The Sandia mountain range puts a song in my heart. From first sight, it excites me differently than any other outdoor space I’ve ever had the privilege of exploring. Located along the eastern edge of Albuquerque, these peaks add a special backdrop to the city. They rise five-thousand feet above the flat, expansive desert. At its maximum elevation of over ten-thousand feet, the sharp rock ridgelines cut through the sky like they were meant to go on forever.
To my east-coast-eye their prominence is deceptive. I struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that they’re truly as tall as they are. Maybe it’s the barren and flat surrounding landscape that makes them appear shorter?
Today, after being in the city for a week, I’m finally getting that chance to explore the mountains for the first time. My friends, Hunter and Jordan, are leading Alex, Jordan’s friend, and myself up a climb in the foothills called Flake n’ Bake. I haven’t climbed in over two months. Even though this route is graded 5.5 (very easy), I’m apprehensive as we make our way to the base of the route. Climbing strength and technique are quickly lost when not practiced consistently. This approach hike we’re on is short by Sandia standards – about 20 minutes. Even though it is only mid April, desert heat radiates up from the earth below. I’m glad to be the last in our line of hikers. I’m still afraid of stepping on a snake after my rattlesnake encounter in Pennsylvania back in 2020.
We reach the bottom of the first pitch and gear up: harnesses go on hips, cams clip to harnesses, grigris lock into belay loops, carabiners snap closed, bare feet squeeze into climbing shoes, helmets mat hair down uncomfortably, and sunglasses make gazing out onto the fiery desert landscape palatable.
For me, there is peace in the quiet moments of racking climbing gear before starting an ascent. It calms my mind to know an adventure is coming. To know that my life is truly in my own hands for the next few hours. Some people understand this, most people find it crazy. Us understanders haven’t found a way to explain it well enough for most people to be convinced we’re not crazy. We might be a little crazy.
Jordan and Alex are roped together, as are Hunter and I. We’ll climb as two separate parties next to each other, both ascending the same sun-baked rock face. Hunter is one of the most composed and competent climbers I’ve ever witnessed. He climbs with a confidence that makes me forget it would even be possible for him to fall.
I flake rope out through the grigri attached to my harness. Hunter moves quickly up the slab, stopping intermittently to place protective gear into the rock’s natural features. He reaches the first anchor. “Okay Schloss, you can take me off belay,” he yells down from above. Soon after, he pulls the rest of the rope up to him. “That’s me,” I shout when it tugs at my harness.
It’s my turn to climb. As the following climber, my ascent is much safer than his. I can fall at any time and be protected by the gear Hunter has already placed above me. And it’s a good thing too. I slip and fall not ten feet up the beginning sequence of moves. My first thought is to blame my shoes. My second thought is to stop making excuses. I’m out of practice.
The rock here is solid, but trying to read it, to find the small divots and cracks I can stand on, leaves me feeling illiterate. “Relax, just go up, don’t overthink this,” I whisper to myself. This route is truly easy. It’s pedestrian to the point that the rope almost feels like a formality, but there is something about just being here in the desert, across the country, surrounded by cacti growing out of the side of giant mountain that makes my legs feel uncertain and my fingers feel lost on the imperfections of the rock.
A few deep breaths. Put everything else away, and just focus on the climbing. Linking together a series of successful moves reminds me that I belong here. I’m capable of this. I moved across the country for this.
Hunter greets me with a first bump when I reach him at the anchor. “This is pretty sick,” we agree simultaneously. To our left, Jordan and Alex are reaching their anchor also. I’ve never seen Jordan climb before, but she flew up this first pitch. It’s nice to be friends with a climbing-power-couple.
With the beginner-jitters out of the way, the rest of the climb flows smoothly and freely. After our rappel down, Hunter and I take a break to just sit in the sun. Lizard-time, he calls it.