The Third

My alarm went off at 3:00 am and I violently slapped the snooze button as though it had offended me. Pulling myself out of bed I began the familiar routine of starting a climbing day. This, however, was going to be no ordinary climb. Today I would be climbing the third Flatiron, by far the largest rock I had attempted.
Gulping hot coffee and making last minute adjustments to the gear I planned to bring, I found myself becoming nervous. I knew I was going to have a few new experiences, and the butterflies in my stomach seemed to be turning into bats or maybe buzzards. Would I freeze up under pressure? Would I slip and fall? One way or the other I would find out.
By 4:45 am my partner, Steve, and I were at the trailhead and beginning the long and steeper-than-it-looked hike to the rock. Guided by moonlight and the dancing beams of our flashlights, we wove our way through rocks and trees until we arrived at “The Third,” as it is affectionately known. Still in near total darkness we decided to watch the sunrise over Boulder, Colorado.
By the light of the rising sun I got my first view of the route we planned to climb, and was awed by its beauty. Eight hundred feet of vertical sandstone, glowing in the reddish hue of daybreak, stood before me like some colossal dorsal fin. I felt as though I was gazing out at a sea of molten lava.
Beginning to climb, I quickly noticed two things. First, standing on a wall this big, all perspective was lost. After one hundred feet of climbing, I looked up to find the top seemingly no closer than when I started. Second, due to the nature of the rock, we climbed with none of our usual protective equipment. Although the climbing was very easy, I couldn’t help thinking about the horrendous fall potential.
Moving up the rock I could not help looking around and smiling to myself, thinking how much I pitied “normal people” who would never see or do anything like this. The trees that stood so high above me only a few hours ago were now small like some toy in one of my sons train sets. At some point I watched a peregrine falcon soaring below me, close enough that I could see the colors in its feathers shimmering in the sunlight. Even the feeling of the sun on my bare back, or the light breeze caressing my skin seemed different, as though being so high in the air made everything more vivid, more real.
Pleasant climbing, crystal clear skies, and good company had me regretting the sight of the summit. Sitting atop this massive stone, we opened our packs and had lunch. Lingering over our food, we spoke the way climbers always do at the end of an adventure. Jobs, spouses, children and bills are set aside and for a few moments, grown men would sound like boys if overheard.
“Dude, did you see that lizard?”
“Hey, check out the hawk!”
Rappelling off of the backside of “The Third” is said to be one of the highlights of this climb. Steep, dangerous, and intimidating are common descriptions in guidebooks. Leaning back on the first of three rappels, I could see why so many people seemed to find this awkward. Lowering myself down was made considerably more difficult by the angle of the rock below me, which jutted inward enough that I feared smashing my face into the upper section while trying to get my feet onto the lower section. After clearing this section of the descent I found myself dangling high above a large boulder field. Sliding down my thin rope I once again thought of “normal people” and how glad I was not to be one of them. As the weight of my body transferred from my climbing harness and rope, to my shoes and the ground, I smiled broadly and laughed, “That was so cool!”
With hiking in the dark, huge lengths of unprotected climbing, and an infamous rappel behind me, I chuckled at my nervousness of the morning. As we hiked back to the trailhead, making frequent stops to stare at the behemoth we had just scaled, I found myself looking forward to my next bout of anxiety.