Serious accident in Kenya — with an update two years later

In February I had a serious accident, from which I’m still recovering. I wanted to write down my experience partly for my own processing, but also because it may be helpful for others.

I went to climb at Ndeiya, a basalt crag near Nairobi. I had never been there before but was going with a friend who had, in addition to my wife and my friend’s climbing partner for the day. Which leads to my first mistake: failing to adequately research the routes because I assumed I would just follow my friend’s advice. This is especially relevant in Kenya, where most routes don’t get much traffic and choss is plentiful. This particular crag was developed decades ago, but has not seen many ascents since then, which should have raised a larger warning flag. 

I had my eye on a 5.10a crack called Party Grooves, but I hopped on a random VDiff (5.6?) called Morning Shade as a warm-up, choosing it mainly just because it wasn’t in the sun. It was a bit of a sandbag, very “traditional,” and I could kind of tell that the rock quality was not great, but everything was going fine until I went off route. The description was from the original 1968 guide book and was a bit skimpy, but I recognize now that I probably got tunnel vision and failed to see relevant landmarks. Not a serious mistake on its own, but I started up a dihedral where the gear became thin. Some distance after a good #3 cam, I placed two brassies that I had very little confidence in, as surface contact was poor and I could see it would be easy for the surrounding rock to break off. Which leads to my next mistake: though the climbing was not hard, I was feeling quite nervous about being runout on bad gear in an unfamiliar area, but I didn’t heed what my own gut was trying to tell me. I should have stopped to fully consider my options at that point, even including bailing, which never entered my mind. Though I have occasionally bailed in the past, I think I had become overconfident, not imagining that I could possibly fall at such an easy grade. I think I had also become perhaps too sanguine about easy runouts after handling them fine in other places, albeit ones with better rock quality.

My wife, who was belaying me, could not see me but could sense I was faffing around. She looked at the description on her phone, and asked if I could see the tree I was supposed to be headed toward. I realized it was a good distance directly horizontally to my left, and decided to remove the brassies to avoid rope drag from the acute angle. In retrospect I’m not sure if this was a mistake. The brassies probably would not have held a fall, but maybe it was better than having nothing at all in after the good cam, for the off chance they could have (though I would likely have pendulumed back and hit the wall). 

In any case, at this point I began to traverse. I remember thinking it seemed a bit harder than the grade, but I had heard the crag was notorious for being sandbagged, and it was still not really hard for me. In retrospect, the difficulty should have been another sign not to keep going that way, because in fact I was supposed to reach the tree from a much easier traverse below.

About halfway along the runout traverse, I grabbed a little crimp that seemed solid on cursory inspection, and used it to try to bring my body over to the left — and that’s when I fell. Even though the wall was low-angled and I was pulling down on the crimp and not out, the force was enough to break it off. I had time to say “falling” and “oh no” twice before I landed in the notch of a big fig tree on a ledge. My friend would return the next day to retrieve gear, and from my chalk marks he estimated that I had fallen nine meters. All of the impact was taken by my left thigh, which I could see draped unnaturally over a horizontal section of trunk. My femur was obviously broken (technically “comminuted,” with two small fragments splintering off). My wife shouted panickedly asking if I was OK, but the wind had been knocked out of me and it took me a few moments to respond “I’m alive.” On reflection, I was very lucky that I didn’t land on my back or my head, or I might have ended up paralyzed or dead.

I know that I hit the tree before the #3 cam could take much or any of the force of the fall. I don’t precisely remember the moments following this, but I knew I had to get down and I surely had lots of adrenaline, so I had my wife take up the remaining slack and then lower me from the cam. I used my arms and my good leg to maneuver myself, despite what I can confidently describe as the worst pain in my life. In retrospect it may have been a mistake to trust a single piece like this, but it worked and was ultimately way better than waiting for our other friends to somehow get me down. Kenya is not like Yosemite: there are no trained rescuers for climbing accidents. Even the Air Force lacks a helicopter with a winch. Which leads to another reflection: I had not even thought about the difficulty of being rescued in place like this. But if my injuries had been immediately life-threatening, I almost certainly would not have survived. 

