Scariest moments/mistakes when climbing not resulting in injury

J Lwrote:

Greg, I wasn't aware assless climbing pants were a thing

Out west, we just wear chaps when climbing. 

So some time ago, I went to solo a WI 3 climb and found a group of 3 ahead of me. I offered to take their 3rd and climb as two pairs.

As I climbed up an ice step, there was a pine tree about 2 x the thickness of my thumb covered in tatt. I clipped it as my only piece in the 60 M of ice and snow.

At the top, there was a 20M head wall that the other party was on. To avoid them, I walked back down the 45 degree snow slope 10 meters or so, and kicked in a bucket to sit and belay my 2nd as the climbing for her was quite mild and low angle.

Several minutes later, the pair from above walked past me toward the little pine tree below, while I continued to belay. Just one moment later, I heard a big thump from above and the sound of a train coming my way. I yelled avi, grabbed one tool and turned into the slope and buried it, while holding my 2nd tight on belay.

The noise was defining, yet I could hear ice crystals falling from the head wall. Suddenly,  a flood of snow blew over top of me. My body shook as the snow tried to rip me from the slope for what seemed like several minutes. Suddenly, I was ripped free and down the slope I went through a white cloud.

I did my best to keep my feet down the fall line, but there truly is no sense of up, down or body position, though I could tell from time to time, that I was in contact with the slope. Suddenly I felt myself slow down and the conversation in my head said:  you may get away with this and not die. Just then, I felt myself go airborne as I was launched off what turned out to be the 2nd 10M step in the climb.

Snap! Suddenly my momentum stopped immediately, and I slammed into the slope as I came to the end of my rope. I sat still for several seconds as the cloud cleared with the tinkle of ice crystals falling around me.

I am not sure if it was the air clearing or my head clearing, but thing got brighter and my senses started working again.

Suddenly, I heard the party above calling to me. They had stood unclipped next to the small pine tree and watched the entire thing pass by them. While at the same time my second had been dragged all the way up the climb, and was drawn snuggly to my one and only clip on that frail pine . 

I have always wished i had thrown a screw into the head wall, and then tethered down the slope to belay. But I am incredibly thankful that I clipped a draw to that pile of tatt on that tinny pine tree, otherwise I and my second would have fallen about 1,000 feet along with the avi debris.

This is a mistake a got away with. But  please make sure you always protect not only the fall potential, but protect yourself from what might come from above.

Safe climbing

Yikes!

always put in a real anchor when waiting for the party above you to finish..  I do this ice soloing . if there is a constriction in the route that only allows one person or party at a time  I fire in a screw while i wait..  same thing if leading... 

Through a long list of mishaps I found myself climbing hand over hand up a knotted length of webbing, not tied in or anything, at 1 in the morning with a failing headlamp on the sheer side of a canyon wall. I learned later that instead of a solid anchor as I had thought, that piece of webbing was instead wrapped around the waist of one of my three companions, just sitting down on sand without good purchase. I’m not a terribly light person, and I had to fully weight the webbing at times. If I had slipped or pulled my anchor person out of the stance we both would have fallen out and down a looooong way into the canyon bottom. Incidentally that was what got me into climbing- the drive never to do anything that sketchy again and wanting to know how to do it the right way. 

Posted this on another thread....

Back in 1977, and two years into the start of my climbing career, the Joshua Tree route 'EBGB's" was established. For the next two years, I walked the base beneath that intimidating block, only to experience an episode of sphincter tightening with each glance up that steep, frightening face. I finally drummed up the nerve to at least go clip the first bolt, and make half-baked attempts at the mantle start, only to weasel out. 

Early in 1979, I retired my green PA's, which had been acquired from a starving Brit in Camp 4 a few years prior. I managed to scrounge up enough cash to get my 16 year-old self shod with a brand new set of EB's, and I set about ticking off some routes that seemed unattainable in the aforementioned footwear. And so it was that I arrived, once again, at the foot of that bile-inducing pitch of quartz monzonite, perched high above the cacti at Echo Cove.

I was using these newfangled things I'd recently been turned on to....called 'quick runners'.....slings with two biners pre-attached, and then hung on a gear sling over my shoulder. My gear sling was a simple piece of 1' webbing, tied with a water knot. Wrapped in a 2" swami belt for a harness, and having added one extra 'quick runner' to my "rack", I headed up, clipped the first bolt, and felt mighty proud to pull off the mantle and begin the sidestep left to the second bolt. 

