'Twas the Bight before Christmas

'Twas the Bight before Christmas : A Climbing Poem by Christina Cox

'Twas the bight before Christmas
And all through the crag
Not a single rope was flaked out
All tucked away in rope bags

Each rope was coiled in the bag with great care
In hopes that a climber would soon be there
Each cam and nut organized from from blue to green and red,
Tantalizing dreams of hard sends in each climber's head

My partner in her helmet, and I in my cap
We had just agreed on plans traced on a topo map

When out on the rocks there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my guidebook to see what was the matter

Away to the base of the climb I flew like a flash
Tore out my headlamp, expecting to see a crash
The moon on the gleam of holds covered in chalk
Guided my path on this late evening walk

When what did to my wondering eye did appear
But a daring soloist, displaying no fear!
With a sure-footed grip on the rock did he stick
I knew in a moment this was a destiny he picked

Delicate like a mountain goat, each move he made
And he whistled and shouted and called them all by name.

Now Sloper! Now Jug! now Pocket, and Crimper!
On Sidepull, on Undercling,
On Edge, and Pincher!

To the top of the route! To the top of the wall!
Now Climb on! Climb on! Climb on, all of ya'll!

Ode to an Anchor

Ode to an Anchor: A climbing poem by Christina Cox 

If I were an anchor I'd be tied to a tree
Strong and alive, in all ways SRENE
Part hex perhaps, but no Tricams I desire
For if I were to set, your second's temper will fire!

When pondering my placements, be not hasty not quick
A dead tree or poor nut will not do the trick
Creativity, wisdom, and flexibility I need
Until you are satisfied, do not rush the deed

I will hold you through your commitments and crux
Do not fear that move, for in me you trust!
And when the climb is over and the day is done
Rest assured, your safety has been defined in a pun

How To Climb with a Bloody Cut

This is basically a climber's "crack tape glove" with a medical glove underneath! 

It's the stupidest things that could put a major dent in plans!

Example: While waiting for my climbing partner to pick me up for a weekend of rock, I picked up a drinking glass and managed to shatter it in my hands. How it happens remains a mystery. 

What resulted was a bloody towel, soaked band-aids  and deep gashes in my hands in the the most inconvenient possible spot for crack climbing: On top of my finger and thumb knuckles. 

Ouch. 

But... There was rock to climb! As luck would have it, my climbing partner, Chap Grubb, turned out to be EMT trained with MacGyver creativity. 

Solution? 

1. Clean and bandage wounds according to Wilderness First Aid guidelines  (irrigate/flush wound with water, apply antibiotic ointment and sterile gauze). 

2. Cut off the fingers of a medical rubber glove

3. Cinch glove tight on hand and wrap in place with climber tape (athletic tape) in the style of a climber's "crack tape glove". Note: We taped the fingers in place to help prevent rips. (See picture above and below)

FYI: How to tape a "Crack Glove": http://www.climbing.com/skill/better-tape-gloves/

4. Your wound is protected and padded with gauze and Neosporin. The glove not only protects from dirt, but also keeps all of your first aid work in place, so crack climb to your heart's content!

Really, yes! My heart was full with only the joy that crack climbing brings, and the added bonus? With good climbing technique, the glove didn't tear! And extra bonus? I didn't feel any pain or discomfort, even on a hot Vantage, WA day. 

Don't forget to take it off at night to clean and re-do the process for a second day of rock. 

Climb on! 

The glove held up after a long day of climbing: Palm view

Conversation with a Campground Host: Redefining Disability

Riding/Climbing/Hiking Icicle Canyon in Leavenworth, WA

The morning sun slowly warmed away the chilly summer night air of Icicle Canyon, beckoning me to come out of my little one-person tent.  Upon seeing me stumble out, the campground host, a old man with a peppered beard, hobbled to my site with the obvious intent to collect my dues. I pulled out my National Park Access Pass, a disability card, and handed it over. He looked at me sternly and asked "What's this?"

"An Access Pass."
"No, where did you get it?" His suspicion heightening.
"Sir, I am Deaf."

Eyes popped wide, he took back a step.
"Wh-... I.... Uh.... But... How do you ride that thing?" He stammered, pointing at my purple motorcycle.

While handing over my campsite dues, I explained I ride just as safely, if not safer, by relying on my other senses. I feel the vibrations, I sense when the bike needs to shift gears, and I'm constantly visually aware of my surroundings. Besides, who can really hear over the rumble and roar of a motorcycle anyway?

Dumbfounded at my Deafness, the old man confessed he was puzzled as why he couldn't wake me up by shouting through my tent walls and told me he had planned to come back later with the police.

