Page 38 of Shared By the Mountain Men

I clipped my safety harness onto the guide rope, which created a tether between me and the rock. If I slipped, that line was all that would keep me from falling to my death. Logically, I knew it was engineered to hold my weight, but it looked inadequate to my untrained eye.

That was only a minor fear, though. It was quickly overruled by the rising excitement that I felt. I gripped the first rung, and began climbing.

It was easy. Literally the same as climbing a ladder, although each rung was independently drilled into the rock rather than being connected. Every five feet, I had to pause to unclip my safety line from one rope and clip it into the next section before continuing on. That was the only time I felt anything close to fear, the knowledge that for a few seconds I was totally untethered, clinging to the mountain with only my hands and feet.

It was exhilarating.

Ash climbed methodically next to me, eyes glued tomerather than his own rungs. It was obvious that he was watching my hands and feet,especiallymy feet, ensuring that my ankle was really strong enough to safely climb the mountain. But I appreciated that he trusted that I could do it, rather than doubting me.

He probably just wanted to get paid for the climb, which he wouldn’t be if he talked me out of doing it. But still, it was nice not to have somebody second guessing everything I did.

I soon forgot all about Ash. Even though the climb was technically easy, it required all of my focus. Every grip, every step, had to be perfect. Even though I was clipped into the safety line, I didn’t want to test the strength of the rope.

Climbing up the mountain face was a strange experience. For most of my life, my mind was occupied with a million different things. What I was going to eat that day, the work I had to do, what show I was going to watch that night. As humans, we were always thinking ahead. Especially now that we had cell phones on us every minute of every day.

But with my hands gripping the metal rungs, and the crisp mountain air blowing through my hair? Each step requiring complete focus? Nothing else in the world mattered. If I allowed my mind to drift, I might fall.

For the first time since I could remember, I was one hundred percentpresent.

It took twenty minutes to reach the top of this section. It ended at a flat section carved into the face of the mountain, roughly the size of a love seat. I clipped into the safety bar there and sat down, breathing heavily.

Ash came over the top and did the same. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a Gatorade and handed it to me without a word. I drank deeply from it, then gave it back with a nod of thanks.

We rested back against the cliff wall, catching our breath before tackling the next section. He didn’t say anything, so I didn’t, either. The silence felt right. Just the occasional howl of the wind while we admired the view up here.

After a few minutes, Ash stood up. I did the same. “Across,” he said, pointing.

I gave a start. The next section didn’t go up; it ran horizontal across the mountain, curving out of sight around a bend in the cliff face. The metal rungs were much wider here, about a yard in length rather than just a foot.

Since there was only one path, Ash led the way. He clipped the safety line into the upper bar and stepped out onto the first rung. I followed. This was atotallydifferent experience than the first section. I had to look where I was stepping, which gave me a heart-pounding view of the sheer drop to the ground below us. It was only a few hundred feet, but it felt like a million.

But once again, my fear was a candle compared to the thrill running up my spine. Nowthiswas a real adventure!

The physical requirements were the same as the first section—if not less demanding—but the mental strain was greater. I moved sideways along the rungs with Ash, the view of the drop beneath us alwaysright therein my vision. As we curved around a bend in the cliff, I was keenly aware of how much open air was at my back. I had never been afraid of heights before, but now I understood why some people felt like they would magically get pulled off the edge of a cliff.

It wasn’t enough to slow me down, of course. But now I understood.

After curving around the side a bit, the rungs moved up diagonally. One step up, then three over. Two up, four over. I got into a rhythm, taking a few steps and then clipping into the next safety line. But soon my fingers ached from gripping the rungs so tightly.

Ash must have noticed that I was struggling, because he said, “A few more minutes.”

Hearing his voice, no matter how intimidating, gave me some sort of comfort. To take my mind off my cramping fingers, I asked him, “How long have you been doing this?”

“Ten years for fun,” he replied. “Two as a job.”

“You have a lot of jobs,” I said.

He grunted.

“How long have you lived in Crested Butte?”

“Three years.”

“Where did you live before that?”

Ash paused to climb another diagonal section before answering. “Colorado Springs until 2019.”

I wasn’t great at math, but there was an obvious gap in the timeline. “What about from 2019 to 2021?” I asked while stretching to move the safety clip to the next rung.

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