The system seemed simple enough, almost basic common sense really. Acquiring the gear we’d need was beyond the reach of our allowance, even if we rolled up the coins in our change jar into those frustrating paper tubes and took them to the bank. Fortunately our stepdad climbed with his buddies off and on and he kept his gear in a beaten up pack that smelled of sweat and moss in the garage rafters. There it was: our way in.
I hoisted the pack onto my back while my brother cradled the rope in his arms. As the bus pulled away from the stop we hurried off down the sidewalk, crossing into the park that contained the cliffs and the river at the bottom.
Giddy with excitement and breathless with nervous anticipation, we played out in our minds the pictures we had seen in the library book Freedom Of The Hills. Redundancy, always back systems up, doubling-up, locking karabiners, direction of load… we were sure that once we started climbing, these terms would all make sense.
We looped the lengths of sewn, flat nylon webbing through openings in the chainlink fence, passing them through each other to create a synch that tightened on itself.
“Always double up” we repeated to ourselves over and over, adding another synched sling to the mix. We used one of our shiny aluminum snap links, karabiners, to connect all the synched slings together and threaded the brightly pattered rope through.
“Make sure we have the rope halfway through before we throw the ends over” said my partner.
“Right,” I thought, and then I tossed the two ends of the rope and watched as the birds nest of coils shot over the edge of the cliff, knocking rocks and moss off as they went. That done, all we had left to do was figure out how to rappel down. From there one of us could tie into the rope’s end with a knot called the Figure 8 or a Bowline like we had used on our rowboat.
Finally, my brother had to figure out how to set up the aluminum Figure 8 device like we had seen in the library book and pull in the slack rope as I climbed back up to our synched anchor and freedom. Everything was really coming together nicely.
We arrived home from school the following Monday to find the sweat-stained backpack, assorted climbing gear and rope laid out on the kitchen table.
Our hearts skipped beats as we quickly whispered to each other how we had hidden the pack exactly as we had found it, even packing the gear and tying the slings up like we had seen in the library book. Then our stepdad entered the kitchen with an oddly blank expression, sat down, and said, “You two sit down, we need to talk.”
He pointed to the flat webbing slings we had used to synch around the chain link fence above the cliffs, asking if we knew anything about why each had melted halfway through in the exact same spots and the rope had brittle strings of melted nylon stuck to the surface.
He then went on to explain, in detail, how we had set up our anchor, guessing at a location nearby. How had he known?! Had he been spying? I assured him that we had researched it in the library before hand and that we knew what we were doing. He raised an eyebrow and pointed to the melted slings.
“If those had melted any further, they would have failed, boys. If those had failed, one of you would be, well…dead.”
Shortly after the shock of how close we had come to having a serious climbing accident wore off our stepdad’s expression softened and he told us he had already enrolled us in a course with a climbing guide, someone who would do a much better job at teaching us safer ways of getting into trouble than our naïve research had done.
The story above was based on a good friend’s experiences as he and his brother attempted to get into climbing on their own. This scene has been a common one in the older days of learning to climb; more people than you might think have tried this self-taught method.
The results narrowly missed being disastrous. Some might be embarrassed by the simple mistakes they made but the near miss was a powerful learning moment for these two. This week’s focus is about making the transition from climbing gym to outdoors; taking a course to learn the beginning skills of being self-sufficient outside.
Squamish is Canada’s premier rock climbing area, with the longest, mildest season, the highest amount of quality rock and the widest variety of types of climbing. It goes without saying that Squamish is an excellent area to learn to climb, and each summer more and more people take the plunge. However, gone are the days of buying some yellow rope from Home Hardware, tying up your hiking boots and going adventuring, like in the story above. Taking a course with a certified guide or guiding company offers you the clearest, most direct path to learning the different skills required to climb outdoors.
The Association of Canadian Mountain Guides is the organization that certifies climbing instructors and guides in Canada. One of the ACMG’s lead instructors, one who teaches aspiring rock climbers to be guides, is Squamish resident Colin Moorhead. Moorhead is, among many things, the owner of Squamish Rock Guides, our town’s premier guiding company.
As a guide and instructor for over 15 years, Moorhead recommends an Intro To Climbing course as the place to start because it quickly makes people realize that climbing is about trust and partnership.
Your partner literally has your life in their hands when they belay you. For someone coming from the gym that already has belay skills, a Top Rope Anchor course is the next step in the progression.
Top rope climbing is the first step in the climbing pyramid where you are on your own. This course is not quite like giving someone a loaded gun, but close. You and your partner learn the skills needed to get out into areas like Smoke Bluffs. You would be building your own anchors, rappelling and climbing whatever routes appeal to you.
