How to Tie a Knot, Part Three

This is Part Three of what is likely a 5-part series. You can catch up on Part One and Part Two by following the links.

Recent news has me thinking about safety, trust, and the relationships that are important to me. There was just an accident on Tahquitz where two young climbers fell to their deaths. This hit close to home because I was supposed to climb there a few days before, and I have a mountain rescue connection to the team that helped with the body recovery.

A climber recently committed suicide. He wasn’t someone I knew well, but he put out a lot of great climbing-related teaching materials. I messaged him recently to thank him for sharing his knowledge. A few weeks later he ended his life. For some reason, I keep pulling up that message, and his response.

I don’t know exactly how to explain why I feel like these two events are somehow connected. I feel like we need to take the same care of our relationships that we do with our climbing routines. There are systems in place, but there is always that risk of failure, so we do what we can to mitigate that risk. I’m trying to check in with people more and to double-check that knot when they say they are fine.

These relationships are the most valuable things that we have.

My mom is the oldest of ten children. Her brother, Derek, is about 12 years older than me. I grew up spending summers in a small town in Southern Idaho hanging out with my older, but not too much older uncles. We spent the mornings adjusting sprinklers at the golf course across the street and the evenings hanging out in the endless backyard in the shadow of the Tetons.

Derek took me on my first outdoor climb. I’ve always looked up to Derek. He is intelligent, funny, and patient. He has a passion for climbing, is a judge for US Climbing, and has raised a son who is an amazing climbing coach as well as one of the top climbers in the country.

Maybe it’s the missionary culture we grew up in, but there is a strong desire to share what we are passionate about, and Derek is generous with his knowledge.

Derek is smart, but looking back on it, I’m not sure how smart he was to put his life into my beginner's hands as I tied a figure-8 knot with false confidence and shaky hands in preparation for my first outdoor climb at a crowded roadside Utah crag.

The trust you put in your partner says a lot about your own confidence and knowledge. He taught me how to belay, how to gradually feed the rope out of the belay device as he climbed, how to “take” or take up the slack in the rope, how to lower him once he reached the top of the climb, and how to “catch” him if he fell. He showed me the proper way to tie the figure-8, and to tie knots at the end of the rope so the end doesn’t slip through the belay device, leaving the leader weightless for a split second before a likely catastrophe.

I think about Derek a lot when I tie into the rope. He is a strong climber, a little over 60, and still improving.

Some climbers make it look easy with their smooth, graceful movements. These are the climbers we all want to imitate, but most of us compensate for our lack of technique with grit.

Sometimes you just have to yell, red-faced, pulling hard against the rock, grasping for that next hold that is just beyond the safety of outstretched fingertips and solid footing. There is a moment there when the tips of your fingertips catch that small ledge in the rock, and somehow they stick to that rough granite, smooth limestone, or slippery sandstone, and you breathe out a mix of relief, fear, and adrenaline, and you become religious if just for that moment. And there is nothing graceful about it, but it’s still beautiful.

When Derek taught me the basics of climbing, and during our subsequent climbing sessions, I realized that this is how I wanted to teach my son. He is patient, knowing that the rope is attached to both of us with a strong knot, knowing that the knowledge that he shares with me will be used to keep him safe.

Derek and Palmer

Jess is a quiet climber. We used to run together. I like to think that I got him into ultra-running, and I also like to think he hates me a little for it. We shared many miles and races. We used to talk a lot, but he moved to Salt Lake, so now it’s more of a long-distance relationship where we don’t see each other much and we resort to awkward small talk when we do. Too much sexual tension.

He never liked running, even though he was pretty good at it. Climbing was always his sport, and his eyes lit up when he talked about it, or maybe they were just glassy after a 30-mile training run on San Jacinto.

Good climbers make hard routes look easy and climbers with mediocre technique make easy routes look hard. 

Jess makes it look easy. No unnecessary movement, no strain. Every move has a purpose, every foot placement and finger hold is determined, slow, and steady. He doesn’t move his feet around or pull a few times on the hand-holds to adjust his grip just to make sure that it is solid. He already knows it is.

Jess came to town recently and asked if I wanted to climb with him.

I stuck mostly with easier boulder problems, ones that I felt confident I could complete. There is a lot of focus on single moves in bouldering. When there are only ten or so moves in the entire problem, each move takes on greater importance. The way I climb, there isn’t much flow on the boulder. There is a lot of strain trying to muscle my way up a route.

Watching Jess climb is different. His technique is smooth, even on boulder problems that require a lot of strength. He wedges knees into holds, hooks his heels over ledges, and spends a fair amount of time hanging upside down on steep overhead angles. These moves were beyond my ability, and when Jess suggested we hit the main walls for a couple of climbs, I readily accepted.

I picked a route that I had climbed before. A fairly difficult route, but one that I didn’t have much of a problem with until the last two or three moves. The route involved a lot of stemming, or pushing against both walls of a corner and using the opposing force to move up the wall without big foot- or hand-holds.

The moves that had seemed doable a few days prior were now lost on me. I struggled, kicking the wall instead of looking down and deliberately placing my foot. I was a newbie again, leaving black rubber streaks on the wall where my foot slipped. I tried to will my way up, pulling hard at the holds while tensing the muscles in my arms.

This is not the most efficient way to climb. I quickly tired and asked Jess to lower me.

Jess floated up the next route, doing everything right that I had done wrong. Jess is stronger than I am, but the key was his technique. Every move was quiet, every foot placement was deliberate. He made it look easy, and I know he’ll give me shit for this, but it really was beautiful.

After watching him I decided to give it one more go on an easier route. It started well, with me moving smoothly up the wall, but after all the previous effort, my arms and legs just couldn’t take anymore, and I asked to be lowered again.

Jess wanted to finish with a hard one. He wasn’t trying to rub it in or anything. Our climbing skill levels are so far apart that there is not any competitiveness or jealousy there. Just envy and admiration on my part, and some patience on his part. He chose one of the harder routes in the gym and worked up the wall, seemingly effortless, although he did slip off one of the footholds on the way up, but I’m not 100% certain that it was truly a slip. Jess is a good guy and may have just wanted to show that he’s not perfect and that it’s hard for him, too, no matter how easy he made it look.

Both of these climbers have mentored me whether they know it or not. But it’s not just climbing. Finding a mentor in anything is a difficult process, and they aren’t always who you think they are going to be. Not to get too mystical about it, but putting your life in someone’s hand is a gift, almost a spiritual leap.

I like to think it’s not a forced mentorship, but if you choose to take a beginner climber out, it is just that. You are taking on the responsibility, and before you even get to that first step, you have to decide whether this is a person you are going to trust with your life.

Derek and I have climbed outside together numerous times. I have learned so much from him, but what I remember most are the moments surrounding the climbs. The dinner before a day at Red Rocks where he helped me through a very difficult time, or walking out of a canyon, tired, beat up but buzzing with a feeling you can only get from a good, long day of being out on the rock.

There’s a quality to these moments like a fading sunset that you try to capture, but as soon as you try to take a picture of it, the moment is gone, and the picture can never capture the fleeting beauty. It’s a device to bring back memories and feelings surrounding the moment. But it’s a second-rate copy, a digital time-stamp of a moment that is now lost. If we are lucky, deliberate, and careful with our love, and with who we tie in, there will be more moments that deserve that second-hand copy.

Me and Derek at Red Rocks

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3 more things

1. This post on suicide and the climber mentioned above stuck with me.

2. Finding out that Randy Johnson is a (really good) professional photographer and that this is his logo.

3. My wife and I just saw the band The War on Drugs and it was the communal rock therapy that I needed.