Dragon eyes are peering at me and hot breath is wafting my way. My nose wrinkles and I'm starting to sweat.
My beloved's well-meaning friends have dug out a spare pair of old climbing shoes for me - this time they almost fit - and He himself presents me with his spare harness. I'm wondering how many other (more worthily adept) womanly hips these straps have hugged, and what fate might have befallen their owners.
I'm stalling. The dragon breathes slowly, patiently awaiting its prey. The weather is too hot for much vigorous outdoor activity.
The hills are much cooler, He assures me. Let's go!
We head to Orroral Ridge. The bush-walk to The Cloisters is lovely - bird twitters almost obliterate the panting dragon in the back of my mind as I follow Himself along the windy bush track. Walking pleasantly past granite boulders that tower 20-30m above our heads. Great monoliths peacefully resting their gigantic weight atop the ridge. Dinosaur eggs. Dragon eggs ...
I'm just as happy to keep on walking, walking, walking. My backpack, however, holds a 50m 9.5mm climbing rope and various sturdy slings, plus "my" harness, rather than provisions for a lengthy amble through the forest. I'm "the second" - the rope bitch. Dragon's intestines.
I'm now also the shakily proud owner of my own set of climbing shoes! Scarpa Thunders, no less.They're purple. They're so tight, they hurt. They're meant to hurt. My beloved picked them out carefully at the outdoor adventure store and expertly supervised the fitting process. He also paid for them, the loving soul!
Climbing shoes are so grippy they'll stick to the most unbelievably steep rock slope and still hold your weight. So they're an essential part of the climber's kit.
My beloved Climber Boy - CB for short - has led us down to the base of a granite slab that slopes gracefully away from where we stand, for about 20m. Two rocky edges are discernible on either side, and it's the left one of these that my beloved focuses his attention on. It's a popular beginner's route known as Smooth Dancer.
I'm feeling neither smooth nor dance-like. There be dragons up there, I'm positive.
So the idea is to steadily walk up the face of this big Mother Fcuker of a boulder whilst bending forward and jamming your fingers under the edge of the left side flake. This onward pressure, I'm told, helps your feet to stick. Oh, and while you're doing that, you have to stop every now and then and remove the protective gear (...dragon scales...) that the lead climber (CB) has placed under the edge of the big flake, and through which the rope passes and is thereby anchored to the rock. That's the rope that my harness is tied to and on which my life depends if I skid off.
CB hangs a plethora of protective gear from his harness and knots one end of the rope to his harness' centre loop. He shows me how to belay him - perhaps in some later post I'll describe the set-up, but basically it's a way of me (his second) holding him aloft, anchored off the topmost piece of protective gear that he has placed into the rock, in the event of him taking a fall. Which is hardly likely given that this is a Grade 9 climb and he customarily climbs Grade 18 and above. Anyhow, you never know your bad luck and I need to learn how to belay.
CB pads up, smoothly, like a dancer, while I feed out the rope, and then he briefly disappears from view at the top. After a while he calls down to me and, on command, I lower him back to the ground via the rope.
My turn. The thousand-headed dragon of fear towers above me, exhaling scorching flames and putrid smoke. It glares at me with its blood-shot eyes and licks me with its slimy forked tongue. I'm trembling trembling trembling. I have a sudden need to evacuate my bowels. CB is looking at me somewhat perplexed as I undo my harness and beat a hasty retreat with trowel and toilet paper in hand.
Back again, feeling gutted. Harness back on. Climbing shoes done up tight. Feet throbbing painfully. I place my hands against the rock and it feels warmish in the late afternoon sun. Dragon's belly. Way above, a wedge-tailed eagle soars past, just visible beyond the apex of the granite slab. For what it's worth, I'm taking this as a good omen. Then I'm deafened by a dragon's ear-splitting roar. No, wait, that's my heartbeat.
Fingers under the rocky flake edge, feet on the slab. Pad up a little way. Hand over hand. Pad up some more. Left hand firmly against the flake, right hand fumbles with the first piece of climbing gear. Legs are starting to shake. The dragon has me by the feet, inexorably pulling me ground-wards. I hang on tight, hook the climbing piece into my harness, then pad up some more. The ground is getting further and further away from me and I'm keenly feeling the ever-increasing distance between body and apparent safety. Padding, padding, padding up, hand over hand on the flake, more gear out of the crack and onto my harness, dragon jaws snapping at my heels and tearing shreds from the backs of my calves. My muscles are screaming at me and I'm sure I'm bleeding all over the slab.
