There I was shivering at the base of the “Bloody Knuckle” a boulder that had defeated me months before. Looking up at the six meter wall, my fingers frozen and bloody, I reached down and pulled a brush from my chalk bucket. Jamming the brush into the vertical slot, I brushed the rock vigorously letting the chalk billow into the air. Reaching back down into my chalk bucket I grabbed a chalk ball and slapped the rock, letting new fresh chalk cover the rock in white dust. I leaned close to the rock and blew gently into the brutal start, forcing chalk to settle in the deepest part of the curved sharp gash. I then crouched close to the terrible paper edge-like foot holds, and brushed. Dirt and sand fell away from the rock. I stood up still frozen, as warm as I could ever get in this weather. At least the freezing rain or snow had not started falling. I reached into my chalk bag and coated my hands in the flour-like dust, rubbing it deep into the crevasse and calluses in my hands. I stepped back, looking up at the climb, closed my eyes and mimed the moves of the route, first with just my hands. Then I repeated the process two more times with hands and feet.
I rubbed my hands in chalk again, remembering back to a few months ago, standing in the icy rain with shredded and bloody fingertips. I had placed my hands into the crack for the tenth time and placed my feet on the small feet. I jumped to the 5 millimeter edge with my right hand, I pushed myself up with my left hand in the crack letting the sharp rock dig into my fingers, forcing my pinky down the crack. As I bumped my right hand up to the bigger ledge, I felt the fingers on my left hand rip out of the crack. As they did so, my feet slipped off and all my weight went onto my right hand. I felt my nails dig sharply into my fingers. Even through the cold I could feel the tops of my fingers start to bleed. As my right hand fingers complained under the weight of my body I brought my left hand up to rest on top of my right so I could put one of my feet back onto another table edge. I then bumped my left hand to the bigger sharp crimp. I jammed my left foot into the crack feeling my toe complain in the cold, tight climbing shoe. As I reached my right hand up to cross over to the sharp and uneven ledge above, my head my left hand fired off the crimp, ripping the fingertips. My feet slid down the wall and I landed in a heap on the cold crash pads. I sat defeated, taking off my shoes and patching up my bloody hands. I thought that I must come back as soon as possible to finish this climb.
I snapped back to reality, looking up at the climb that had defeated me a few months ago. The tall face of small crimps and edges with the terrible feet and sharp rocks taunted me, daring me to attempt it again. I took a deep breath and gently blew on my hands, blowing off the extra chalk. I placed my left hand into the curving sharp slot for the straight. It was only about half an inch deep at most. I could feel the skin on my left pinky wanting to rip apart as I weighted my hands. I placed my right foot on the small terrible high foot hold. I then fully weighted my hands, feeling the rock tear into my skin as I swung my left foot up to a small crack almost as high as my hands. I then stood up awkwardly, reaching up with my right hand to the small edge. My right foot left its small hold and most of my weight was being held with my left hand in the vertical slot. I could feel my left foot wanting to slip. I willed myself to hold on to the rock as I bumped my right hand up to a bigger edge. As I did so, my left foot slipped out of the crack. I stabbed both of my feet back onto the wall, smearing my feet, attempting to get the weight off of my hands. I could feel my pinky slide to the bottom of the slot, the rock cutting sharply into my skin. I yanked my left hand out of the slot and reached it up to a slightly larger three finger crimp. I grasped it, feeling my feet slip from the wall. I knew it was finished. I had made it past the hard part. I jammed my left foot in to the starting slot and stabbed my right foot to a small edge with my elbow. Then I reached my right hand over my left arm to a larger edge. And I placed my right foot on the small edge below where my right hand had just been. I brought my left hand to the edge where my right hand had been, squeezing them together to bring my feet up to the previous handholds. I jumped to the huge shelf about three feet over my head. I felt so excited that I was only one move from the top. The rock was still wet and I felt a small feeling of fear as I matched my hands on the wet shelf and reached up to the top of the cliff. I then brought my left foot up to a small slippery foot. I looked down; fifteen feet below me I saw the two small crashpads. I looked back up at the wet rock and heaved myself over the top of the wall. As I topped the climb out, I could feel my hands and feet slipping on the rock and pine needles. I stood up looking down on the climb that had defeated me in the past. I was done!
On the mile long high back to the car I began to wonder what was next for me to do, what would be the next challenge.