Rock climbing at Squamish
Instructor: Right, you look terrified, I think you should go next before you start crying.
Me: I’m not crying, I’ve got sunscreen in my eye.
But he’s right, I am terrified. Some people know they are scared of heights and wouldn’t dream of spending a day rock climbing. Some people are not the least bit concerned about heights. Then there are the unfortunates like me, who have a selective memory and forget their fear until they are on top of a cliff, with no way of getting down other than relying on a thin nylon rope. Then, several millenium’s worth of natural selection kicks in. Sensible rules for survival such as “don’t leave shallow water unless you know how to swim” or “don’t leap off a cliff unless you know how to fly”. The instructor can tell me all he likes about back up systems and international standards of quality control. All my brain can process is that very soon, I have to step over the edge of the cliff, backwards, to a thirty metre drop.
But if I can’t be fearless, I want to be brave. Fortunately I have stubbornness on my side. I’m not about to let a little thing like survival instinct get in the way of a goal. So off I go, with wide eyes and trembling legs, trying not to think about head injuries or the fact that my Canadian health insurance still hasn’t come through.
Of course, once I leave the flat top, and am actually on the rock wall, it’s much easier, even fun. There’s not much of a view, because I’m facing the wall. That’s probably a good thing. The rope slides through my hands allowing me to spring off the wall and slide a little further down. Sure enough,just as I’ve got the hang of abseiling, it’s all over, and I’m on the ground, wondering what I was worried about in the first place.
There is a certain satisfaction in succeeding in something you didn’t think you were capable of. If you’d asked me a week ago if I’d voluntarily jam my fingers into a crevice in a rockface, and then rely on that to stop me falling, I would have laughed. Now I’ve done that. I’ve been schooled in the inelegantly named but useful skills of toe-jamming and smearing. I’ve made it to the top of climbs where I really, really wanted to give up halfway. I’ve experienced the instant regret of giving up halfway, being lowered down to the ground, and from that lower vantage point seen exactly the hold I needed to get me to the top.
However I’ve also learned that the part I like best about climbing isn’t actually the climbing. It’s the part where I’m sitting on a rock in the sun, chatting with friends or admiring the view. Which could just as easily be done with a camera or book in my hands instead of a chalk bag, and would certainly be more pleasant if I wasn’t wearing a harness. Anyway, it’s close to the end of the outdoor climbing season in British Columbia so climbing and I will part ways amicably. I’ll save my adrenaline for the excitement of the “slightly-out-of-control” fun to be had on the ski slopes. It’s already snowing at Whistler!
Tags: Canada, Travel
