
A cloud of dust contrasted the burnt sienna rock and the deep aqua sky. I dug into my bag, trying to get white particles of energy to attach to my fingers. I pinched the block as hard as I could—if only it were Green Rock. My thoughts were racing just as fast as my overworked heart; what if I fell? I looked down, looked up, looked back down. My arms weren’t getting any stronger. What was I waiting for? Once I realized it would be harder to down climb six feet to the last clip than clip the next bolt, I got myself together. Panicking wasn’t productive I told myself. Every muscle in my body was shaking as I let go with my right hand to reach down for the rope and make the clip. In through the nose, out through the mouth-it's so much easier to breath after clipping.
That’s a fifteen-minute snippet of my spring break. Red Rock Canyon, Nevada; a world class climbing destination less than six hours from school. The 15 does get boring at times but with enough chocolate and religious talk radio it goes by quickly. Rosie and I rolled into Vegas around 2pm PST. By four, we had the campsite picked out, the tent pitched, and our packs packed for an afternoon climbing session. What we didn’t know at the time was we were going to a very remote part of Red Rock. The drive in didn’t suit my urban vehicle very well. The skid panel on my car has some character but at least we arrived at the trailhead.

Wednesday followed a similar theme of eating humble pie. We set off for more than either of us could handle by trying a classic nine pitch 5.8+ called Crimson Chrysalis. There is so much to be learned from experiences like this. We learned it’s always a good idea to check weather reports before climbing. This would have shown us a wind advisory with gusts up to 50mph. Winds like that aren’t conducive to any "fun having". Communication on the wall is impossible and more importantly, climbing is more challenging. That afternoon we went to a local coffeehouse to regroup [, check Facebook] and pick out more reasonable climbs for the rest of the trip.
Thursday was a great day of sending short, more manageable routes. Perhaps a bit superstitious but I decided it was best if I didn’t lead the first pitch or route of the day anymore. In the last year or so every day I’ve ever been first on the wall has turned into a less than awesome day.

The morning warm up came in handy for the 12a calling our name that afternoon. A crazy idea came over us that we should get on something stiff. Even though I was falling a bunch, working the 12a built up some confidence I was missing the first two days. The pinnacle of the day came when I attempted to “dyno through the crux” (dyno: dynamically move). I finally felt comfortable enough to be myself. Trying a move as risky as a dyno got the blood flowing through my body. I realized I was being overly careful: gripping holds too tight, over thinking strategy, moving slowly, and not trusting myself. All of those concerns were flushed out when I finally trusted the rope to do its job.
The rope did its job beautifully the whole trip. We made the most of our last day of full climbing by finding ourselves on an overhanging 11d. To say I was out of my comfort zone would be like saying Jesus was a cool dude—a slight understatement. Once again I gave the first lead to Rosie.

Saturday morning we woke up covered in a layer of desert sand. Neither of us were surprised—throughout the night large gusts of wind picked up dirt clouds and sent them under the rain fly. It was impossible to get the dirt out of our eyes because our hands were covered in the same stuff and we couldn’t wipe our hands off because every article of clothing in the tent received the same admiration. Outhouse sponge baths never felt so good.

Until next time. Cheers,
Jonathan