The Rock Warrior's Way: Mental Training For Climbers

the seam. If I can’t make the placement and fall, then I’ll go just about twenty feet with rope stretch but still land ten feet above the ledge. If I don’t get gear in the seam and fall on the very last move reaching for the horizontal crack, then I could hit the ledge.”
    This assessment does not imply that you actually are willing to take any of these falls. That decision-making process will come later, in the Choices process. Your sole focus now is to assess the situation clearly and objectively, to take responsibility for what you’re facing and not deceive yourself, hide from the facts, or overlook any useful information.
    By now you have ample amounts of ammunition against phantom fear. The daunting unknown has been replaced by a very detailed idea of the challenge facing you. Perhaps you are more scared than ever. The demands are significant—a classic bodymind climbing challenge. Most climbers, however, find themselves significantly calmed by clarifying exactly what they are facing. Knowledge is power, so the saying goes, and the unknown is scarier because you have no power over it. Knowing exactly what you’re facing is much safer than forging ahead blindly.
    One experience that taught me not to ignore the fall consequence occurred in 1979 when I was climbing with my friend Steve Anderson at Stone Mountain in North Carolina. Stone Mountain is known for its very pure, very low-angle friction climbs, and its very long runouts. I’d climbed on Stone a year before, doing some of the harder routes without falling. After that experience I adopted the attitude of simply focusing on the climbing, giving little attention to the fall consequences. If you’re confident or cocky as I was, this “go-for-it” approach comes fairly easy at Stone because you can climb quite quickly on the low-angle slabs without giving much thought to specific moves. The low-angle rock also minimizes the feeling of exposure. This approach had allowed me to climb several hard pitches until I found myself off route without an escape on a climb called Mercury’s Lead .
    I had climbed past two bolts and found myself about 100 feet up and fifty feet above my last bolt. I could see the next bolt, only ten feet up and to my left. Unknowingly, I had climbed along some edges that took me up and right away from the usual line of the route. The route was rated 5.9 but I’d climbed up a series of edges that felt more like 5.10. Now, I was poised on small foot and handholds, realizing I’d climbed into a predicament. I made a few attempts to climb left to the bolt, but the moves seemed too thin. I downclimbed a move or two, but the moves I’d made to reach that point felt too tenuous to reverse.
    I was faced with a harsh realization: I would have to commit to the move or fall off. For the first time on the lead, I assessed the fall consequence. I would probably hit the tree-covered ledge where Steve was standing 100 feet below. I realized I’d climbed into a very dangerous situation without much forethought. I hadn’t assessed the fall consequences at all. I hesitated for close to forty-five minutes, shaking out one leg at a time and procrastinating.
    Finally I went for the moves. The edges were thin and rounded, my balance was off, I was overgripping the small handholds—and then I was off.
    Soon I was skidding down the rock on my back. I noticed Steve pulling in slack. It was as if time slowed down, and he had plenty of time to pull in sufficient rope to keep me off the ledge. I was speeding faster and faster down the rock, but the rope came taut before I hit anything. I survived the fall with only some scratches on my elbow.
    Had I assessed the consequences of a fall, I could have decided if the risk was acceptable, rather than having to simply accept the consequences once I found myself in trouble. I could have consulted with Steve and worked out a belay plan. I could have prepared myself by figuring out the best way to slide. Fortunately, Steve was attentive and responded instinctively by pulling in that ten feet of slack that saved my life.
    In fact, unbeknownst to us, my terrifying near-miss was quite unnecessary. The more experienced Stone Mountain climbers had excellent contingency plans they used when putting up these routes. Belayers would remain unanchored so they could run down or across walls or ledges to take in many yards of rope to shorten the leader’s fall. The sliding leader would stay centered over the balls of