"So, what are you doing out here? Hiking?"
I replied that I planned to hike today and rock climb tomorrow.

"Climbing?! You... Uh...!!! That's too dangerous for you if you can't hear!"

"Nope! I've been doing it for a while and have worked out effective communication."

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope"

After a short awkward pause, the old man's eyes skirted the ground. Stammering as he walked away like a dog with his head down and tail between his legs, "well, you're.. Uh... Too... Uh..... Um... Uh.... Pretty not to have one"

Pffft...

Since when do I need to have hearing and a man to be awesome?? 

I have a disability. Go ahead, slap that label on me.  I shamelessly admit it. However, I don't let it stop me. It took a lifetime of learning and positive reinforcement from family and friends to let my disability strengthen me, not weaken me. 

There was a time in my life when I was too shy to admit I was Deaf. I remember sheepishly telling my teachers I couldn't hear well and then slink quickly back to my desk as the school environment mumbled around me. I was too scared to try and do things I really wanted to do, such as try out for the school play. 

Things have changed. Drastically. 

Being immersed with Deaf pride at Gallaudet University  has empowered me to be ME.  

I've figured out what my personal communication needs are and have learned not be afraid to communicate that to others, whether it be at work, on the mountain, or simply running errands around town. But most importantly, I've stopped believing that having a disability is my limit. 

If others choose to believe that then just go ahead...Climb your mountain and prove them wrong. 

Overcoming a Fear of Heights

Climber (and good friend) being lowered at Great Falls, VA

The boy, already scared of heights, was even more scared of being lowered. He didn’t let on how terrified of being lowered until he was already at the top of the 30 foot top-rope climb. Lowering proved to be too daunting so my guiding partner, Jason Montecalvo, assured him everything was going to be alright and ran to the top so the boy could be anchored in and safely walk down.  Jason made the safest choice for everyone involved.

The boy decided he was done climbing for the day and sulked in the shadows of a nearby tree, hiding his anger at himself from the sun.  But, he couldn’t hide it from me.

I sat down on the low lying tree branch with him while we watched the other kids climb. At first, we did not talk. The silence faltered as we began to talk of things of utmost importance: of leaves falling to the ground, of lizards losing their tail in order to save themselves from being eaten, of candy wrappers struggling to stay in the lunchbox exposed to the afternoon breeze, of him being angry with himself and his form of releasing that anger by hitting his (helmeted) head with his hands, and of the spider webs on the nearby rocks.

Why was he angry? Because he perceived himself as a failure. I knew he wasn’t. He didn’t know that. But, I wanted him to know what I knew.

So we brainstormed together ways to overcome his terror. I too, am scared sometimes. Even “rockstar” climbers have hidden tales of exposure on the high cliffs. I uprooted my most embarrassing moments out of the shadows for him to see.  He didn’t like some of our initial ideas so we kept brainstorming until we found a solution that satisfied us both.

He would climb five to eight feet. I would counter-ascend climb to him. He would clip his harness to mine using my P.A.S (Personal Anchor System, aka, a sling or cordellette girth hitched to my harness). I wanted him to physically do the clip-in so he become involved and empowered in the process. Of course, I would check the clip-in for safety. We would then tandem-lower together, with him in front, feeling the rock with his feet and following the guidance of my coaching as we walked backwards towards the ground.   

That would be enough to satisfy me, knowing that he tried.

But it wasn’t enough for him. As soon as we both reached the ground, excitement quivered in his voice as he declare he can lower from that same point (eight feet up) all by himself.  And he did!

Again. And again. And again. Each time, he would go just a few inches higher. We were there for a while. Time didn’t mean anything to me anymore. After finally adding a full two feet to his climbing height, he asked “Do you think I should go higher?”

Sweat ran down my back as the sun wearily beat upon my belay stance.

“Yes! You should!”

I warned him that beyond 10 feet I would have difficulty hearing him, pointing to my pink hearing aids. How can we resolve this?  I already had solutions in mind, but I wanted him to be in control of his thoughts and decisions, thus further empowering him on the climb.

“No problem! We’ll use this hand sign when I want you to “take” [Take up slack]. And we’ll use this hand sign when I’m ready to be lowered!!”.

Once again, he climbed the familiar crack, reaching for familiar hand-holds. Soon, he was on unfamiliar rock. Hesitation wavered throughout his body. Inch by inch, he crawled up the rock face. My eyes were peeled for his hand signs, not daring to miss a sign and shake his confidence in any possible way. Soon his hands told me to “take” and “lower”, which I started to do. “ST-O-O-O-P!” I looked up to see him climbing higher!

