wall and clipped my rope through it before moving on to a better hold where I could rest. I smiled widely at having completed the move and wider still at having overcome my fear.
There have been other times when I have felt that panic in my life. Staring at a question on a test that I have no idea how to answer, the feeling as the car begins to slide out of control, the look in her eye as she prepares to tell me it’s over.
All of these have caused my heart to lodge in my throat. But the panic felt in climbing is different from these because as overwhelming as it is, there is your climbing partner there to talk you through it. Someone to snap you out of it and to keep you calm.
I glance up the face I am climbing. I am three bolts in and not ready to try downclimbing, especially with a panicked belay.
“What’s up, Case? Are you doing all right?” I shout down.
“No, I am scared as crap!!!” he replies, his voice beginning to quiver. I look back up at the route and again consider my options. I could repel down from here, but I would lose a piece of gear on the wall. I could try downclimbing, but this is easier said than done. Or I could try to snap him out of it.
“Cason, listen up. I am trusting you as my belay, which means I am trusting you with my life. I have to finish this climb, but to do that, I need you to pull yourself together.” I see him look up at me and our eyes meet.
“Case, everything is going to be all right. I promise you. Close your eyes and breathe deeply.” I let him do this for a moment before I yell down again. “Cason, can you do this?”
He looks up at me and nods. “I can do it,” he says. Our eyes meet again. I see the panic fade, and a look of determination taking hold. I hear him start to mutter under his breath, “I can do this. I can do this.”
I continue up the route, quickly finishing the last pitch. As I clip into the chains and begin to belay my brother up from below, I can’t help but feel proud of what he did. He looked fear straight in the eye before running right through it.
He is soon at the top with me, a grin of triumph on his face, with only a hint of his former terror. I tell him to soak up the view. Taking a quick glance around, he replies sardonically, “Great view. Can we go down now?”
We repel down pitch by pitch until we are again on the ground. The climb and the fear conquered, we pack up the gear and head back to the car.
We drive away from the huge granite outcropping we had just ascended and I take a look over at my little brother. I know that look in his eye. It says “Sucks to you, fear. Sucks to you.”
–dustin.nash@aggiemail.usu.edu