Cracking the Whip
“It’s not actually raining.”
“No, it’s not.”
“So when we see Benj on Tuesday night, and tell him we backed off due to the weather, he’s going to ask – how hard was it raining.”
“Yeah, I know.”
We were standing on a small ledge, small enough that to stand on it we needed to be clipped into the bolts that formed the anchor. From the ledge we could look along the cliff and far up the Grose Valley to the big dark clouds now massing with menace over the Darling Causeway.
We had already climbed two of the three pitches that compose this climb, the first of which is supposedly the hardest of the three, but it’s the last pitch that is the money pitch; long, steep and bold. It was this pitch that we were now tossing up whether to do. Abseil off and we’re safe, and dry. Climb on, and we’ll almost certainly be caught in the approaching storm, drenched and exposed to the threat of lightning. The third pitch is intimidating – would anyone believe our excuse of prudence if we avoided it?
We had only recently met Benj, and had climbed with him once out in the Wolgan, up a multi-pitch on Old Baldy. We had taken turns leading, me first, then Mike, then Benj. Mike and I were on an uncomfortable semi-hanging stance for Benj’s lead, making it awkward to belay and be smooth when paying out the rope. It came to a head as Benj was attempting to clip a piece of protection – “are you going to pay out slack or am I going to come down there and punch you out”. Frantic activity saw the rope payed out. The incident was never mentioned again.
He was not with us on this climb, but his hard man attitude was in our minds as we stood on the ledge, rubbing shoulders as you do when tied in, discussing the options.
“If we go down, who is going to tell Benj?”
The answer to that question was a shuffling on the belay as we sorted gear and rope ready for Mike to lead the last pitch; it was his to lead, I’d just led the second.
The rock directly above the ledge we were on is overhung, preventing us from climbing up in a straight line, instead the pitch arcs around to the left and then back across, finishing on a small stance near but not quite on the top of the cliff.
Once Mike has finished I follow and offer a “Nicely led” as I pull the final moves and join him on the small stance that marks the end of the climb.
From the final belay it is possible to scramble off into the bush, but you’d want to be roped up to do it. And from there it is a long bash through thick bush back to the car. The best way to get off this climb is to abseil down the route and walk back along the track we walked in on.
Mike had led the pitch tied into two ropes; two ropes were needed to provide the length to reach the ledge below. We tie the two ropes together taking note of which rope needs to be pulled in order to avoid the knot getting caught in the anchor. Before I had started climbing I had tied the bottom end of one rope into the anchors at the ledge. If the end of the rope was not tied into the anchors it would hang out in space and there would be no way to get back onto the ledge as you abseil down.
I abseil first. Part way down the abseil I am swinging in space until the rope goes taunt back to the anchors. From here you do not abseil down so much as pull yourself horizontally along the rope. I had a reluctance to tie the rope too tight lest it inhibit my ability to descend as a tight rope acts as a brake. The result is that I am left dangling in space below the ledge and like a dog struggling to get out of a pool I frantically clamber onto the ledge, and clip in, and slump.
It’s over. It doesn’t matter what happens now, we’re fine; the descent from here is straightforward. The storm can rage if it wants to, we’re fine.
Mike joins me. It’s easier for him to reach the belay as I can pull the rope to assist him as he slides across in space to reach the belay.
“Pulling green?”
“Yep.”
And with that the red rope is released from the anchor and swings out into space, ready to be pulled through the anchor at the top and back onto our ledge.
“@#$%”
“&$#%”
Swinging out in space was the red rope, as it should be, but on the end was the knot that was used to hold the rope to the anchor. Knots do not pass through the small eyelets that are used on the anchors.
“Why didn’t you undo the knot?”
“You were last down the rope.”
There is still some conjecture over what had just taken place, or more accurately, who had or hadn’t done what.
We were trapped; to an extent. We could still pull the green rope, undo the knot and then abseil, leaving the red rope caught in the anchor. But a single rope wouldn’t allow us to reach the main anchor points, and we’d have to then do subsequent abseils off single bolts, while the other person was also hanging off that one bolt. Doable, but not good. And the red rope was mine!
We had to undo the knot. We had to retrieve the end of the rope that was hanging in space 8-10 feet away from us, with nothing but the short end of the other rope.
Mike and I grew up in the city, we ain’t no jackeroos.
We tied knots in the green rope to make it heavy so we could throw it against the red rope so it would swing towards us. We tried to lasso it. We tried yelling; at the rope and at each other.
Eventually, we did it, somehow we pulled the red rope far enough in towards us that we could lean out and grab it. There were four hands keeping hold of the end of that rope as all four hands untied the knot. And four eyes checked and double checked that we’d untied the knot.
With trembling hands, we let go of the end of the red rope, and watched it swing into space, and confirmed to each other that there was no knot. And then pulled green.
When a rope is pulled down it normally crumples into a heap on the ground. But when you are several pitches up, and the rope is being pulled past a section of overhanging rock, like the rock above us, it falls cleanly in space, and when you are far enough up that the rope won’t touch anything at the end of its fall – it cracks, like the cracking of a stockman’s whip.
CRACK!
Loud enough that it echoes off the walls of the wide valley.
With enough force to blow out the end of the rope.
Enough to crack what remains of my equanimity.
Did it rain? I can’t actually remember.