As I stepped past that second clip and onto the bulk of the face, that familiar sphincter clench hit me once again, but now, I wasn't at the base......I was into the business, and as intimidated as I'd ever been in my 4+ years of climbing. Time seemed to stand still as I made my way up, finally gaining the third bolt and making the clip. From here, the climbing above looked exceptionally daunting, and I considered lowering off. But my partner Jeff's constant words of encouragement calmed my nerves, and I grew more focused. 

With eyes lasered in on the 4th bolt above, I began the delicate dance on the upper face. Suddenly, as I neared said bolt, I heard a clinking sound, and watched in horror as the entirety of my rack fell down the face.....the water knot in my gear sling having come undone. I was well above the third bolt, and my only other carabiner was the locker on the front of my swami, holding my stitch plate. With both hands absolutely pasted to the wall, I had no ability to reach for the locker. I began to whimper, while Jeff started losing his mind. He suggested I try down-climbing, which I could only manage a pejorative response to. I was gripped out of my mind.

Minutes went by...with me resetting my feet constantly, trying to wrap my mind around a solution. Even Jeff's nerves began to fray, when finally, he nervously suggested, "Maybe you should just jump". Not wanting any part of that, I began to climb....move by agonizing move.....and further and further from that third bolt. The encouraging words from Jeff disappeared...there was only stone cold silence as I passed the fourth bolt.

Minutes later, and with painfully slow movement, I passed the last bolt and forged on into ground fall territory. After what seemed liked hours, I pulled the last few moves and collapsed in a cotton-mouthed heap onto the summit....completely unable to speak. 

Jeff was so shaken, he flat out refused to follow the route.

Dean Rosnauwrote:

 bile-inducing pitch of quartz monzonite, perched high above the cacti at Echo Cove.

Great writeup, thanks!

Dean Rosnauwrote:

Posted this on another thread....

Back in 1977, and two years into the start of my climbing career, the Joshua Tree route 'EBGB's" was established. For the next two years, I walked the base beneath that intimidating block, only to experience an episode of sphincter tightening with each glance up that steep, frightening face. I finally drummed up the nerve to at least go clip the first bolt, and make half-baked attempts at the mantle start, only to weasel out. 

Early in 1979, I retired my green PA's, which had been acquired from a starving Brit in Camp 4 a few years prior. I managed to scrounge up enough cash to get my 16 year-old self shod with a brand new set of EB's, and I set about ticking off some routes that seemed unattainable in the aforementioned footwear. And so it was that I arrived, once again, at the foot of that bile-inducing pitch of quartz monzonite, perched high above the cacti at Echo Cove.

I was using these newfangled things I'd recently been turned on to....called 'quick runners'.....slings with two biners pre-attached, and then hung on a gear sling over my shoulder. My gear sling was a simple piece of 1' webbing, tied with a water knot. Wrapped in a 2" swami belt for a harness, and having added one extra 'quick runner' to my "rack", I headed up, clipped the first bolt, and felt mighty proud to pull off the mantle and begin the sidestep left to the second bolt. 

As I stepped past that second clip and onto the bulk of the face, that familiar sphincter clench hit me once again, but now, I wasn't at the base......I was into the business, and as intimidated as I'd ever been in my 4+ years of climbing. Time seemed to stand still as I made my way up, finally gaining the third bolt and making the clip. From here, the climbing above looked exceptionally daunting, and I considered lowering off. But my partner Jeff's constant words of encouragement calmed my nerves, and I grew more focused. 

With eyes lasered in on the 4th bolt above, I began the delicate dance on the upper face. Suddenly, as I neared said bolt, I heard a clinking sound, and watched in horror as the entirety of my rack fell down the face.....the water knot in my gear sling having come undone. I was well above the third bolt, and my only other carabiner was the locker on the front of my swami, holding my stitch plate. With both hands absolutely pasted to the wall, I had no ability to reach for the locker. I began to whimper, while Jeff started losing his mind. He suggested I try down-climbing, which I could only manage a pejorative response to. I was gripped out of my mind.

Minutes went by...with me resetting my feet constantly, trying to wrap my mind around a solution. Even Jeff's nerves began to fray, when finally, he nervously suggested, "Maybe you should just jump". Not wanting any part of that, I began to climb....move by agonizing move.....and further and further from that third bolt. The encouraging words from Jeff disappeared...there was only stone cold silence as I passed the fourth bolt.

