zen and the art of falling repeatedly from ridiculously overhung rock

Sam Perkins going for seconds after Chicken Dinner

Tucked into the mountains above Riggins, Idaho lies a gaping limestone cave known as the Amphitheatre. Our trip there this weekend marked a few notables for me-

1. the furthest i've ever traveled just to climb (486 miles)

2. my first sample of 5.13 (Chicken Dinner 5.13a)

3. most exciting personal lead fall (couldn't fight the concrete forearms enough to clip the anchors... wheeeeeeeee)

4. most exciting lead fall by a comrade (the unparalleled Joe Crane)

5. the wussiest i've ever been. (so much for Jack and I's discussions on boldness)

#2 and #5 may seem incongruous, but for two days I consistently chose not to climb. I did all the moves (except the very last) on chicken dinner bolt-to-bolt, hanging direct and taking long rests. I took several falls, all of them good clean fun. Yet with two full days to spend I never came back to it, nor did i try anything else harder than .11b.

The crew enjoying Riley's performance on Grey Matter 5.11d

Granted,  most of the time the stone was cold enough that numbness set in within a couple of minutes on a route, making it a little difficult to judge the best way to crank on a handhold. And true, it was just as fun for me to watch our crew get after their projects as it was to tie in and try hard. There's no question that the trip was worth it-- I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard so often. I've still got Nat and Dean's campfire rendition of punk rock girl stuck in my head. The prospect of hanging in the gym all winter with these folks makes me welcome the change in seasons! 

Still, as we limped home, nursing flappers, grated fingers, and paralyzed core muscles, I had to look at my own smooth fingertips with a little regret.

The long drive home, I thought about why I had come and why I was so reticent to try anything. There was some fear, but honestly very little. Falling doesn't bother me when there's nothing to hit. This was a whole different animal. This wasn't physical fear, this was mental exposure. The hugeness of the Amphitheatre pressed in on me and the route grades didn't help. Dean calls this the cave funk-- "that lasting effect of failure that lingers in the cave from repeatedly falling off of your project and it feeling just as hard on the fifth go as it did on the first attempt."

Sam, in direct on his first inspection of So Thin So Fat 5.13c

That one noun-turned verb, project. That's what was killing me. Projecting is not what I love about climbing. I'm in it for the flow. I like feeling light and powerful. I like crossing through and backstepping when I can only hear my breathing and the crisp tap of my shoes echoing in the intimate space between my body and the stone. I don't really care for repetitive failure. 

Well, that's just a personal preference. Nothing wrong with that, right?  I honestly don't know; I need to dig a little deeper into this cave funk to decide. 

The mountains will humble you from time to time. Often its the weather forcing you down, or your desperation in contrast with the timeless serenity of your surroundings. If you're well prepared, you can just hunker down and let the wonder engulf you. The problem here was that that wonder was somehow twisting into horror.

Sam airing out at the apex of Tractor Girl 5.13b

A Zen adherent can quickly find the problem here. Humility problems come from an ego that insists on creating a separation between the individual and the world around him. The ego is constantly staking claims, attempting to own and define the indomitable truth. The truth being that I like success without toil, and the recognition of being good at something. The ego would like to change that truth, telling the world that I'm a better climber than I actually am, that i'm a better student, a better sound engineer, a better churchgoer, a better person than I really am. 


Shoot dang, there's the common thread. I wouldn't try hard at the Amphitheatre because the ego wouldn't let me struggle publicly. I return sarcasm for advice from audience members at work because listening to their suggestions would mean admitting that my mixes need improvement. Ad nauseum. 


I've talked about breaking the 5.12 barrier this season, but not with a whole lot of spirit. 


Starting with tomorrow's crank cave session, that goal is on in a big way. Not because I need to be better than somebody, but because I need to be better than I've been, and crossing that line is going to mean some serious projecting.