An inward adventure - Achemine E9 7a - page 3 On the day of the attempt, the weather was perfect. A funny sort of perfect! A strong cold wind was blowing light spots of rain from a threatening sky. Thus, a firm decision to go for it could not be made until the last minute. With a wet weather excuse looking like the likely outcome of the evening, I could happily bypass getting nervous, yet the attempt was still possible if the rain did not get any worse. I warmed up by climbing Chemin de Fer to the point where my project left the crack. I placed the highest gear, stared up at the blank wall above and all around me, taking it all in. Climbing back to the ground, I felt an uplifting feeling of excitement at doing something new, climbing the route ‘for real’ instead of the repetitive, almost robotic process of working the moves on a top rope. An hour later, the sky darkened as dusk approached and the spits of rain, although constantly present, were not heavy enough to justify backing out. With a large audience gathered and a buzz in the air, I tied back into the rope ends and announced that I was ‘having a look’. I told myself I would just climb the crack again and then come down. Pretending to be going for it might be good mental practice for controlling my emotions on the final day. Halfway up the crack, it all went so very wrong! I felt a huge and horrible temptation to commit myself. In the cold wind, the holds felt sticky and I floated upwards on a cloud of adrenaline. I tried to remind myself of just how hard the wall actually was. But the crack was feeling like ‘V Diff’ rather than E5. In no time I was leaning out from the flat jug where the crack kinked leftward. Decision time! “This is Stupid!” I said out loud. But I could see the final jug just 40 feet above. I could end this right now, climb E9, and never have to get nervous about this piece of rock again. Temptation, temptation! I was still deciding when moments later I pulled through an overlap and slapped aggressively away from the last gear. A voice in my mind screamed at me as I approached the left foot drag move. “Jump off NOW before it’s too late. It’s not a game Dave, you are going to be in hospital for weeks!” As I looked down at the crucial left foothold, I could see the two ropes dangling below me and just how far above the gear I was. It was already too late. All that was left was the moves or the fall. My whole body trembled with the effort of resisting gravity as my left foot desperately scuffed and stabbed at the crucial edge. This effort and the elimination of my options concentrated my mind and I pushed on with aggressive resolve. Through the wind I could hear my breath squeak and hold as I locked down on each tiny finger edge, only to come back in sharp gasps as I moved my feet and repositioned. I felt lonely and vulnerable as I continued up, through the desperate twist move until finally my fingers snatched and held the half moon shaped hold which signalled the beginning of the end of the 6c moves. Matching this hold was the highest move I had ever failed at on the toprope. I bridged wide, chest against the rock, and slowly brought my right hand over my head towards the hold. Feeling strong on the move, I savoured the moment. “Here it is! I’m about to climb my first E9! This feels great. And to think I could have just climbed down and gone home!” Just as my fingers curled over the crimp, my right elbow nudged the rock and the outward force caused my left hand to explode off the rock. I screamed as I arched away from the face and dropped through the air. I looked down and grabbed the rope with both hands. When I looked back up, everything was blurred. Suddenly, the picture became focused again and the rope whipped tight, cutting my hands. My trajectory was horizontal now and as I braced my feet, I smashed against the smooth face.
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