God Bless Helmets

Mixed climbing has not been my favorite climbing discipline.

Steep rock climbing with lots of sharp points protruding from my arms and legs, tenuous holds, big reaches? Not so sure about that. Early this season, I put in a few days to get in shape as the ice was still forming. Each day ended with me saying some variation of, "I could be clipping bolts in Spain right now."

I can't point to a moment where things turned around; but somewhere in the following month, things did start to click. I found myself begrudgingly ice climbing, because I'd rather be scratching my tools on rock despite my ineptitude with it. My friend Jason put it well when he said, "everyone hates mixed climbing until they start to get good at it."


The process and rewards of learning something new - I'm addicted to that rush of new light bulbs flashing in my head. I had similar waves of excitement learning to aid climb, crack climb, in the alpine. The initial spark of understanding, rather than the more elusive mastery that comes later - it's the quick, cheap buzz without the real work required to raise the bar further.

Back to the subject of mixed climbing, I had a big day this week - a day with some success, a few lessons learned, and a new-found appreciation for my helmet.

With a handful of moderate mixed leads under my belt, I brought my enthusiasm and blooming confidence to the Ouray Ice Park. My partner convinced me to pull the rope on Circling Vultures (M7ish, Ouray Ice Park), with the simple statement that if I was going to learn to mixed climb, I should embrace leading as well. I agreed to lead rather than top-rope, realizing the consequences as the rope began piling up at my feet.



Learning to route-find on lead is unfamiliar, as I have a fondness for wiring routes before I consider leading them. While I'd been on the route once before, it was now missing the ginormous pillar that previously functioned as backrest, foothold, and pickhold.

I will spare you the play-by-play of my climb, except to say it was slow going as I unlocked the puzzle move by move. I had already agreed with my belayer not to take, and for some reason just making that decision had put the option out of my mind. Could it always be that easy?

I made it through the now pillar-less section to seemingly safer ground up high. "Only two clips to go," I thought to myself as I began to envision myself getting the route clean. And with the predictability of a Timex, that's when the wheels came off.

Here's where the lessons really started to queue up fast:

Lesson #1: When you fall on mixed climbs, it is often abrupt and unexpected. I'm told this is like an aid fall, but I haven't had the pleasure of that yet. On this day and that particular move, I didn't even have the thought of falling until I was in the air.

Lesson #2: Falls can send you, how you say - ass over teakettle - or upside down. If the climb is steep enough, you feel nothing. If you are me on this particular day, you are not so lucky. My shoulder took the brunt of the force, and I believe that without my helmet I would not be typing right now.

Lesson #3: What's harder than making a hard move? Making the same move knowing the last time you tried it, you fell about 15 feet and drew the attention of EVERYONE in the area. Somehow the tool placement I'd used was no longer there (hmm...), so I was forced to find a new sequence to clip the next bolt. Clipping that bolt was perhaps the biggest victory of my whole day.

Lesson #4: Having friends and strangers cheering you on is just about the greatest feeling ever. Somehow my friend Dawn knew to yell something encouraging just as I needed it.

Lesson #5: Leading Tic Tac (M7ish, Ouray Ice Park) right after my Vultures experience was a visceral experience of the difference between working a route into submission and the added effort (and reward) of on-sight climbing. I had put so much top-rope time on Tic Tac that I was able to climb with the confidence of knowing there's a good hold ahead (and even better, the location of said good hold). So what's the lesson? Leading: hard. Onsighting: harder.

I'm sure there are many other lessons from this one small day of climbing. As I describe this new medium of mixed rock/ice climbing to my non-climbing friends and family, I love the response, "but it's all climbing." I can almost hear the 'just.'

But there are new and renewed lessons to be found by broadening my horizons and trying something new. Like 'Wear your helmet.'

Photos by Jason Nelson, www.VisualAdventures.com

My Own Rhythm Section

My father has a phrase he uses to describe people like me. He says that we dance to our own rhythm section. I used to think it was how he described weird people (and truth be told, usually it is); but I’ve come to understand what it means on a deeper level. I am following my own path.

I live in Ouray, Colorado and I spend my winters climbing ice. I spend my summers traveling, climbing whenever possible. I do freelance work occasionally, but mostly I just live simply. By some standards, I am living the dream, but I disagree. I am just living… consciously. That said, I like my life an awful lot.

I should take a step back and explain how I got here. I left college and embarked on a management consulting career full of carrots just out of reach. By most measures, this life was successful. I grew a 401k, a garden, and a healthy collection of kitchen toys from Williams Sonoma. I settled into a life that was comfortable and stable. Somewhere in that process, I started to think about what I wanted out of life; and I began to feel like part of a Talking Heads song.

Several attempts to change my life incrementally taught me: 1) Chicago has a great airport for consulting, but maybe that’s not a reason to live there, 2) you can’t change yourself by changing relationships, and 3) I really like rock climbing. In an attempt to revitalize a struggling relationship, I spent four days learning to ice climb in Ouray, Colorado. That trip was the first glimpse of my life-to-be, and the beginning of a tectonic shift in who I am.

As we basked in the sun atop Skylight, our morning’s objective, our guide told me, ‘you know this isn’t going to work, right? I mean, all guys say they want a rope gun for a girlfriend; but that’s not actually true. When you’re ready, you should come out and we’ll climb.’

1. No one had ever called me a rope gun before.
2. I already knew the relationship was over.
3. I wanted more of this. All of this.
4. While I couldn't even wrap my head around what a life of climbing would be, somehow I couldn’t imagine a life of anything else.

The first time I led Skylight I kissed that tree anchor; thankful for the moment of clarity I found there. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Six months after my fateful trip to Ouray, dissatisfied to the point of doing something about it, I enrolled in an intense yoga retreat. There, I awoke to a simple idea: The only thing standing between me and the life I want to live is me. It was that simple. If you think it’s not, you’re wrong. I’m not usually one to argue; but there it is. Thankless job, dead-end relationship, sedentary lifestyle – it was all in my power to change.

That was the difficult part. From there, the move was easy. That was five years ago, and I’m still here in Ouray today. I’m still climbing, still living a life of my own choosing, and still learning life lessons every day. Throwing the rulebook away was empowering, but that doesn’t make it easy.

I believe living a conscious life is worth living, and hopefully worth writing about, too.