The Climber

Preamble
The idea for this text was born while reading „The Rider“ by Tim Krabbé during an extended stay in the Cevennes region of southern France. Krabbés book takes the perspective of an amateur road bike racer and is able to convey the essence of why riders engage with this sport in a profound way.
This is my humble attempt to do the same from the point of view of an amateur climber.

By the crack of dawn

I wake up before the 6am alarm on my phone - as always in these cases. No matter if I sleep in a comfortable bed or a tent, if there is a big climb coming up the next day there is no need for an alarm.
Silently making coffee and a bowl of cereal I glance at the two packed rucksacks and go through their contents in my head again: Harness, climbing shoes, helmet, draws, belay device, ATC.
As I look up they just come into the room and mutter a sleepy „Morning“. Few words are spoken at the table: A quick check of the weather - „Looking good. A bit chilly, better take a layer more“- „You got the topo on your phone?“ - A nod.

The roads here in the countryside of southern France are winding and the still low sun is blinding me again and again. On top of the cliffs that line the valley the strange rock formations are drawing our gaze. I feel connected to this landscape, the rock and them even though we have only been here for a few days.
Our goal today is to climb one of the more striking features in the area on a few-pitch line that should be right at the edge of what we can do - at least based on what we have experienced in the last few days and the grades do not lie.

I park the car, we grab our packs and start to hike up in the shade of the trees. Cool moist morning air, muffled bird song and the occasional exchange of words to make sure we are still on track fill the next half hour until we suddenly step out of the trees and get a first good look of the wall.
We both stop, look up and I point at where the line is. The line follows an obvious arête that looks almost artificial with its perfect angle and steepness. Two thirds up the rock changes color from gray to yellow, a clear sign of things getting steeper and harder. Topos make everything look small, manageable and clear. The real thing however always looks daunting, big and exciting. I take a step forward and look over at them grinning a „lets fucking go“ smile.

Pulling on

We quickly find the patch of dirt where the route starts. A small area of small rocks and slightly disturbed bushes that indicate people having been here - not many however, just a few of our kin. Wordlessly I plump down my backpack and start to stack the rope under the first pitch. The clinking of metal against metal of pre-racked harnesses gets interrupted by them stepping away for a nervous call of nature. Our small pre-climb ritual ends with tying in and checking each other - both gear and faces.

It would be up to me to lead the crux later on, even though they would be fully capable to do so, and that meant I would also be starting the first pitch. Rubbing my hands together in the morning cold I thought myself lucky not having to stand around for much longer.
While they are putting me on belay I touch the rock: Cold, slightly damp here close to the ground, friction, does not look to be very polished - good.
I slip into my climbing shoes right before starting off. They feel cold and tight. As they are showing me their belay setup I say: „You got me?“ „Yeah. Have fun!“ „Well let's see what we got here.“
I take a deep breath and pull on.

Ramping up

As with most climbs in canyons the route does not introduce itself softly but with a number of stiff pulls just to get off the ground. Cold hands and it being the first pitch do the rest to get me more engaged than I would have wished for in the first few minutes. I clip the first bolt and breathe out deeply.
I continue and start to get into my groove. The difficulty is in my comfort zone and my body starts to get going. Around halfway through the pitch I look back down and they return the look bundled up against the cold and with a mix of encouragement and impatience on their face. I do know that feeling well: Wanting to get going and having to wait for the other person to just get on with it. I smile and say: „Great pitch!“ and keep climbing.
Getting close to the first belay the holds get smaller and the moves harder as if to remind the climber to be humble and think ahead to what is to come later. My mind starts to wander as the pump builds - „stay focused and keep moving“.
The belay is on a small ledge, just with enough to stand on. I secure myself, slip off my shoes and pull up the rest of the rope. As I put them on belay I already feel the base level of being uncomfortable that comes with doing this. They start to climb and make good progress.

