Sometimes I think I will die with vivid dreams and calloused hands and nothing more and it won’t be enough but it will be all that I get and even to the end I will be confused why I got this and not more.
Climbing itself is beautiful and hard mental and physical work. Car camping and waiting to climb 7 50 foot 5.6-5.9 lines over 2 days while sitting on your ass 90% of the time though is soul sucking. I’m surprised how much I hate car camping but the beauty of the trip was definitely just meeting climbers and being in the climbing community. They’re a strange bunch, and their work is to be admired. I probably wouldn’t call what I did “climbing”, but I’m proud to have gone over some stuff that made me ankles weak. Once I fall and start swinging good old fear pumps limb-numbing agents through my body and I forget about the awe inspiring beauty of giant slabs of rock and get tunnel vision. But gripping the textured, rough, and multi facetted grey granite is so reassuring, and I’m not sure if I’d want to go back (I’d rather not go car camping again ever in my life.) It’s hard work and I don’t have the body or mind for it, but I have to admit it was so much easier than my first time climbing simply because I was fear free for some of the time. So now I can understand why I might like snowboarding but other like minded outdoor adventurists don’t. Because it wasn’t in their element (rock, water, snow, dirt, air) and a lack of script fed their fear. And now I feel like I’d have to work at it to break down that rock wall that keeps me from rock climbing again, and also the wall that keeps my friends from snowboarding. Sweeping, massive granite faces can be just as beautiful as snow capped mountains, and I could see why people got addicted to mountain climbing. For the record, Octopus Garden in Smoke Bluffs is recommended on a sunny day if you want to bask in awe of its beautifully scarred flat face. I could stare at it for ages and not remember how I began to feel its pull in the first place.