In high school, my Spanish teacher Mr Benson (purple shirt, left) organized a beginner's rock climbing group. We hired a rock climbing instructor (red shoes, second from left) out of the univ in Laramie, and a handful of us went out one weekend to learn the basics. There's a convenient granite rock formation called Vedauwoo partway between Cheyenne and Laramie, where people often go for outdoor activities such as camping, climbing, biking, etc. It offers a range of climbing routes – it's been so long that I've quite forgotten the rating system – and bouldering. (I particularly remember this one boulder called the Ankle Breaker, or some such, because of the high possibility of breaking your ankles if you should slip from the boulder and fall to the base, a distance of only about 10 feet.)The instructor was one of those guys who had a wealth of climbing horror stories from his weekends spent helping rescue stranded climbers. One story I remember: he cautioned that anyone with long hair – in this case, only Mr Benson because I was going through my ugly-hair dumpy years – should make sure it was tied back good and tight because of this one woman he had had to rescue. Evidently she'd had this gorgeous waist length hair that had gotten caught in the rope system (because it wasn't tied back). She had been loathe to cut it when it first got caught (as she was coming down), but because of her awkward positioning at a high part of the climb, the catch slowly worked its way all the way up to her scalp. A rescue squad had to be called and by the time our instructor came to cut her down, a large swatch of hair (and scalp) had to be sacrificed. There were other stories that I now remember imperfectly or have only a vague impression/terror of. But looking back after all these years, I think those stories should have made me think twice about taking up the sport.
The class was quite comprehensive. We learned about our equipment; a basic set of knots and loops, the most important probably being the Figure Eight Loop; communicating with your belayer; getting comfortable with rappelling. With rappelling that first step is the real heart-thumper. Even though you're in control of your descent, there's something about stepping off an edge backwards that would make a lot of people uncomfortable at first. (The guy at the bottom has some amount of control as well: if you, say, start descending too fast, he can pull downwards on the rope and stop you as well. Probably more of a precaution for anxious beginners.) But I suppose it could be worse: we could do it like the Australians. There was one climb at Vedauwoo that I always wanted to try, but was never able to. It was called the Potato Chip. You could view it from where we had our first real climb. At the very top of this outcropping was what looked to be a potato chip, and what was special about this climb is that to descend one had to rappel through the free air.
It's funny, I never realized how afraid of heights I was until after I started rock climbing. At first I was sure the exhilaration was just plain adrenaline – but then it seemed the more I climbed, the more it turned into shaking and irrational thoughts, and wanting to throw up and faint (at the same time) every time I looked down from those great heights. On my first lead climb, it took me half an hour to nerve myself to come back down after I'd reached the top. Of course, there was denial for the longest time. Mr Benson organized a second trip and I went again, because despite the fear, it really was kind of fun. I bought climbing shoes, got a harness and a couple of other small climbing necessities, but no rope, which is probably one of the most expensive purchases for the sport, next to owning every size cam, or "friend". But you don't need ropes or cams for bouldering and later I found an indoor climbing gym in Fort Collins that I climbed at on occasion.The last time I ever climbed was at Vedauwoo. That time I was with one of the guys that I had met in Mr Benson's group. With climbers, as with anything else, you'll meet all sorts. The overly cautious and prepared; the anxious flibberty gibbet; the kind that throws themselves headlong into anything that presents a challenge. This guy was the latter and, though he continued to climb long after that day, I was never able to bring myself to it again. For each state, there is a guide available (and maybe more depending on how many climbing areas there are) that will list a route's official name, its rating, a brief description, and possibly what kind of equipment is needed to ascend. Neither one of us had a copy and that was our first mistake. We wandered around and did a few easy-ish climbs, since we had only the one rope (his) and no cams. It was getting towards the end of the day and he was getting antsy to do something "dynamic". We finally found this climb that seemed to suit him and it was most definitely my mistake for not making myself heard when we were making ready. It was an awkward situation in which I was not properly anchored in and would literally be holding all his weight without any kind of assistance if he should fall; and because of the angle in which we were positioned from each other, I couldn't hear a single word he was shouting at me (although later he told me he could hear me just fine from where he was). Suffice it to say, he did end up falling, dragging me part way over the edge, and we were lucky that we had only his broken toe to show for it.
Interestingly, about this time, Drew was also rock climbing with his roommate in the military. As Drew tells it, he was never quite comfortable in the sport either, and two guys together take an awful lot of risks. He said his epiphany occurred on a lead climb they did in which the ground was much closer than the length of rope to the last cam. (One of the hazards of lead climbing is the so-called fall factor.) When he left the military for college, it was easier for him to quit climbing as well.