And higher! And higher!! He reached the top!

His hands once again told me when he was ready to be lowered. With full confidence, he braced his body into a proper lowering position and without any hesitation, descended to the ground.  I burst with pride for him and exclaimed, “That was awesome!!!”

His response? “Yeah... the hardest part about this whole thing is that now I have to go home and take a bath!!”

Sorry kiddo… Life is tough. :-)

Vertical Pillow

Self Portrait: Arches National Park, Utah

Vertical Pillow

Oftentimes I am asked, why do I rock climb? Why do I love the outdoors so much? To understand, one must know my childhood pillow.

My entire life I’ve never fit in. I can’t argue with it. It’s the story of my life. I was born deaf so arguably one could say I didn’t fit in a hearing school, hearing social events, or even a hearing family. Against the odds,  we made it work. It wasn’t easy. There were many moments of laughter of overcoming the trials. But it wasn’t all joy. I dreaded school. I dreaded classrooms where we had to listen to the teacher and other students, raise our hands (or just blurt out) for comments on previous comments that were orally expressed. Everything seemed lost in the sea of sound I was slowly drowning in. I felt a gasp of fresh air during the classes where we spent time reading or copying notes from a PowerPoint or chalkboard. My hands were occupied instead of the constant frustration welling the invisible tears inside me, that only my pillow would know.

After a long hard day in school, the internal agony would not stop. I had to endure hours of ballet practice at my church. I could hear the music but I could not understand the chattering and laughter of my fellow ballerinas. The teacher’s instructions would be lost on me. The teacher would have to waste long moments working with me individually, in front of the entire class, further driving my embarrassment. My body didn’t match the prescribed movements or chime in sync with a rhythm in a music I could not understand, a frustration to be released as tears on my pillow.

School and church were the two circles of life. Ballet was in the church. And so were all of my jobs and my parents jobs. Church is supposed to be a place of refreshment and renewal. For me, it was a constant source of irritation. No matter how hard I tried to explain, no one seemed to understand that I only heard sounds, not comprehension of words. I’ve spent hours upon hours fighting the urge to nod off, drowning again in a sea of sound roaring around me in Sunday School or during the services or in the hallways. When later I failed to summarize the sermon or Sunday School message, I was chided. I was accused of drifting away spiritually and being rebellious against God.

This only led to real anger and perceived rebellion. I yearned for someone to just take my hand and say, “It’s ok. I love you. I understand’. Instead, I was labelled. Immature they called me.

I worked hard in school to suppress the tears raining inside of me, to prove everything wrong. Homework was my outlet, my escape. I attacked it with furious passion, oftentimes creating more work for myself than really necessary.

So why do I rock and ice climb and pursue alpine adventures? Why do I love the outdoors so much? My love traces back to the dampness of my childhood pillow. The trees, flowers, and animals do not need to express themselves orally. The rock and ice allows me to create my own movements to my own tune. The trail provides a peaceful sanctuary.  

I become me. No labels. No false accusations I do not have the courage to fight.

And at night my pillow is dry :-)

P.S.
This was written about 2 years ago. Since then, I have been blessed to be a part of three amazing communities: The Deaf community, the climbing community, and the Church community where I have found a loving group of Deaf and hearing people to share the joys and trials of life! Thank you! I love you all! 

The Art of Scrambling

Love in the Rocks, Enchanted Rocks, TX

Children have been scrambling for thousands of years.

Until now.

In a short span of time, television, computers, and over-protection have squelched a natural instinct essential to our survival and physical movements. Kids used to go scramble up and down boulders and trees, developing muscles and agility that proves essential well into adult years. The boulders have been replaced with a couch and fear of lawsuit over a scraped knee.

While setting up rock climbs for a group of kids learning the sport of outdoor climbing, I created a mix of challenges, making sure we had the full spectrum of easy and difficult climbs.  The kids struggled. I climbed up to physically place their feet. I figured they have yet to develop the critical thinking skills required for structured climbing. No one was brave enough to touch the more "difficult" climbs. That's ok. I didn't push it. While challenges are good, I did not see the immediate need for them to descend after a very negative experience.  We broke for lunch.

Lunch evolved into fascination over watching kayakers and rafters test their skills in the gorge as well as keenly observing the tadpoles and larvae thriving in the pools of water on the rocks left from the recent rains.

