FIRST TRAD LEAD
It’s Friday, June 21st. I start my day early with a three mile hike and run up the foothills that surround the Michael Emory Trails. Back on the east coast we would call these mountains, but their one-thousand foot prominence is dwarfed by the full Sandia range looming behind them.
I cannot find a consistent trail that doesn’t fizzle out slowly into nothing and force me to bushwhack until I find the next clear path. Quickly, I discover off-trail hiking in the desert is a surefire way to load my socks and shoes full of cactus spines. I reach the summit, climb atop a jumble of trailer sized boulders, and sit down to enjoy a view of the valley. One-thousand feet below me is acres of open space dotted with cacti and sagebrush. The Michael Emory Trails cut across the landscape, highways for the hikers and bikers below who look like little ants from this far away. Humidity hangs heavy in the air this morning, a rarity in the southwest. Cool breezes brush over me and bring the sweet smell of higher-alpine vegetation to my nose. Each rejuvenating inhale soothes my tired lungs. My sweat-soaked shirt presses against my skin, a tangible sign that I got after it again today.
“Well, if every morning could start off like this that’d be pretty sick,” I say aloud to myself as I do my best to consciously absorb the final few moments of top-of-the-mountain bliss.
The day is just getting started.
I jog back to my car and drive the short distance over to Hunter’s apartment to plan our climb for the day. In true Gentlemen’s Start fashion, he and I hop into the hot tub for an hour to catch up and plan out the logistics of our day.
We settle on Whitewash, a small crag close by with an easy approach. A quick drive and hike later and I’m stepping into my harness. The rock here is some of the most polished in the area due to it getting regularly hit with the power of floodwater.
Hunter confidently pulls the moves on a shouldery 5.10 route. It’s been two months since either of us have climbed, and for me it shows when I try to follow him up. After a few minutes of hanging on the rope, I decide that I’m just going to have to go for the powerful sequence of moves. There is no delicate way to go about this. Surprisingly, I link it all together and pull myself the rest of the way to the top. That old, familiar adrenaline rush hits my veins. I clean the anchor and Hunter lowers me back down to him.
“You ready for your first trad lead?” he asks.
I decide today’s the day. There is an easy 5.4 crack climb here that looks like the perfect first trad lead. I’ve led up to 5.10 sport climbs before, but trad is a whole different game: placing gear, thinking harder, just me and rock.
Beginning my ascent I’m surprised by how calm and confident I feel. Is this confidence or arrogance? I’m not sure. Either way, I’m fully locked into this moment. There’s no room in my brain for any other thoughts or worries aside from just working my way up this climb.
I unclip the first cam from my harness and position it in the crack as best I know how. My multiple attempts to rip it out don’t make it budge so I take this as all the proof I need to clip the rope through the carabiner.
“This is even sicker than I thought it would be,” I yell down at Hunter.
I’ve been following people on climbs for years, but it’s a whole new experience leading. It’s complete freedom, uncharted territory above me. The challenge is as much mental as physical.