No Caffeine and No Ropes

It was a long week. Or at least it felt like a long week.

Sunday morning, I woke up, and instead of brewing my regular cup of joe, I thought, I should stop drinking caffeine. So I put away the French press, stashed my Ethiopian Fair-Trade Blend in the back of the cupboard, and proceeded to spend the next four days in a caffeine-deprived stupor, barely staying awake in class and hardly having the energy or motivation to work out.

For unknown reasons, I'm attracted to these self-imposed, Puritanical streaks of self-deprivation – no sugar, no red meat, etc. – but they rarely last long. By Friday, I was off the wagon, and downed a full pot of delicious, black coffee by noon. The hedonist trumps the Puritan every time.

So it was with a head full of chemicals that Derek and I left for Moore's Wall, north of Winston-Salem, this weekend. All week, I had poured over the guidebook, planning which routes we would climb – a handful of 5.7s to .10a's – and just how to approach them. But on the second pitch of our first climb, I got a heady idea.

"Hey, Derek," I probed, "Want to solo this next pitch?"

I said it. There was no taking it back. The question was lying spread-eagle on the table, and I tried to decipher Derek's expression as he moved onto the belay ledge.

"Sure," was all he said, as he untied from the rope and I coiled it around my shoulders. And without further discussion we moved into the next 100 feet of easy, fifth-class terrain above. We moved quickly and efficiently without the rope and gear to hinder us, and I began to feel very free – very at ease in the vertical world. Derek was only 20 feet below me, making his own way amongst the sharp quartzite holds. He was moving smoothly and looked at ease with the situation, which shouldn't have surprised me. Derek has been climbing for a very short time, and he has been leading for an even shorter time. But he has the headspace of a veteran climber. On his first lead he placed less gear than I did on the same pitch. I am continuously impressed by his dispassionate cool in potentially scary situations. And now, after only a few months of climbing regularly, he was in the middle of his first ropeless solo.

A few minutes later, as the sun sank closer to the horizon, we topped out. A cool breeze brought the scent of pine needles to us and we sat quietly, catching our breath and taking in the view.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Derek stated flatly after a couple of minutes. "You know I'm afraid of heights. But somehow I'm running around up here anyway."

I just laughed and moved off toward the rappel anchors.

Maybe it was the self-deprivation from earlier in the week, but a few minutes later, standing at the base of the cliff, I felt more willing to give in to my every whim – and at that moment, my whim was free soloing.

Now, I'm not Dean Potter or Derek Hersey. I don't solo 5.12 or 1,000-foot routes on the Diamond, but I get the deepest sense of satisfaction from moving unimpeded across large swaths of rock. Derek and I stood looking up at the 220-foot Sentinel Buttress – a long, exposed 5.5 route with a smattering of 5.7 moves – and I told him I was going to solo it. Before I had time to second guess myself, I moved into the opening holds, and within 10 minutes I was standing on top. With only one ledge at the 100-foot mark, it was an exciting stretch of continuous climbing.

I became a man possessed. In two days I soloed over 800 feet of ground. Everything we climbed the rest of the weekend, I inspected for free-solo potential. Derek led a super-exposed 5.6, and I led a continuously overhanging 5.7 – both of which I plan to solo in the near future. We didn't accomplish all the routes I had planned to climb, but I rediscovered a type of climbing I hadn't attempted in over a year – and I did it alongside a great friend.

Every day, we deprive ourselves of things we love. And sometimes for stupid reasons. I love to live in a caffeine-saturated buzz of wild, impulsive energy – but I got the hair-brained idea to cut myself off. I also love to climb big cliffs with no rope. When I do, I am deliberate and in control, but I tell myself I shouldn't because it can be dangerous. But that's bogus. I love it, and it presents a physical and mental challenge I can't find anywhere else.

So don't give in to that weak voice of reason. Be irreverent. Embrace your demons, live dangerously, and maybe I'll see you someday, climbing without a rope on something even I think is nuts.

**In the top, panoramic photo, Sentinal Buttress (5.5, 220 feet) is the arete roughly 15 feet to the right of the pictured climber. Clicking on the photo provides greater detail.

**The weird self-portrait is what happens when I get bored at belays. Thank Jesus for auto-locking belay devices, otherwise my partners would get pretty nervous. Look, Ma, no hands!