Dawn patrol. It’s Wednesday March 6th. Spring is around the corner and the snow is beginning to fade. Crawford Notch is still cold though as I make my way down the tracks in the early light surrounded by dark, white, and frozen blues. Today I have an urge to climb, to squeeze as much out of the season as possible. I’m feeling stronger than ever, yet I have no partner. Climbing today means a lot of introspection with little distraction. Erik Eisele’s inspiring words come to mind, and if I learned anything last ice season it’s that one should cherish it while it lasts, and get out as often as possible. You never know when it will be your last climb.
It was light by the time I reached the base of Dracula, but a gloomy overcast and threat of rain hovered above. Last month I stood here with Jarod feeling weak and nervous. Today I was empowered by the rising sun and a ticking clock on the season at hand. Partner or not, I would climb today. Taking the right-side line, I made my way up rope-solo. The ice was steep, hard, and pristine. Each swing was a calculated movement, no wasted motion other than a few pauses for photos. If I slipped my rope would hold me, but to climb without falling would mean I was somehow worthy of being in the frozen vertical world where no man belongs. The view in my periphery was exhilarating to say the least.
Still early enough that I’m the only one here. I pull myself over the top and untie my rope. A perfectly terrified smile streaks across my face like the look of a child on their first roller-coaster. Back across the tracks I see a climber picking a line up the Pegasus. That was me a few weeks ago. I stroll past, heart set on another goal around the corner. Chia was an inspiration to work harder, learn more, and be better at what I do. Today I wanted the practical exam. Studying will only get you so far.
After setting my rope I walk around to begin my climb. I paid out enough rope to begin low in the bottom of the amphitheater; I wanted every inch of this magnificent beast. By choosing a line with the most vertical, most convex and candled I would surely fail. Another lesson from last year comes to mind. Climb until failure. Climbing until physical exhaustion was how Bill and I were able to progress from top-roping at Champney to climbing serious lines in Ouray. If I wanted difficulty, Chia would be the climb to provide it.
Midpitch I find a good stance and rest a bit, hanging on my bones and relaxing my pumping forearms. Down below another set of climbers are stacking rope. They too are looking to accomplish something, to figure something out before the season turns to stone. I give them a wave letting them know I’ll be off shortly, and move on fighting my way to the top. Counting my breaths and keeping good form and posture are the only tools I have left. Each swing is clumsier than the last and I worry I might drop an axe. Looking back I can see the trusty trestle emerging from the fog. The rail-line was originally designed to connect long distances through transportation. Now I was the one being transported. From the comforts of my home, my school, my daily doldrums I have travelled many long distances, on foot, by plane, through desert forest and frozen mountains. To find strength to make my final moves on Chia, to find my way to the top all I had to do was focus and remember the places I’ve been and the people I have met along the way. Travel is an inspiring experience.
The look on my face as I stand proudly atop the cliff is not the terrified joy I felt earlier. This time it is the look of sweaty exhaustion. Climbing ice doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t grant you permission and it doesn’t award status or worthiness. Ice merely forms, builds, and with time, it fades away. Looking forward to next year as I glance at the upper tier, I think I will aim to climb higher and with many more partners.
I didn’t know it yet, but two weeks later I would sever a tendon in my thumb, rendering the climbing season officially over.
climb with crowley 