I've reached the apex. 15m or so above ground. I'm stuck. I dare not let go of the flake. CB's instructions are to follow the line of the flake to the apex, and then keep following the crack off to the left if I feel up to it. At the apex I meet the thousand-headed dragon in a full frontal; face-to-face combat on the slab, 15m plus above terra ferma, with both hands and feet glued to the rock. It opens its massive jaws and swallows me whole.
"Let me down!!!" I cry.
CB doesn't argue; he lowers me back to the ground and I back-step stiffly down the slab, returning to the horizontal plane in about 5 seconds. Then I'm sobbing and shaking and burying my face deep into CB's shoulder. For a full 20 minutes. The dragon burps, satisfied with its morsel, and twitches its scaly tail.
"Well done, sweetie!" Climber Boy is full of encouragement. "Great job, honey." I'm still sobbing and trembling. And I've totally had enough for the day.
My beloved's well-meaning friends have dug out a spare pair of old climbing shoes for me - this time they almost fit - and He himself presents me with his spare harness. I'm wondering how many other (more worthily adept) womanly hips these straps have hugged, and what fate might have befallen their owners.
I'm stalling. The dragon breathes slowly, patiently awaiting its prey. The weather is too hot for much vigorous outdoor activity.
The hills are much cooler, He assures me. Let's go!
 |
| Rabbit-Ear Rocks on Orroral Ridge. |
I'm just as happy to keep on walking, walking, walking. My backpack, however, holds a 50m 9.5mm climbing rope and various sturdy slings, plus "my" harness, rather than provisions for a lengthy amble through the forest. I'm "the second" - the rope bitch. Dragon's intestines.
 |
| Aspiration more than actuality. |
Climbing shoes are so grippy they'll stick to the most unbelievably steep rock slope and still hold your weight. So they're an essential part of the climber's kit.
My beloved Climber Boy - CB for short - has led us down to the base of a granite slab that slopes gracefully away from where we stand, for about 20m. Two rocky edges are discernible on either side, and it's the left one of these that my beloved focuses his attention on. It's a popular beginner's route known as Smooth Dancer.
I'm feeling neither smooth nor dance-like. There be dragons up there, I'm positive.
So the idea is to steadily walk up the face of this big Mother Fcuker of a boulder whilst bending forward and jamming your fingers under the edge of the left side flake. This onward pressure, I'm told, helps your feet to stick. Oh, and while you're doing that, you have to stop every now and then and remove the protective gear (...dragon scales...) that the lead climber (CB) has placed under the edge of the big flake, and through which the rope passes and is thereby anchored to the rock. That's the rope that my harness is tied to and on which my life depends if I skid off.
 |
| My first rock climb since the 80s: Smooth Dancer, along the left crack to the apex and then a bit beyond. |
CB pads up, smoothly, like a dancer, while I feed out the rope, and then he briefly disappears from view at the top. After a while he calls down to me and, on command, I lower him back to the ground via the rope.
My turn. The thousand-headed dragon of fear towers above me, exhaling scorching flames and putrid smoke. It glares at me with its blood-shot eyes and licks me with its slimy forked tongue. I'm trembling trembling trembling. I have a sudden need to evacuate my bowels. CB is looking at me somewhat perplexed as I undo my harness and beat a hasty retreat with trowel and toilet paper in hand.
Fingers under the rocky flake edge, feet on the slab. Pad up a little way. Hand over hand. Pad up some more. Left hand firmly against the flake, right hand fumbles with the first piece of climbing gear. Legs are starting to shake. The dragon has me by the feet, inexorably pulling me ground-wards. I hang on tight, hook the climbing piece into my harness, then pad up some more. The ground is getting further and further away from me and I'm keenly feeling the ever-increasing distance between body and apparent safety. Padding, padding, padding up, hand over hand on the flake, more gear out of the crack and onto my harness, dragon jaws snapping at my heels and tearing shreds from the backs of my calves. My muscles are screaming at me and I'm sure I'm bleeding all over the slab.
I've reached the apex. 15m or so above ground. I'm stuck. I dare not let go of the flake. CB's instructions are to follow the line of the flake to the apex, and then keep following the crack off to the left if I feel up to it. At the apex I meet the thousand-headed dragon in a full frontal; face-to-face combat on the slab, 15m plus above terra ferma, with both hands and feet glued to the rock. It opens its massive jaws and swallows me whole.
"Let me down!!!" I cry.
CB doesn't argue; he lowers me back to the ground and I back-step stiffly down the slab, returning to the horizontal plane in about 5 seconds. Then I'm sobbing and shaking and burying my face deep into CB's shoulder. For a full 20 minutes. The dragon burps, satisfied with its morsel, and twitches its scaly tail.
"Well done, sweetie!" Climber Boy is full of encouragement. "Great job, honey." I'm still sobbing and trembling. And I've totally had enough for the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.