Today marks 2 weeks... two weeks since we decided to bail off our multipitch route so we wouldn't be topping out in the dark.

two weeks since we safely completed 4 rappels and started walking down what appeared to be a descent gully.

two weeks since that descent gully turned out to be full of loose rock and still quite a way's up from the ground.

two weeks since I was by my friend's side within minutes - there was nothing I could do - no first aid to be administered... I kept the area and environment calm and comfortable for her passing. No yelling, no weeping, just calm for her to depart - in peace.

I acknowledge that this is a very unique experience. Many have lost a climbing buddy or friend or maybe have been close to a rescue mission... I'm looking to connect with people who have been in the same situation.

I feel like I'm running out of people to tell my story to, so I'm looking to connect with others who have had a similar experience. she decked and died shortly thereafter.

Also, I'm doing really well - I saw her fall and when I got down to the ledge and realized the height... then saw where she lay, unmoving, I moved to immediately accept and surrender to the reality. There was no resistance, no time for denial... I actually uncovered a strength in myself that I had suspected was there but had never seen in action.

Please PM if you've been there, or if you know of someone who has had a similar experience.

Expect to see more posts like the recent thread about the Tahquitz tragedy. It is simply part and parcel of the climbing experience. I don't mean to be melodramatic or macabre or anything, but if this is not something that you, as an individual, can deal with then this is certainly not the right sport. I truly wish it were otherwise.

I started this thread ten years ago. Today, I can add the names of several more of my climbing partners who have died while climbing.

http://www.rockclimbing.com/...iew_flat;post=516204

Unfortunately, this part of my old post has proven to be all too true:


I can only be personally thankful that no climbing partners have died while climbing with me. I really don't know how I would react to that, but I would probably feel some sense of responsibility--whether I was responsible or not.

Curt

Not sure exactly what kind of reaction you were expecting Curt, but for what it's worth, here's my $.02.

Prior to climbing, death seemed to always be around the corner for me. Without major details, the moments of almost death came from reckless youth, illness, drugs, alcohol, and on more than one occasion, a gun to the head. During that time period, I also got to experience burying pretty much every friend and family member I was ever close to. When I got into climbing, what had been reckless before, became normal to the eccentrics that I became close to, and admired. Now granted, Yabo might not have been a good role model, but seeing folks like him and a few others that no one ever heard of, definitely inspired me to push the boundaries, until the occasional failure was inevitable. Then something happened.

There was no major event. There was no spark of recognition. It was more a simple opening of the eyes. I just woke up. Simple as that. I shed everything, and climbing was the only thing that stuck. There was something pure about touching rock, and controlling what happens next. It's not up to the rock whether I stick around or not, it's up to me. I choose to move up. I choose to grab that hold. I choose to place a piece. I choose to clip a bolt. And sometimes, I choose to merely climb, close to the ground and otherwise. It bring solace when there is none, and chaos when there is none.

On Saturday, I chose to climb a route that hadn't been done before. It was a nondescript crack in Bishop that travelled it's way up for a couple pitches and had never felt human hands. The rock was suspect, the belays were nonexistent, and each piece I placed felt looser than the softballs I pulled off and lobbed into space. Or as my partner stated, it was the first time in 10 years he had ever seen me wear a helmet. At the top of the first major belay, I found myself wedged in between a wide crack, with a couple of marginal aliens for backup, and then put my partner on belay. It was then I realized that the climb I just did was a bit harder than what killed those two climbers at Tahquitz. And here I was trying my best to "one up" them.

Granted, it would have taken an act of God to pull me out of the spot if my partner fell, and the aliens weren't that bad, but it wasn't the point. Right then and there, I got to feel a bit of what must have happened to those two guys (it wasn't the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last, but it was the most recent). Wrong space, wrong time. Or maybe it was the right one. As much as I believe I choose to climb the rock and all the other garbage I said above, just maybe I don't have a choice in when I die. That being said, I can argue and go on about the what and how's of the afterlife, but in the end it's just that. I likely don't have a choice, because no matter what I do, it will happen. That being said, all I can do, is remain awake. Climbing allows me that ability.

I do feel sadness and the occasional tear when I think of those that moved on, or worse, sit at a table with a group of other climbers and realize that next season, some of us might not be here, especially those who head to the mountains. But I also enjoy the common denominator that in those that push the limits, whether it be a 5.6 boltfest, or an alpine deathrun, they are awake. And it is the personal memory of being asleep that keeps me climbing, and in turn, keeps those memories alive and burning. I do wish I could share a tall tale, or hear some of those friends laugh once again, but I've realized, that when I'm on the top of a climb, if I listen closely, I already have.

All your responses are so perfect.

Thank you.

It's been a bit annoying the responses from non-climbers, or people who get me to wear their grief. things like "it must have been so horrible" or other things that just colour me broken.

cause i'm not.

and yes, I have a grief counsellor I have gone to see and can reach out to anytime. i'm also really into yoga and am heading to maui for some sunshine and yoga for a couple weeks.

some days are better than others. it's certainly a process.