These intent observations evolved into a long supervised scrambling session. I instructed them to keep their rock shoes and harnesses on (to keep them in the mental mode of climbing). We spent a long time scrambling over boulders, as well as being awed by the continual discoveries of wildlife and plants found in the cracks and pools. We even found a huge hole formation in the bedrock, which provided a fun way of sneaking in bouldering practice (climb in, climb out. The hole came up to my shoulders and I'm a tall gal!)

We probably spent at least an hour scrambling, exploring and laughing. I guess I could have herded them back to the ropes sooner, but I had an ulterior motive. Without even realizing it, they were developing confidence on the rock and reinforcing climbing techniques in a fun and non-intimidating environment. Furthermore, they were developing a love for nature, a personal passion of mine to see kids outside.

Arches National Park, Utah

It worked. I suggested that we get one more climb in before breaking down. I couldn't get them off the ropes!! Their climbing and attitudes noticeably increased tremendously compared to the morning. They were self- motivated to try everything, even the harder climbs. They were even telling each other where to put feet and hands. They had the opportunity to let their bodies rediscover what children have been doing for thousands of years. They found the ancient rhythm of childhood and it showed.

For rock climbing programs geared towards children, I encourage instructors to allow supervised and safe free play in between structured climbing sessions. The benefits are numerous. Not only will the children tap into their ancient rhythm, they re-learn the joys of exploring a video game free nature wonderland!

Enchanted Rocks, TX

Climbs Ablaze

Shouldering our climbing packs and adjusting our headlamps, a group of determined PATC-MS climbers embarked on the dark Buzzard Rocks trail. Instead of daylight, the black trail was filled with laughter, stories of friendship, and eager anticipation of moonlight rock climbing on the ridgeline. We reached the fish hatchery overlook, a popular stopping place for hikers and a signaling point for climbers that the climbs are near. A haze blanketed the air, followed by an acidic smoke reaching my nostrils. Perhaps someone was burning trash in the valley? It seemed awfully late for that. 

Descending towards the climb base, I snapped a glow-stick so my second could track my progress. I wanted to lead the slab by the gentle assuring glow of a full moon rather than by the harsh and starkness of a headlamp. Roping up, my eyes adjusted to the subtleties of the environment in the dark.

I pressed my feet into the rough slab, a gleam catching my eye. A bolt! Trailing my rope, I clipped it and continued my vertical journey in the dark. The smoke thickened, gradually diminishing the full moon to a glimmer. Upon building an anchor at the top of cliff, we looked out and saw the orange blaze of a forest fire.

Little did I know this would be my last time to climb Buzzard Rock moving out West.
Nor did I know this 50-100 foot crag would be good practice for slab climbing the 800-foot Colorado Flatirons in the next (almost) full moon.

Colorado Flatirons

A month later, once again I found myself roping up at the bottom of a slab. Only this time, there were no bolts and the cliff was thirteen times higher! Ash and I were on a mission to retrieve a stuck rope at the cliff-top, a direct result of epic KanKan and I experienced that afternoon. With KanKan in the final lead, we had reached the top of the cliff, only to be chased down quickly by an impeding thunderstorm. In the rush, we could not find the rap bolts so we improvised a rap anchor with my cordellette. However, with the anchor set too far back for the rappel, the rope got stuck. We hiked off the mountain with half a double rope in hopes to avoid a rash of lighting usually associated with Colorado summer storms. 

K2 and C2 climbing the Flatirons!

The storm passed, but our rope was still dangling. Not wanting to just leave it as booty gear (it was still somewhat new!), Ash and I proceeded to climb the giant slab by moonlight with the rope’s other half... a lonely strand of yellow seeking its green.

Once again I found myself pressing my feet into dark slab, trusting my feet not to slip into the black abyss surrounding me. An orange moon peeked out from the clouds. For a brief moment, I was back in the Appalachia foothills gazing at the orange blaze of a forest fire, my night-vision clouded by the acidic haze. The sky cleared and I was in Boulder, Colorado once again.

Upon reaching the dark summit, Ash traversed in search of the abandoned rope. The wind hurled cold insults as I crouched and shivered. The minutes dragged slowly with the rope feeding out of my belay device, our life-line being tossed like a child’s jumprope in the midnight gales. After what felt like an eternity, Ash’s head reappeared with not one, but two ropes! Bonus!

Hands shaking under triumphant smiles, we rigged the rappel. My headlamp flickered to a soft demise as I descended into a pitch black abyss, completing trusting the feeling of rope in my hands while surrounded by dark and empty air before my feet gingerly touched the solid ground.

An hour later, I was finally reunited with my Therm-a-rest camp bed, only to wake in a few short hours for another rock adventure with KanKan…. Bastille Crack in Eldorado Canyon!

El Dorado Canyon, Colorado