Minutes later, and with painfully slow movement, I passed the last bolt and forged on into ground fall territory. After what seemed liked hours, I pulled the last few moves and collapsed in a cotton-mouthed heap onto the summit....completely unable to speak. 

Jeff was so shaken, he flat out refused to follow the route.

Wow, what an epic ascent!  The ends of water knots in webbing have a way of slowly creeping into the knot.  Before we had sewn ones, I saw this happen a few times with quickdraws made up with 9/16" webbing.  The IFMG-certified Exum guide Gary Falk died when he leaned out on a personal tether tied with a water knot which came undone when loaded.  It is still pretty common to find rappel tat tied with water knots---make sure to cast a jaundiced eye on the tails folks!

rgoldwrote:

Wow, what an epic ascent!  The ends of water knots in webbing have a way of slowly creeping into the knot.  Before we had sewn ones, I saw this happen a few times with quickdraws made up with 9/16" webbing.  The IFMG-certified Exum guide Gary Falk died when he leaned out on a personal tether tied with a water knot which came undone when loaded.  It is still pretty common to find rappel tat tied with water knots---make sure to cast a jaundiced eye on the tails folks!

Glad I read this. I really hate  tat with a passion and this only intensifies that hate 

Was doing a casual mileage day out in Josh, starting on bird on a wire. Linked the approach pitch and 2nd pitch and was planning to stop and belay before crossing over another route that intersected ours. The belay stance isn’t amazing by any means, but there is a distinct foot scoop that would make the verticality of the anchor manageable. Only had two larger cams left on my harness for the anchor, so I placed a three and a two, but the two opened inside the crack due to the flaring nature of the inside of the crack. The number 3 was bomb, so I clipped it and decided to hold onto it and look at my partner to yell down towards him and say, “Hey, can you take for a second?”, so that I could use two hands to manipulate the 2 in the flaring crack.

In the few seconds that followed as I waited to feel the tightening sensation of the rope, I heard a swift, “you’re off belay”. As soon as I heard that, I honestly started smiling and let out a little chuckle. My partner was an experienced guide, and we have climbed together countless times, so I thought it was quite humorous that he made such an error.

Of course, I call down, “I said take, not off belay!”, in the same humorous tone, and he immediately snaps into focus. I was looking down at him from the end of probably 170ft of rope out, and I have never seen someone throw on a grigri so fast.

Interestingly, he continuously blamed me for the encounter since he thought I said “take… (me off belay)” and just was in autopilot. I find it even more funny that during and after the encounter, he says it was still my fault because I said “take” and not “tension”, the latter of which him and I have probably never used whilst climbing together.

But all in all, no harm was done, and the fact that didn’t blindly weight the rope after calling down to take is what saved me from taking a big old tumble to the taulus. Those little redundant practices seem to be what keep most of us alive while out there.

As a side note, one of his best friends was on the route next to us as the situation unfolded, and he got to witness the fumble happen as well.

Orion Mariniwrote:

Was doing a casual mileage day out in Josh, starting on bird on a wire. Linked the approach pitch and 2nd pitch and was planning to stop and belay before crossing over another route that intersected ours. The belay stance isn’t amazing by any means, but there is a distinct foot scoop that would make the verticality of the anchor manageable. Only had two larger cams left on my harness for the anchor, so I placed a three and a two, but the two opened inside the crack due to the flaring nature of the inside of the crack. The number 3 was bomb, so I clipped it and decided to hold onto it and look at my partner to yell down towards him and say, “Hey, can you take for a second?”, so that I could use two hands to manipulate the 2 in the flaring crack.

In the few seconds that followed as I waited to feel the tightening sensation of the rope, I heard a swift, “you’re off belay”. As soon as I heard that, I honestly started smiling and let out a little chuckle. My partner was an experienced guide, and we have climbed together countless times, so I thought it was quite humorous that he made such an error.

Of course, I call down, “I said take, not off belay!”, in the same humorous tone, and he immediately snaps into focus. I was looking down at him from the end of probably 170ft of rope out, and I have never seen someone throw on a grigri so fast.

Interestingly, he continuously blamed me for the encounter since he thought I said “take… (me off belay)” and just was in autopilot. I find it even more funny that during and after the encounter, he says it was still my fault because I said “take” and not “tension”, the latter of which him and I have probably never used whilst climbing together.

