High foot on a granite pebble. High hand to a sloping hold of inadequate proportions. Commence uncontrollable shaking. Down-climb.
I was on the east face of Snowpatch Spire in the Bugaboos, Canada – one of the most impressive alpine playgrounds in the world. But I was too busy trembling in fear to rejoice in the beauty of these impeccable granite spires.
This part of the climb follows three bolts up a steep face before joining an arching corner crack. After a half dozen tries in three different directions, I didn’t have any more juice to down-climb.
Involuntary shaking gripped me as I gripped the sloper once more. Above me was a tenuous-looking rail that looked like it had been hand-slapped. I glanced right and saw a distant pod, lunged my right foot to it, and then hucked for the rail. My eyes popped in disbelief as I latched it, and I quickly moved my feet up to a stance.
Holy shitballs. That was exciting. I didn’t realise exactly how
