I’m fighting my way up
45 degrees of overhung beauty,
A freakin’ steep stone stairway to heaven.
Rattlesnake Mountain, New Hampshire.
It’s the Bonsai Cliff at Rumney
And this route (both above and below me) is called “Social Outcast”.
I’m halfway up the climb, having the time of my life.
Currently catching my breath in the only good rest spot.
I got farther than I expected with less struggle than I expected
And now I’m determined to get to the top.
This progress could stop suddenly,
Shut down by the route with its 5.12A difficulty.
I’ve never lead climbed anything nearly so hard before.
But I’m stronger than before, more confident than before,
More comfortable with falling and less tight from fear.
Only an hour ago I had been hunting for nearby 11As or Bs,
A stiff challenge, pushing to seize a new personal best.
Thankfully that quest came up empty
And I turned my attention to this seemingly impossible rock.
I just wanted to try it cause the climb looked so cool,
Wasn’t fool enough to believe that I could get very high.
Why not see this as Day 1 of a fun project for the future?
But now I’ve caught a surprising sniff of success.
So I leave the safe rest and re-enter the arena, the place where I might fail.
I’m a bloodhound on a vertical trail,
I read the rock like braille,
Finger tips researching,
Updating mental maps,
Educating my muscle memory.
I gentle death grip with two hands, two feet and everything in between.
Both core and mind recruited to elevate.
I take strategic rests and risks,
Shift my body from side to side,
Try to balance the pump so I can clip safely.
I dance desperately, searching for a position where my right hand can take a breather.
I’m cycling through several possibilities
But none let me let go.
My right hand grows weaker and weaker—
THERE!
That’s the right posture for a right hand micro-rest.
Then I clip, yell “Take”, and the tight rope gives my whole body a break.
Phew!
I shake out my forearms and formulate a plan for the next sequence.
And then I start again, blocking out fear and focusing on the next step.
Bump right. Adjust feet. Reach left. Repeat.
Fall. Research options.
Fall again. Keep on trying.
Fall again. Advice from below.
Fall again. Would THIS work?
Sick! I finally got the last clip,
Just the anchor left to go.
But it’s to my left and I see no way to move in that direction.
Then crucial instruction from strangers down below
Points me the exact opposite way: the right play is to go RIGHT.
I reach to a far hold and start to shift my body,
Feet barely containing the slow swing.
I reach with my left, literally yelling “please be a jug…”
“YES!” It is.
Final movement is a mantle, high, awkward and somewhat scary
Rocking my centre of gravity up over the edge.
Done! I move away from the ledge, breathe deeply.
Then slowly do the easy careful traverse across to the anchor.
“Secure!” I yell with unrestrained satisfaction.
The voices that cheered me on, now switch to celebration.
I feel badass and strong.
I doubted myself but I was wrong.
And from the top of the rock I remember my own ability.
It’s about more than dueling with gravity,
There are so many things within my reach
If only I am bold enough to stretch out my +5 ape index.
Climbing victories inject confidence into other categories.
Metaphorically, I overcame a route called “Social Outcast”
And while it’s rare that I’m fully cast out, I often feel out of place.
But on the wall things feel right, I fit, I belong,
I resonate with the rock and it resonates back.
So amidst this backdrop of elevation and accomplishment,
I stand a little taller, smile a little wider
And treat the mirror with a little more kindness.
It was such a pleasure to climb that lovely piece of schist,
But no accomplishment occurs in a vacuum.
So I’d like to thank Dante for the great belay
And the encouragement to try something hard.
Kevin and Jenny for planning the trip to Rumney.
The broader climbing community for good times, strength-building and expertise.
Thank you to Cam’s Pongoose Climber 700+
Cause the first couple bolts were a bit sus.
Thank you to whoever installed the perma-draws
Cause those made it literally free to roll the dice,
Removing the potential price tag of abandoned gear.
And to those of you “here” who are read-listening to my poetry,
Thank YOU for honouring me with your attention.
May you, too, find times and places where you belong.
The Varied Creations of Bruce Narbaitz 