It was a bit of a surreal experience returning to California after three months in England. There your breath came in icy puffs and the rooftops were turning white with frost in the mornings. Here I was out on a mountain in a T-shirt and shades in the dead of winter.
I fell in with the Double Helix Climbers through complete happenstance, as is the case with many of the best things that have happened in my life. I was back in California for a couple months between term times and looking for climbing buddies. One friend introduced me to another, who introduced me to another, who introduced me to another, and somehow I ended up meeting this whole new group of climbers who took me under their wing and showed me the ropes, literally.
At this point I’d been climbing on and off for about six years, mostly indoors in gyms - top rope up to 5.11b and bouldering up to V4. My first experience pulling on real rock outdoors was in a cold, damp forest in central Pennsylvania, where I struggled even to get established on the easiest V0s my friends could find. I’d bouldered outdoors a few times after that, on the gritty desert sandstone of Utah’s Joe’s Valley and the well-known, well-loved, well-worn granite of Yosemite. But I’d never done any outdoor rope climbing, and I was keen to get my first exposure. So when my new climbing buddies invited me out for a day of climbing at Mount St. Helena, I was an immediate yes.
The first hurdle was getting past the approach. I was used to tossing a crash pad over my shoulder and walking ten minutes to the nearest crag. This was a forty-five minute hike up an incline that was at times steep enough to challenge my ability to stay upright while scrambling with a pack on my back that contained more metal than I’d ever had reason to carry with me. Honestly, the approach alone winded me more than a typical climbing session in the gym, and it left me feeling more than a little inadequate on the cardio front.
Then there was the change in mindset that came with following a sport route on top rope. Luckily (or maybe by design), my much more experienced climbing partner had already given me some practice in the gym, showing me how to clip and unclip quickdraws, how to manage the rope so it didn’t get tangled, and how to conserve energy along the route while taking pauses for the added overhead. Despite this, several times I absent-mindedly scuttled past a clipped quickdraw only to hear a call of “remember to unclip as you go!” from below.
The other half of this change in mindset was adjusting to the difference in belaying outdoors versus indoors. I’m a pretty small person, and there have been a number of times when I’ve been pulled off my feet by a big fall by a heavier partner when belaying in the gym, despite the high friction anchor point. This was the first time I’d been pulled off my feet by a slow, controlled descent. I learned pretty quickly that I had to find really solid footing, ideally right by the rock face, otherwise I’d end up doing a strange scrambling shuffle every time I lowered my climbing partner. Luckily (definitely by design) he had a special carabiner with a friction spur which gave me much more of a fighting chance.
Once I’d gotten the hang of these basic mechanics, there were just two more challenges. First, keeping your head on the more difficult and/or exposed climbs. My first few climbs were low angle 5.7s and 5.8s, well within my comfort zone, which allowed me to focus on getting used to the different mechanics of the climb without stressing too much about technique or potential falls. Then I progressed on to slightly harder routes, and the mental game started to kick in.
Even though I was on top rope, with some of the most conscientious people I’ve ever climbed with watching out for me, it was hard to ignore the fact that I was climbing above a lot more empty air and unforgiving surfaces than I was accustomed to. At one point as I neared the top of a route, I looked across to my right and rather than thinking, what a beautiful panoramic view of nature, my brain shouted, imminent danger, you’re about to fall into a neverending abyss! By the time I reached the top, I was short on breath not because of physical exertion but because of this irrational fear my brain had inserted into my head.
Which brings me to my last point: remembering to enjoy the view. Learning the technicalities of how to climb outdoors already is such a fun and rewarding experience, but the real privilege is in getting to spend time out in the beautiful mountains of northern California, discovering pockets of crystals among the volcanic tuff, looking down at the blankets of fog rolling through the hills, feeling the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind and the expansive richness of the nature around us. It’s always a special experience to climb outdoors, especially with a group of people who, every time I reached the top of a climb, would say, “Now stay there and look at the view.”
P.S. Big shoutout to my winter climbing partner Alex, who taught me so much, both on this trip and beforehand :)