Stone Walls, Stout Hearts

"Rocks make no compromise for sex," says Johnson. "Rock climbing is not like some sports, where it is somehow made easier for women, or sports like, say, softball, which is only baseball for soft people. On a rock, everything is equal."

Everything may be equal between men, or between men and women, but not always between men and rock. Some climbers, in their pursuit of satisfaction, set their standards so high that the result, is an edge for the rock. Some climbers feel a climb has been too easy if they haven't missed at least one move, which frequently means falling. There is a motorcycle-racing axiom: "If you haven't fallen off once or twice in a season, then you ain't trying hard enough." Some would apply the axiom to climbing.

But there are also climbers who feel that one rarely falls unless he has overstepped his ability or gotten careless. To such people, a fall is considered the result of misjudgment, or worse, losing control of oneself, or worst of all, fool-hardiness, which is considered to be just about the cardinal sin of mountaineering.

The difference in viewpoints with regard to falling seems to lie somewhere in the climber's attitude toward danger. Roger Breedlove, a former climbing guide at the Yosemite School of Mountaineering, says, "I don't think many regular climbers are turned on by danger, although danger may be something that starts people climbing. You hear a lot about it in beginners' classes—people get a thrill out of it, they really get a charge out of being scared. They're truly terrified. It's odd, because when most good guides see this, they think, I got to find a way to calm this guy down, to get him off the rock, to get him out of this class, to make him feel better.' Then afterwards the guy feels elated. That seems to me to be perverse. I don't know any climbers who climb often and climb well who have ever expressed that sort of elation. If a climber gets terrified—and they occasionally do—afterwards he won't say or feel much more than it was a lousy day."

Rock climbing is by nature an existential act: the only risks a climber faces are those he chooses to take. Most climbers don't actually believe their sport is dangerous, because they feel they control the degree of risk. Climbers generally think hang-glider pilots are crazy, and they have a point: a hang-glider pilot tosses his fate to the wind, as it were. And other, similar comparisons may be drawn: an automobile racer is at the mercy of mechanical things such as wheel lugs; a mountain climber is at the mercy of the weather. A rock climber is at the mercy of nothing but himself.

Climbers recognize how easy it is to make mistakes, however. Says Breedlove, "Good climbers like the idea of making difficult moves away from their protection. I don't think that's from a desire for danger. Taking that risk signifies to a climber that he is confident and in control, that he's quite capable of making challenging moves."

In motor racing, if, during a race, a driver thinks about the risk he is taking, he is inviting disaster, because his mind is not where it must be. On the face of a cliff, however, a climber's concentration does not have to be so unremitting; there is time for reflection—but there is a caveat. It is tempting, especially to an inexperienced climber, to squander that time.

When a climber faces a difficult or dangerous move, he often uses the time to build up his courage or psych himself. It is during these moments that a climber is most likely to get scared, if he's ever going to. He might be struck by an attack of something climbers call "sewing-machine knee," a malady wherein one knee jerks uncontrollably up and down. It often occurs if the leg is tired or is being stretched. And it afflicts the best of climbers; fear is not necessarily involved. The only cure for sewing-machine knee is to take a deep breath, talk yourself back into relaxation, and maybe push on the knee in frustration until it stops quivering—although rarely is a hand free for such use.

During precarious seconds such as this, times when the climber is stuck, reality sinks in like a boulder tossed into a lake—"I really do not want to attempt this move, but it's impossible to turn around." The longer the climber stalls, the greater the likelihood he will look down at the ground and ask himself what the hell he is doing up there. When climbers say theirs is a lonely pursuit, this is what they are talking about. But, like some animals when cornered, the climber knows the only solution is to fight—to climb on. And he usually does. Once in a while, climbers do become paralyzed with fear or reluctance or indecision, in which case they must either be rescued or somehow rappel down, which most likely will also require assistance.

The emotional low that comes from this sort of failure is the worst. The pits. However, the high that comes from overcoming such situations and reaching the top of a challenging cliff is one of singular euphoria. This high is very difficult to describe because it is so intensely personal; it affects people differently. Sometimes it is slight, sometimes it is strong but subtle, sometimes a climber can float away on it.