Arrghh!!
I tried to bite back a scream as yet another lump of chalk responded to my weight by hurling itself into the abyss.
“Take in.” I yelled at my climbing partner high above me. Nothing.
“Take in!” More insistent this time. Still nothing.
This time I screamed. A screech from the depths of my now terrified being.
“Taaaake innnnnn!!” He took in. The green rope was now pulling me off of the cliff face and I had ample amounts of the blue rope, sufficient in fact to make a jumper!
“Take in on blue.” The green rope became tighter still – the blue sagged at my crampon-shod feet. An interesting combination of razor sharp metal and my lifeline – the rope!
“Take in on bluuuuuuue!!” The blue rope moved a little, at least now I wouldn’t tread on it. I moved up the grey and white face of the cliff. My progress marked by yet more rocks and boulders scattering as I passed and flinging themselves onto the beach and surprised onlookers below.
I reached the next point of protection. A warthog hammered into the chalky rock. I inserted the pick end of my ice axe into the head of the warthog and tried to twist it so that I could remove it. Not a hope. “F***, f***, f***” I imagined how proud he was of how well placed the equipment was. I imagined how good he had felt whilst hammering it in with his new lump hammer. I then imagined how good that lump hammer was going to look carefully placed in his skull!
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| Extracting Gear (click on image to view in Flickr) |
I tried twisting the warthog again. I couldn’t quite get the leverage on it due to the proximity of a piece of flint. I leaned my face against the cool chalk, and swore and cursed him. I cursed his strength for getting the warthog in so deeply, I cursed him roundly for how gripped he must have felt when he placed it and I cursed myself for being such a girlie prat and not getting a grip on my own fear. “Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death. I shall face my fear. I shall let it wash over me and through me…”
I took a deep breath and focused the anger on removing the warthog. Finally it came loose and I clipped it to a loop on my harness. I reflected on fear and motivation and asked myself what so many people have asked me in the past; “Why do you climb?”
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| Caroline on Saltdean Slab Grade II |
I have never found a clear-cut answer to this question. All I can say is that it makes me feel alive and, let’s face it, there’s nothing like staring death in the face to make you feel alive. It feels good to sit in the pub later on and to relive the tense moments of the day with a cold pint of beer in front of you. I used to know someone who said it made them feel proud to have done something exciting during the day. Of course, these are not the only motivations; there are so many other things too. Feeling the early morning sun on your face; enjoying a fantastic view from the top of the crag or cliff; spending time with good friends in silly and often quite dangerous situations. It’s not being in danger that drives you so much as the feelings afterwards when it’s all over and “it wasn’t quite so bad” and having friends with whom to share those feelings.
A few months after our last chalk climbing trip Craig was killed in an accident on Mount Shasta, and I had to face the fact that my sport, what I love most, what I really live for, is dangerous and can be, in the wrong circumstances, terminal. However, I was also able to take comfort in knowing that my friend died doing what he loved and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I continue miss him as do many others, but ultimately his death did not stop me from climbing, because if it hadn’t been for climbing I would never have met him or shared the good times we’d had.I reached the top of the cliff with grit in my eyes and a mouth full of chalk and saw him there, smiling at me, cigarette on lip (he’d perfected this in recent weeks) and in that Californian drawl I shall miss he said, “Now, that wasn’t so bad was it?” And no, it wasn’t; not after it was all over and we packed the ropes up and walked to the pub. It wasn’t so bad after all.Dedicated to the memory of Craig Hiemstra; loved, missed but never, ever forgotten.
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| Craig on Saltdean Slab |