Psychovertical. Andy Kirkpatrick

Dawn Wall, the longest and steepest section of El Cap.

      This route had acquired mythical status from the start. The second ascent only added to this myth, with tales of ‘death falls’ and pitches that were so dangerous they were ‘unjustifiable’. Each pitch had been at the very limit of what was possible, connecting up minute and fragile features, stretching the rope out in order to drill the least number of bolts. This meant that huge falls threatened on most pitches, with many other dangers lurking: sharp flakes; loose rock; ledges ready to kill or maim the unlucky.

      It was said that if you fell, you died. It was ‘Pringles’ climbing: once you pop you don’t stop.

      You won’t fall.

      I pulled out the paper topo I had for the climb, a simple map of lines and crosses that showed me where the route went. Today I would climb the first easy pitch, abseil down, and come back tomorrow with another load and do a further pitch. This would give me a little more time to psych myself up before committing to the route.

      I carried on, reached the base of the route, and took off my haul bag. As I set it down, I noticed I wasn’t alone. Two climbers were already sorting out gear a few metres away. I said hello and they nodded back, as two more climbers appeared up the trail behind me, also carrying giant haul bags.

      So much for solitude.

      One of the climbers walking up shouted what sounded like orders in Russian, and the two climbers on the ledge speeded up their gear sorting.

      It was obvious they also had plans to climb the Reticent Wall.

      Russian teams often have clearly defined roles, with an overall leader, deputy, cleaner, etc., each person given their own job to do. Unlike Western climbers, who share all the tasks—taking turns leading, hauling gear, and cleaning the gear out of the pitches—the Russian system works on putting the strongest climbers up front. The best climber does all the leading, the strongest the hauling, the one with the highest boredom threshold the belaying. It may seem strange to a Western climber, but there is a lot to be said for applying the strongest elements to the task at hand, with the ultimate goal of success coming before the individual’s desire to shine.

      The leader of the team was older and stockier than the rest, with grey hair and hairy shoulders. Stripping off, he revealed a red 70s-style bodybuilding vest, making him look like an old Soviet Olympic coach. He came over to introduce himself. His name was Seregin, and his team was from Leningrad. I’d heard about these guys, they’d been travelling around the world ticking off big walls, often with new routes. They looked strong and capable, and seemed to have a jovial and humorous way to them. I had no doubt they were the real deal.

      ‘Tell me,’ Seregin asked, ‘what do you climb?’

      ‘The Reticent,’ I replied, almost embarrassed, as I pulled out my ropes and uncoiled them, dropping karabiners into neat piles at my feet.

      ‘Ah yes, we also do Reticent . . . but tell me, where is your friend?’

      ‘I have no friend, I’m going to solo it,’ I said, the words seeming preposterous as they passed my lips.

      The man raised his eyebrows. ‘You are very brave,’ he said before saying something in Russian to the other climbers, at which they all laughed.

      He turned back to me. ‘I have soloed many climbs, and scaled many difficult walls, but I would not dare solo the Reticent Wall. You are very brave.’

      ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I just don’t have any stupid friends.’

      The leader introduced the rest of the team, and told me that they would be leaving tomorrow, their ropes already fixed almost up to Lay Lady Ledge, six pitches higher. I asked him about himself and Russian climbing, and he told me that for twenty years he’d been a quantum physicist, but now he owned a Mercedes dealership.

      I liked the Russians and part of me wished I could go with them. It would be fun. However, I knew that even if they offered, I would turn them down. Although the route terrified me I had to do the whole climb myself. I wanted it all. All the rewards and all the suffering.

      Life’s too short to have fun.

      The Russians would be much faster than me, and we joked that I would still be halfway up the wall when they were back down in the bar celebrating, but they promised to leave me presents on the route. It was the Russian way.

      ‘In a few hours,’ said Seregin, ‘we go up to Lay Lady Ledge and camp before Reticent. We have barbecue. You are welcome.’ I tried to imagine a Russian barbecue: visions of potatoes turning black while the cook lay on the ground with a bottle of vodka. ‘Thank you—that would be nice,’ I accepted, and carried on unpacking. We worked together, both teams, their team of four and my team of one, silent apart from the odd question and command, until the Russians disappeared up their ropes, fixing their way up to Lay Lady Ledge.

       Are you brave?

      I thought about the word. Is it brave to attempt something against all the odds, something you view as being beyond you, yet you try anyway?

       Are you just deluded?

      Half my water bottles stood in a line against the wall, food in bags sat beside my climbing gear, ropes stacked in buckets were ready to be fed out as I climbed. I put on my harness, rock boots and helmet, and started clipping in my gear and readying myself to climb the first pitch.

      Everything was done. Now I could start to climb.

      I pushed my sweaty hands into the chalk bag clipped to the back of my harness, wiped off the excess and placed both hands on the rock. The orange and yellow light high on the wall had now made it past the overhangs and was rolling down to where I figured the crux would be.

       Will you make it that far?

      Most climbs, even the Reticent, where every pitch was said to be harder than anything else on El Cap, have a crux, a pitch you know is harder and more dangerous than the rest. On some routes this could just mean the risk of a big fall, while on the harder routes it could involve easy climbing but on loose features that could snap off and either crush you or chop your rope.

      The Reticent crux involved all these things, with the added worry of taking place above a large ledge: hard climbing on loose rock above a death ledge that would smash any falling climber to pieces. No route is assured until you stand on the top, but only when the crux is finished are you really able to believe you can make it and relax. Before that time, the crux is always at the back of your mind and, no matter how well you’re climbing, you never relax until it’s been completed. The worst thing about this route was the knowledge that its crux came on the last day, pitch thirteen. It would be a real bummer to fall and die on the last day of such a route, especially having taken weeks to get there.

      Think how good you’ll feel if you get that far.

      The reality, even on the Reticent, is that, irrespective of where the crux is marked on the topo, the first pitch, the first move, is always the hardest.

      I started climbing.

      SIX

      Windows

      I cursed having a broken window beside my bed. All winter long a cold draught blew over me, flapping the brown parcel tape I used to attempt a repair of its fractures before the whole lot fell into the back yard below.

      My room was really no room at all. It was a corridor, one wall simply a curtain, the rest hung with my paintings, the paper slowly curling in the damp. I was nineteen, and unemployed. Although far from perfect, this was the first space of my own, a ramshackle squat close to Hull University.

      We never knew who owned the flat, and I had moved in as others moved out, the usual hot-bunking you find in squats. For some reason, no one ever came looking for rent, and no bills or final demands ever dropped on the mat. The only gas we used was for frying up chips, our only diet, cut from potatoes bought in a fifty-pound sack once a month for a few quid. I wonder why we never got scurvy.