Rock Climbing at Table Rock Mountain

April, 2009

Chris, Taylor, and I stand at the base of Table Rock Mountain in the Linville Gorge, equipped in harness, helmet, and climbing shoes. It is a pleasantly warm afternoon. The sky is clear, and the bugs have not come out yet. We could not have asked for a better day. While Chris feeds rope through his belay device, Taylor and I observe Rich Chisholm, my manager at Great Outdoors, scurry up a sheer rock face, placing "pro" as he goes and demonstrating technique. He takes his time, explaining as he goes. Chris turns to me and says, "You know, he makes this look so easy."

As I will soon find out, rock climbing is much harder than it looks. For Taylor and I, this is our first climbing experience outside of a gym. Luckily, Chris has been out with Rich before and "knows the ropes" fairly well. Today, we are "multi-pitching," meaning we are climbing multiple lengths of rope. First, Rich must "lead climb" ahead of us, placing protection as he goes and trailing several ropes. Once he reaches the first ledge, he will anchor in and belay us. Therefore, we are actually "top roping," which is safer and more feasible for beginners. I, for one, am thankful, as this is an entirely new experience!

Once Rich reaches the first ledge, he rigs the anchor, and it is my turn to climb. I am nervous but excited. As I take to the rock, my climbing shoes stick, providing me with a level of traction I'm unaccustomed to. As I climb, I start to see what a vital function these shoes serve. At times, the footholds are so miniscule you can barely see them! From below, Chris and Taylor offer words of encouragement, and Rich, perched some distance above, calls down words of instruction. I am making progress, slithering up the face, stretching to the max, and exerting way more energy than necessary. "Just relax," Rich says. Now my legs are wobbling uncontrollably. Relaxing is not easy. Later, I learn the climbing lingo for this annoying phenomenon. "You had Elvis Legs," Rich says. "Your body was just reacting to using muscles it's not used to using."

As I reach the most difficult part of the first pitch, a horizontal route called a "traverse," I am sure to secure my orange line in the protection Rich has placed in the wall, while also removing Taylor's green line...or something like that. It's confusing in retrospect, and it was just as confusing while I was exposed on the rock face, overlooking the valley. With some difficulty, I scramble sideways and make it through the traverse. Now I am almost to the ledge and can see Rich ahead. As I climb over the lip and stand on solid ground, I can hardly breathe. This is no surprise, though, as I probably ceased to perform that essential bodily function while I was hanging eighty feet above the ground.

Thirty minutes later, Chris and Taylor - climbing together - will join us on the ledge. Taylor, after a short fall, regains her composure and pushes onward. A Wake Forest cheerleader, she is strong and flexible and adapts to the challenges quickly. Taking up the rear, Chris cleans the route, removing the cams and stoppers. He exhibits the confidence of a climber, and I'm grateful he's with us.

From here, things get a little harrier. As if the first hundred foot pitch is not enough, since I am already exhausted, we have another pitch to go. And up Rich goes! We watch him scramble up the vertical face until he's out of sight, and then we realize that could present a problem. Also a problem is our overall inability to communicate, as it has become rather windy on the mountainside. Eventually, Rich reaches "Lunch Ledge" and yanks on the ropes to give us the signal. It is time.

I say a prayer, take a deep breath, and begin to climb. From the outset, there are complications, first and foremost, my mental game. I don't feel like I can do this. But to make matters worse, as I progress up the wall, trusting tiny holds and trying my hardest to depend more on my legs than my upper body, I come to a sudden stop. Something is amiss. The ropes have gotten tangled like a pretzel. Either it is the luck of the draw or I've done something wrong. Knowing me, it is probably the latter. Now I must down climb to right this error, a difficult task for any climber, let alone a beginner. As I struggle to descend what I have just climbed - a real blow to my morale - I get the Elvis Legs again and lose my footing. This is the moment I have been dreading all along, and now it is happening. I am falling.

It's funny how a story grows over time, because a 10 foot fall eventually becomes a 20 foot fall. Then, sometime later, a coworker approaches you with this concerned expression and says, "I'm glad you're okay! Heard about that 30 foot fall!"

In truth, it is probably only a 10 to 15 foot fall and mostly rope stretch, at that. But it is painful and - if I'm honest - very scary. It is not your typical "whipper" fall into an empty void; rather, it is a slide down the rock face, scraping and banging your knees and elbows kind of fall. Rich does catch me, of course, as I knew he would, and eventually I am lowered back to the ledge, although my violent plummet ended a mere 4 feet above that ledge, meaning I was 4 feet from breaking my legs and ricocheting off the mountainside. Or maybe not. I tend to be a little dramatic.

Suffice to say, I do not make the second pitch. Chris Gilpin, the hero of the day, manages the tricky ascent in my place and relays everything to Rich. Since it is getting late in the day, we cannot communicate with each other, and I am unable to go on, we call it a day and rappel down. When I feel firm ground beneath my feet, a wave of relief washes over me. I have never been more relieved! A random climber sits at the base of the mountain and sees me descend. I tell him about my fall, and he asks me if I'll ever give it another shot. I think about it for a second and respond, "Probably, but not right away." He grins and nods. "It'll be different next time." Rich says the same once we are all reunited on ground level and that even making it up the first pitch is a great accomplishment.

So I will focus on the positives from this adventure. I climbed a hundred feet up Table Rock Mountain, saw an impressive, early-spring view of the countryside, fell 15 feet, and survived to climb another day!