But all in all, no harm was done, and the fact that didn’t blindly weight the rope after calling down to take is what saved me from taking a big old tumble to the taulus. Those little redundant practices seem to be what keep most of us alive while out there.

As a side note, one of his best friends was on the route next to us as the situation unfolded, and he got to witness the fumble happen as well.

If he'd made that kind of fuck-up with me and then blamed me like that I would have never ever climbed with him again. 

SethGwrote:

If he'd made that kind of fuck-up with me and then blamed me like that I would have never ever climbed with him again. 

This.

Was around 22 years old, jugging the last pitch of RNWF, only attached to the rope by my ascenders. Went to clean a piece, took one ascender off to untangle some junkshow and my other ascender popped off the rope. Started sliding down the very steep slab towards the ledge just up from the thank god ledge and somehow managed to grab the rope and squeeze with everything I had. Came to a stop level with a party at the belay, reclipped my ascenders, tied in short and put biners through the tops of the ascenders. Got to the top and my partner pointed out (a little too late) that I had been an idiot for not tying in or using any kind of backup. Probably the closest I’ve ever come to dying. Always tie into the rope while jugging and use backups, even if it means you go a little slower. 

Lava Lanes at Smith - forgot my ATC and had to do a knot block single strand rappel on gri-gri. Pulled rope after first rappel - I think I did a really shit job of my blocker knot (IOW, I didn't do it fucking right at all), and if I had had to do a bunch of kicking around on the wall or had suddenly unweighed and then re-weighed my rope, I think the knot could've popped through and I would've fallen a few hundred feet. 

Back in the 1980s, I would free solo at my leading ability level. If you can climb it with a rope with no falls, hangs,  or slips, and the rock is good, you can climb it without a rope if you can get your head on right. Such was my philosophy. I would only do hard solos when no one was there to watch - this is just for me, not to impress anyone.

I can't remember which route it was but it is in Joshua Tree on Echo Rock, right of Double Dip, left of Black Tide. I only had Wolfe's red guidebook with the f-scale ratings but I remember it as f11 which I equated with 10c. Steep slab, sparse bolts. I led it and though it was hard, and I spent some time figuring how to get through the crux, I did not fall or slip.

A few days later I was at Echo with no one around. I was soloing, had done several routes already, and walked to the base of the f11. This climb is hard, but I can do it, proved when I led it. Ok, let's go. Climb perfectly, solo head on, no mistakes allowed.

I started into the crux, remembering the holds and smears I had used and was quickly reminded that this was a hard climb. Another move and I decided this was not the day to solo this route. The move had felt tenuous and consequently scary. I was not solid, in control. There was too much luck involved in not falling. I was 35 or 40 feet up and decided to down climb. When I tried, I realized I could not reverse the moves without a high probability of falling.

Damn. I can't go down without almost certainly falling and from here, it will likely be a broken leg or ankle or both. And I am alone. If I can't go down, I can go up or stand here until I fall off. My best option for avoiding injury was up.

Very frightened, right on the edge of what I could do, I focused intently on staying calm and executing perfectly. I focused and pushed the fear away. Read the rock. Time slowed. One move, another, read, another. I got through the crux without falling, and the climbing got easier with each additional move up the slab.

I was very happy to top out and walk off. I had teetered on the edge of the abyss but had not fallen off - I had drawn up the mental and physical skills to hold it together and climb the route. I was disappointed that I had put myself in such a dangerous situation but hugely elated that I had kept it together and pulled it off.

A few years later I put myself in the same situation on a 5.11 Rex Hong put up in City of Rocks. I will never forget those experiences and am proud that both times I pushed the fear away and executed and lived. I know not to do this again, which is why I am still alive and climbing.

Orion Mariniwrote:

In the few seconds that followed as I waited to feel the tightening sensation of the rope, I heard a swift, “you’re off belay”. As soon as I heard that, I honestly started smiling and let out a little chuckle. My partner was an experienced guide, and we have climbed together countless times, so I thought it was quite humorous that he made such an error.

These stories are great reminders of how easily things can go wrong, even with experienced climbers. While it's definitely not cool that your partner was unwilling to look at himself and admit wrong doing, I can understand how it happened because on a trad climb you don't normally get to an anchor stance plug in a few pieces then yell "take". Of course you should be able to do that if you need to, it's just not what your belayer was expecting to come next. And we should probably not use "take me off belay" since it has two contradictory commands in the same phrase.