Several hours later an air ambulance service brought two doctors and two soldiers by helicopter. Unfortunately the doctors were physically very unfit and could barely get up the steep, loose hill to the base of the crag. But they did bring painkillers and a spine board. And again I was lucky, because the arrival of the helicopter brought out all the Maasai from a nearby village. It was dark by the time we started back down, and the out of shape doctors probably could not have carried me back down the steep, loose slope even with the help of my (very small) wife, my two friends, and the two soldiers. It was hard enough with the help of an array of strong young men from the village. Along the way the people carrying me inevitably tripped, and everyone else had to fight to keep the spineboard steady.

I plan to do a separate post later on my recovery from the fractured femur, but suffice to say the immediate aftermath was very bad. The fracture caused something called fat embolism syndrome, which in turn caused microhemorrhages in my brain that left me non compos mentis for the better part of a week. It also caused ischemia in my retinas that has left me with lasting visual impairments, though they are getting better slowly. 

I do plan to return to climbing, including trad, because I love it and want to believe I can minimize many of the risks going forward. I will certainly never go into a gear lead so underprepared, under-researched. I will try to avoid dodgy rock, probably including most alpine rock, even though I have really enjoyed that stuff in the past. Ironically I may prefer harder, steeper routes where there’s less to hit in a fall. I will probably pick routes that are easy to bail from, and try to remember that I can always buy more gear if I need to leave some behind. And I will listen to my gut when things don’t seem right. (Luckily I’m moving soon to Northern California, which seems a good place for many of these parameters. Specifically thinking Yosemite!)

But I still have questions I’m not sure how to answer yet. The biggest one is: am I fooling myself by thinking I can climb “safely,” that I can climb into old age without another major accident? It seems like anyone who’s been climbing long enough knows at least one climber who has died or been seriously injured — I personally know one of each category. Is the joy worth the risk? 

Another hard question: will I actually be able to enjoy (trad) climbing again? The memory of that day still haunts me, the images burned into my brain. Maybe I’ll end up just sport climbing, and maybe that’s fine. But I’ve been dreaming of Yosemite for a while now…

For others who have come back from a serious accident, what rules did you set, and what strategies did you adopt, mental and otherwise? 

One easier question: how can I improve my route-finding so that I can avoid getting off route again? It’s not the first time this has been an issue. 

I welcome any other thoughts about how to deal with all this.

Only you will be able to answer your questions. My advice - don't endlessly beat yourself up over woulda coulda shouldas. Don't fret over whether you return to climbing or not. Don't dwell on the "but I thought I'd be climbing into my old age" vision. Just put one foot in front of the other, metaphorically AND physically, and see where it takes you. And if it doesn't bring you back to good headspace on lead climbing, really, is that so bad? There IS life after climbing - you know it, I know it, most of us know it. If you can't climb rock perhaps you'll find joys in climbing hills, or maybe not. Just let it flow.

Thats a lot to recover from both physically and mentally. Good luck to you.

I had an accident in which I fell, unroped, down a 4th class chimney. I felt very confident in this terrain and it was just a stupid slip. I tumbled head first down the chimney coming to a stop head down, feet up in the air about 8ft from the upper anchor of a 100m rap. I somehow was not seriously injured so I cannot speak to the physical recovery you are embarking on, but here are some items that worked for me to quickly get back to climbing:

-No more unroped, easy climbing (I have a 7 yo son and its not worth it)

-I never push my limits for on-sight trad

-I tend to pick routes with good pro and carry more than is probably needed

-I research the hell out of routes

-I do my best not to let my ego win and allow myself to take or back-off when feeling pumped or off-route

This was probably about 5 years ago and Ive still climbed a lot since then (for a dad with a full-time, in-person job). 

But a big realization was that I mainly love my time/adventures because they are in the mountains, not because they are right at my limit. Many of my favorite climbs have been big, easy alpine routes or even scrambles. And there are more than enough of those to chase for the remainder of my life.

Jake wander wrote:

Thats a lot to recover from both physically and mentally. Good luck to you.

