The risk of dying in the mountains is insignificant compared to the risk of dying old with a mountain of regrets.

Like a true addict, I needed one more hit. Something mild wouldn't suffice. I wanted an adventure overdose. "Ned's Excellent Adventure" was an unrepeated and unrated El Cap route. It had chosen me for it's second ascent.

And I was to climb it alone.


A series of rusty copperheads marked the path which I was to follow, left by the first ascentionists; Bryan Law and Warren Hollinger, in 1998. The weight of my carabiner encouraged the first head from it's placement, and it took me a rather long time to persuade another to take it's place, reinforcing my belief that this was going to be a tough climb. I continued up, crafting each piece of the puzzle to the best of my ability.

Suddenly I was falling.

The powerful force of gravity accelerated me towards that fine line between survival and death. Equipment that had bonded me to the rock simply ripped out when I needed them most. I slowed to a soft halt with a selection of broken gear collecting at my waist. A string of failed romances. I was diving head first into an unknown depth.

Perhaps next time the water wouldn't be so deep.


After a few days I reached the aptly named Cauliflower. Indeed it had the characteristics of a giant cauliflower, but with a sour flavor. I soon became lost amidst a labyrinth of small edges and tiny cracks. I was often seduced by an attractive seam of security, becoming attached rather easily, only to discover that it ended abruptly, necessitating a pendulum further afield. On one such pendulum, the distance was so great that I could only reach the next placement when at the pinnacle of my swing. I first swung with a wire brush to clean, and then with a copperhead and hammer, only being able to tap once with each rhythmic swing. I dropped quite a few heads before I was able to get one to stick. Keeping in rhythm, I was able to progressively tap the head with my chisel, still just once per swing, until it was settled in place, the whole time being psychologically burdened by the poor wire at my pendulum point.


I began to fall into a daily routine. Being awakened by sunrise, I would eat, organize equipment and mentally prepare for the next pitch, which could be my last. The climbing was so engaging that only when darkness fell was I reminded of the lapse of time. Fragile features linked together, as if created by an evil genius, resulting in pitches that stretched the very limits of both my rope and my ability.

As the days passed I became more distant from the ground and more accustomed to life alone on the wall. Sometimes the rock allowed a straightforward passage, sometimes it required a more delicate approach. I arrived at the start of the "Death Block" pitch around mid-afternoon one day, and made the decision to climb until I found some protection good enough to fix my ropes to, enabling me to complete the pitch the following day. Such a place did not exist until a couple hours after dark, and so I ate a late dinner that night.


On the 12th day, I approached the final obstacle which was barring access to reality. This was a roof which was too large to span, but also seemed to be completely featureless. Upon closer inspection, I found a thin seam which took beak tips and copperheads, enabling me to manipulate the roof on it's left side, inadvertently creating a new variation.

I continued up on copperheads with my rope swaying carelessly over the roofs sharp edge. A fall would be unthinkable. It was all I could think about. I placed the next copperhead and clipped my aiders in with plans of gently easing onto it when suddenly the one I was hanging from ripped out. I stayed attached. Shortly thereafter the rock changed character, requiring a change to freeclimbing. I left all unnecessary encumbrances behind and began freeclimbing to the summit. My body was aching, the protection was marginal and the climbing was at the peak of my ability. I had developed a strong mindset for such situations through extensive freesoloing, but even so, the psychological weight was preventing upward progress. My arms had reached their physical limit, my fingers began to lose grip, a tear rolled down my cheek.. I grabbed a skyhook which was somehow attached to my aider and placed it on a tiny flake just as my fingers slipped off.

Why can't I be content with an easy challenge? Why do I have to play this dangerous game?

Balanced on the precise point where the eternities of past and future collide, I climbed up, committed to uncertainty. I didn't want it to end, but it had. I had reached the top.

There was nothing there.

I had found what I was looking for.