Jugging the fixed lines to Mammoth Terrace on El Cap the sheath of the rope I was on disintegrated and I started sliding down the rope until the sheath bunched up and I came to a stop with 20 feet of core exposed above me.   Fortunately there was another line right next to me that I was able to hop on.  The reason I didn't use that rope in the first place is that it looked worse than the one that failed.  Don't blindly trust fixed lines.

After 40 years I have a stunning number of incidents that should have ended badly. As we used to say about my friend Shannon, guess God keeps me alive for the amusement value.
One of the earliest: rapping into a cliff near Cashiers, got to a semi-hanging anchor before the last 150’ rap—did have an 1” wide edge to stand on an 80 degree wall. We’re heaving on the ropes, which are being difficult, and I’m telling my buddy Mark how my wife is pregnant and I’m going to be a daddy, then I glance down and realize I’ve come unclipped from the anchor and the only thing holding me upright is the friction on the rope we’re pulling.

a couple (of several) CA Rockies: 

We’re going up the NE buttress of Howse. After Greg leads out the traverse onto the N face there’s supposed to be a 5.6 pitch up. Nothing looks 5.6 (which turned out to be a semi waterfall around to the right), but there is a crack straight up with a nut hanging out of it. I manage to get up this, put in anchor, call out that he’s on, without thinking give the stance I’m on a little stamp for reassurance, and the refrigerator sized block cuts loose and arrows straight down at Greg who has nowhere to go. I’m screaming ‘rock! Rock!’ but I know instantly as I watch it zero in on him that I’m about to watch my friend die. At the last instant he throws himself to the left slamming me into the anchor and the rock just clips his leg, which fortunately, unbelievably, is not broken (this would be a horrendous place for a rescue, especially in ‘93). Always the font of human sympathy, once I realize he’s okay (other than a lower leg that blows up twice its size) I insist we keep going up. God shakes his head, I’ll show asshole, and hits us with several inches of snow that night. Retreating the next day we find an old bong, which I back up with a 4 friend. After he raps I pull the friend, cause these things cost nearly $50. When I go over the roof below I’m free hanging a couple of thousand feet above the glacier and decide then I probably could have afforded the $50.

A few years later David and me are going to do the center ice bulge on fay in a day, and we’re on the summit by 7pm. But the west ridge rap route looks to me like a great way to die, so we head down the south side and get off the mountain on the opposite side of where we need to be. Hike down one glacier then up another to try and reach the hut. It’s August, we’re sure the holes are open and we’re really too whupped to fuck with the rope. By 1am, nearing the top of that glacier and approaching 24 hrs on the move, my foot pops into a hole. Still too whupped and nearly off, still don’t break out the rope, just probe as I move. And then I move again and blow right through, throwing out my arms and catching myself shoulder deep in a giant hole. Can’t reach either side with me feet, which just dangle in space over a 100’ drop into the crevasse. Had Managed to hold onto my axe and with nothing left to lose manage to roll over a shoulder and swing as far as I could back (and managing to think as I do, ‘you gotta make this stick’) where I came from and pull myself out. There have been several other shoulda died times but that is no question THE time I shoulda died, every day since then is gravy. (Well, Ellison’s cave, too. And nearly dying in an ice avalanche in NC, which requires real cleverness. But that was the no shit time.)

Coda: we made it back to the truck and lIke any good climbers after such an adventure dropped the tailgate, broke out the booze, and at 9am proceeded to get hammered in the parking lot at Mirror Lake, which is filling with tourists, who see these two beat to shit smell like puke bums getting hammered and herd the kids to the far side of the lot as they hustle them by. Then we get hungry, decide to hit the bakery in Lake Louise, where the Mounties have a road block. Somehow they only want to ticket us for not wearing our seatbelts, and the last thing the Mountie cheerfully says is, “we just wouldn’t want you to get hurt while you’re visiting us.’ I couldn’t help it, I just started laughing hysterically. That’s when they busted us.

I was standing on a little foot ledge on Leaning Tower, getting ready to rap. I was “cleaning up” the anchor and realized that I had completely untied myself from the anchor!

Mark Hudonwrote:

I was standing on a little foot ledge on Leaning Tower, getting ready to rap. I was “cleaning up” the anchor and realized that I had completely untied myself from the anchor!

Been there done that.  Right in the middle of Spaceshot in Zion after a long exhausting day with little food and water.  Just a dumb mistake but one I won't forget