A few days ago I met Cody from Arizona, who is currently working on his dissertation in History at some university whose name I cannot recall (his dissertation is on ecological conservation organizations, but the specifics I've also forgotten). We went climbing Saturday morning before I had to go into work at 4pm. He had never been climbing in the Red, despite being around Nashville, TN fairly often. We hit up Phantasia wall. I had the intention to lead the 5.10d that Jon and Jason let Chris and I top rope over a week ago. I failed. Cody, however, got up it with some wild moves. I followed. I felt slightly crushed not being able to lead it, but we moved on, and I lead some 5.9 around the corner then a classic 10a.
Then Cody lead a trad route called Land Shark (5.9-). I followed, and after a brief discussion I rapped down, and I was tying into the sharp end with roughly a rack and a half of trad gear strapped to my harness. Yeah, I was going to try to lead my first trad route on a 5.9-. Ambitious or arrogant? More the latter than the former.
I plugged a total of 9 pieces in the span of seventy feet. All of the cams and nuts going up this two-part hand crack looked like the stitching work of a surgeon (more like a surgeon who probably would have been involved in a malpractice suite).
I may as well have bee free-soloing the entire climb. I got to a fairly large ledge before the second hand-crack started up again. I inserted a large nut, which was pretty well placed, in my opinion. I climbed up, and every time I was able to remove my hands entirely from the climb, with my feet stemmed out on either side of the crack, I placed a Cam. About ten feet from the top I struggled for at least five minutes to shove an orange Metolious Cam into a flaring crack, and when I finally got it in, I couldn't clip the rope. I was sure I was going to fall, and I was scared shit-less. I grabbed the placed cam with my left hand, thinking I'd clip it like it was a normal quick draw. But I thought twice. In my mind, I told myself that it was probably a poor placement, and if I weighted it, it would blow and I would die.
So, I down-climbed to a jug and tried again. I clipped it, and kept moving. I placed what Cody referred to as a "head piece:" something that's needed just to keep my head on strait as I climb.
After I finished and was lowered, Cody followed and critiqued my placements. Maybe 2 out of the nine would have been okay to fall on.
Mind blowing. I felt like was free-soloing the entire time; that if I fell I would probably deck on the ledge below me and then tumble down to the base of the cliff.
Anyways. I survived. I didn't fall, and I got quite the scare. I dig it. I am already thinking about starting to purchase some SLCDS of my own. Who knows? This time next year I may be pushing through an 8 pitch trad-climb. I hope so.
The next day Cody and I hit up Roadside, where we were out climbed by twelve-year-olds on harder routes than the one we were trying. They flew up 10d's like they were nothing, and we were struggling with a 10a, sweating ourselves dry. Yes, that is jealousy you're picking up.
"Add ten years of experience that instills fear, and gain a hundred pounds, then come talk to us" was something along the lines of what Cody said to jokingly.
We then found ourselves flailing on a 5.12a, Ro Sham Po. Cody clipped the first two bolts before being forced to stop on account of knee troubles. I followed. I walked through the first two bolts, and got to the second, thinking I had the moves down pretty well. Last time I tried that route, I barely got to the second bolt.
Still, we gave up and left a bail-biner at the second bolt. Maybe next time.
On another note, I 'scended my first 11a. It was only 45 feet, the first half or so was a 5.7, then an 11a roof which I pulled through with many barbaric grunts and yelps. But I got it. I then went on almost immediately after to do another 11a, then a 10d. It was a good day, and there was a lot of beer that night because of it.
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