In Search of Perpetual Psych
I stood on a small slanted ledge about two hundred feet above Eldorado Canyon, craning my neck, staring upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of my climbing partner, who had ventured into the third pitch of the classic Bastille Crack. As I stood there anchored into the wall, a number 12 stopper slipped from its carabineer somewhere above and fell, clipping the corner of my helmet as it bounced to the base of the climb. About 30 seconds later I heard my partner’s voice echo against the canyon walls, it was a voice diffused by thousands of pounds of granite, but still saturated with frustration. I... Read More