MAIN » ARTICLESFree Climbing - The Surreal Experrience
Looking at the wall for the first time you see little more than slab of rock sitting in the middle of nowhere. Moving closer you begin to see patterns, colours, routes emerging from the rock itself, until you reach the wall, when at last you begin to see possibilities. Your heart starts to beat that little bit harder as it begins to feel the excitement mounting in your chest. Your bag leaves your shoulders, hits the ground with a sound you barely hear. You relish the feel of your feet being inched in your shoes, the dark whiff of rubber as the heel slips home. The almost sensuous feeling of the bag being tied around your waist. And the the sudden cloud of white powder as your hands reach behind you for that first hit of chalk. The first strides are always the easiest, that bring you into contact with the rough grain of the wall.Your hands inch their way over the stone searching, feeling for the first hold.
When you find it, your fingers work their way round it, looking for the best grip, before your feet take their first movement, and you are off the ground. Your shoes grip the wall, almost as if they don't wish to ever leave it. Long, slow arm movements begin your ascent, your defiance of gravity and the world below. A long stretch to the next hold dictates your movement, when you hold yourself against the face, and again your hands find their way behind you to caress the chalk suspended in a bag held by little more than a thin piece of cord. You take the chance to look around, relish the feeling of isolation, the freedom of climbing solo, of being by yourself. The ultimate challenge of ascending a face with no support, no one to trust but yourself, no second chances. It is do, or die.
Your right hand begins to move again, fingertips inching their way into a small crack that would be unnoticed, except for you. Possibilities for moves are reaching out from the rock to you to be considered, or ignored. There is one small piece of rock a little way above you. You squint your eyes slightly, inspecting it. It is decided. A long stretch shows you that you cannot reach it. Looking around, you find that there are no other decisions. Descending is not an option. Your heart beats ever faster as you realise that committing yourself to the jump is the only option. You have only one chance. Failure brings with it the ultimate sacrifice.
A slight breeze brings with it the smell of the forest, which pulls the lone drip of sweat inching it's way down your forehead into contact with your eyelid. It is blinked away, discarded like an empty thought. Your left hand digs it's way further into the rock, the security of the hold, of the ledge reassuring you that you will not miss. Your legs start to bend, the tension increases. You begin to realise the tininess of the placement of your feet. Time stands still, and now there is nothing else in the world than you, and the hold.
An blast of movement, legs explode off the rock, left hand forcing down, right hand stretched as far as possible. Your fingers grope the rock, searching for that one hold, the one grip that will be your salvation. Your fingertips dig into the rock as your legs swing out over empty space. The world freezes.
Written by Mike
When you find it, your fingers work their way round it, looking for the best grip, before your feet take their first movement, and you are off the ground. Your shoes grip the wall, almost as if they don't wish to ever leave it. Long, slow arm movements begin your ascent, your defiance of gravity and the world below. A long stretch to the next hold dictates your movement, when you hold yourself against the face, and again your hands find their way behind you to caress the chalk suspended in a bag held by little more than a thin piece of cord. You take the chance to look around, relish the feeling of isolation, the freedom of climbing solo, of being by yourself. The ultimate challenge of ascending a face with no support, no one to trust but yourself, no second chances. It is do, or die.
Your right hand begins to move again, fingertips inching their way into a small crack that would be unnoticed, except for you. Possibilities for moves are reaching out from the rock to you to be considered, or ignored. There is one small piece of rock a little way above you. You squint your eyes slightly, inspecting it. It is decided. A long stretch shows you that you cannot reach it. Looking around, you find that there are no other decisions. Descending is not an option. Your heart beats ever faster as you realise that committing yourself to the jump is the only option. You have only one chance. Failure brings with it the ultimate sacrifice.
A slight breeze brings with it the smell of the forest, which pulls the lone drip of sweat inching it's way down your forehead into contact with your eyelid. It is blinked away, discarded like an empty thought. Your left hand digs it's way further into the rock, the security of the hold, of the ledge reassuring you that you will not miss. Your legs start to bend, the tension increases. You begin to realise the tininess of the placement of your feet. Time stands still, and now there is nothing else in the world than you, and the hold.
An blast of movement, legs explode off the rock, left hand forcing down, right hand stretched as far as possible. Your fingers grope the rock, searching for that one hold, the one grip that will be your salvation. Your fingertips dig into the rock as your legs swing out over empty space. The world freezes.
Written by Mike