Reflections in the Black Mirror

Black Canyon of the Gunnison

Stoned Oven V 5.11, with Tucker, Dec 1 2012

                                  

Reflections in the Black Mirror

  

In the Black Canyon of the Gunnison there are two kinds of routes: there are casual shorter routes that offer a fun day out with friends, and there are the BIG routes, lines that stretch from the river to the rim and take a full day’s commitment.

Climbing big routes in the Black Canyon is an essentially unique experience.  There are numerous beautiful climbing venues spread across the southwest, yet I continue to return to this dark hole; I cannot resist its pull for long.  Beneath the rim of this vast chasm I’ve learned the pit-of-the stomach seethe of dread followed by the blossoming joy of relief.  Despite the physical prowess required to scale these massive walls, a climber in this place needs to be more than a honed athlete; he need a grittiness of soul, the ability to grimace in spite of despair and cling desperately to the audacious belief that he will prevail despite mounting evidence to the contrary.  Climbing here defies the complexities of glory and ego and is refined to something essential: a simple act of survival. 

We climbers pride ourselves in our strength and stamina; we soar in body and soul to great heights on towers and spires above the earth, but something changes when we descend beneath the rim of this canyon.  We are seasoned in exertion and conditioned to hardship, our minds are stalwart in their resistance of fear, but after hanging from the walls of this dark place long enough, the darkness inevitably seeps in.  The mind is weak; it can only resist for so long.

There is a moment that occurs when the comfort-seeking mind fires its last futile volley and capitulates in the face of overwhelming reality; it is the moment when the climber finally stops lying to himself and accepts: this is happening.  The sun is setting, the rim is still hundreds of feet above, the next pitch does not appear adequately protectable…we are still hanging from the walls of this chasm and it WILL get dark and there are still HARD obstacles between us and the rim.  In that moment, you are weary from exertion and your water is gone and the fabric of your mind is worn thin from rubbing against the edge of danger and you want nothing more than to leave the perilous vertical chossy world and stand on the flat face of the earth we were born to walk on…and you are still hanging from the wall, and this is happening, and it is not guaranteed that you will make it to the canyon rim; you want it to be easy, but to make it, you will need to be bold. 

This moment sucks.  This moment is also probably the reason I leave the comforts of home and community to pursue quixotic adventures in dangerous places, because this moment is a mirror: faced with the realization that this is happening, and that the way out is hard, I discover the true fiber of my being.  Hanging from the walls of the Black Canyon, I have been forced to stare face-to-face at the hideous visage of my own cowardice, and I’ve also felt the surge of courage as I embrace fear and move resolutely upward, towards the rim, towards the flat, safe, comfortable world.