I have never been the kind of person who tries to answer the question of why we put ourselves in relative danger or be in purposefully unpleasant situations. The answers that I have heard have been either too grandiose or unspecific for me. I am here at this belay, feeling my body and seeing the landscape around me. Something solely within me has compelled me to come here and that is my answer.
Hearing them make noises of effort on the last few harder moves of the pitch I keep the belay tight. Moments later we are both on the ledge and I point up towards the first bolts of the second pitch: „Should be a bit easier than the first one. You got everything you need?“. We have been doing this long enough to know each other's rhythm and they smirk at me: „I will be off as soon as I have caught my breath.“
Moving from foot to foot and twisting around in my harness I keep a close eye on them climbing the second pitch. The movements are purposeful and efficient. Most people would agree that a vertical piece of rock is no place for a human to be but still this feels right. As I look beyond them towards the sky a vulture flies into view and starts a large loop to circle higher in the updraft. Maybe the answer is: It just feels right.

Bringing it

The last few pitches came and went. We kept our time at the belays short both to stay in motion for warmth and to not break the flow. Still my next lead pitch was looming in my head. Clearly the crux of the route and long as well.
As I reach the belay right where the steep last third of the route starts their gaze moves up, back at me and up again. „Looks hard. Time to bring it!“ they say keeping their eyes pointed up - still I know that they have a smile on their face. We had switched leads quickly the last few times, without attaching to the belay. This time however I take a break before having to „bring it“.
A few sips of water and a quick look at the topo later the crux pitch is still there, still hard and still quite long. „No use in wasting more time,“ I think to myself. I slip my climbing shoes back on and head off.

Even the first few moves away from the belay are a definite step up from what we had encountered so far. And a few clips later the pitch keeps piling on. I try to shake out my forearms where I can but I am running on a timer that’s ticking down. Continuing to climb up, there are three options: I make it through the pitch in one go, I fall at some point or I rest on a bolt. With the pump building option three becomes more and more enticing and even though the protection is good I still do not want to risk a big lead fall.
Clipping the next bolt I look down to say „take“ but do not. A mix of pride and their confident expression moves me to say „watch me“ instead.
The next dozen or so moves are a blur. As the hard moves keep on coming I feel that I am losing my form and start to flail for the next hold. Deep breaths turn to grunts and a scream as I make the last desperate move to the jug and another clip.
I had not noticed before but as I try to catch my breath and move from left to right and back again on the jug I feel the warm sun on my back. I cannot help but grin as I finish the last few meters of the pitch and settle in on a perfect little ledge in the sun.

Onwards and upwards

„That crux bit was something! I was sweating just watching you lead it.“ they say upon joining me at the belay. Feeling happy and positively proud I take out the topo and tell them that the last pitches are going to be easier and that they will cruise the next one.
As they climb the pitch I take in the exposure and the views. The sun is pleasantly warm and the vultures have taken up their circling positions high over the valley. What a place to be.
Feeding out rope at a constant rate I know they are having no issues and a good time on the sharp end. And soon after I hear the familiar voice calling out to tell me they have reached the next stance.
I follow and continue into the next pitch without hesitation. We are soaring and flowing up the rock. Before they start the very last pitch I noticed that we haven’t talked in a while and don’t have to. Still I send them off with „Onwards and upwards! Let's get this done!“.

On top of the world

A few dozen meters of moderate climbing above big exposure and I reach them at the final belay on top of the route. I pass them to get away from the edge a bit and sit down: „I gotta get these shoes off!“. As I gather the rope and start to coil it still barefoot I look out over the edge towards the other side of the canyon and along in both directions. The sun is bearing down now and the vultures are only small specks against the cloudless blue sky. Yes, the view is really good but knowing that we can walk back down on a trail I can still hear the collective question of the uninitiated in my ear: „Why take the hard way up? Why not just walk?“.
We start packing up our gear, less rushed and jittery than gearing up for the start of the climb, but with a sense of calm and accomplishment.
The walk off is straightforward and follows a good trail down a wide gully. Only as we reach the very bottom of the canyon again can we take a last look back at the line we climbed. For me this moment is always a bit surreal: Did I just actually get up that wall? How? Why?  Knowing my answers I smile to myself.

This text is dedicated to all the people who have shared a rope with me. Thanks for the past expierences and those to come.