I had an accident in which I fell, unroped, down a 4th class chimney. I felt very confident in this terrain and it was just a stupid slip. I tumbled head first down the chimney coming to a stop head down, feet up in the air about 8ft from the upper anchor of a 100m rap. I somehow was not seriously injured so I cannot speak to the physical recovery you are embarking on, but here are some items that worked for me to quickly get back to climbing:

-No more unroped, easy climbing (I have a 7 yo son and its not worth it)

-I never push my limits for on-sight trad

-I tend to pick routes with good pro and carry more than is probably needed

-I research the hell out of routes

-I do my best not to let my ego win and allow myself to take or back-off when feeling pumped or off-route

This was probably about 5 years ago and Ive still climbed a lot since then (for a dad with a full-time, in-person job). 

But a big realization was that I mainly love my time/adventures because they are in the mountains, not because they are right at my limit. Many of my favorite climbs have been big, easy alpine routes or even scrambles. And there are more than enough of those to chase for the remainder of my life.

Hire guides.. they'll be rope gun and also pick safe routes to second, etc. And you'll be climbing until a very late age! They'll help you pick safe routes to lead etc as well... and youre supporting a local economy!

Thanks for posting. Your reflections are useful.

I agree with Cherokee... try not to let the brain go wild. You've analyzed the accident wisely, it seems to me. Now you can move forward. The trauma/emotional stuff might take some time, but time does heal, especially if you're proactive with some therapeutic exercises. Take it a day/climb at a time. 

Also, I'm in the Bay Area. Hit me up if you wanna climb. Good luck!  : )

Jake wander wrote:

…here are some items that worked for me to quickly get back to climbing…

That sounds absolutely terrifying. These are some great points — thanks for sharing.

Thanks also to Cherokee and Eric for the wise responses.

Tim, your idea is a good one perhaps for more ambitious climbs, but making a habit of it I fear I would quickly go broke!

Sorry to hear about this horrible accident, Alex - glad you made it out and are able to reflect on all of it! I'll add my thoughts to the pile of good advice and perspectives already in the thread:

I've climbed at Ndeiya a good amount - even the "popular" routes have loose rock. Nick's accident a year or two ago is another sign that the less-traveled routes there should be considered quite dangerous and could use some good cleaning/trundling on rappel. One of my formative climbing memories in Kenya is getting off-route on Nutcracker in the upper corner (which you may know is the goofiest place to get off route) and being forced to bail by whipping big onto a pink tricam... a situation that could have also turned out badly if it had ripped. The reality is that we all make these kinds of mistakes (off route, bad rock, too runout) but only a few of us are unlucky enough to suffer the consequences. For every bad accident there's countless stories of close-calls and countless more instances that don't even have a story. If that crimp hadn't snapped on you this may have just been a forgotten memory by now. It's good that you're evaluating what you can learn but try not to beat yourself up.

A lot of the advice here is solid but is not quite relevant to Kenya. There's hardly guide services, there's little to no beta on the routes, and it's incredibly easy to go off route because most routes see very little traffic and they tend not to follow splitter crack systems. It's a tough place to learn to climb and pretty unforgiving as soon as you go off the beaten path of the two dozen or so trade routes around Nairobi. There's a reason I never really pushed my physical limits there - E1 at Lukenya felt like a huge accomplishment. So much of my climbing was spent totally gripped, way too far above gear, and more akin to swimming through choss than real climbing. There's a technique to moving through high-consequence terrain when the rock may be suspect (don't trust one hold, pull down and push when you can, 3 points of contact, be tense and ready for anything to rip) but you can still just get unlucky. I've also spent almost as much time bailing as topping out, which again is a skillset that benefits from practice. You'll probably find that your experiences, good and bad, have given you a toolkit that will make you a safer and more capable climber in the future.

The good news is that you're moving to a place with bomber rock, endless beta, and a ton of traffic so you should be able to find plenty of enjoyable, well protected climbing as you ease back into it. I wouldn't write off alpine rock - the Sierra trade routes are orders of magnitude more solid than a lot of what you've climbed in Kenya. But as Cherokee said, you also know that climbing isn't the be-all of life so stay open to the many amazing outdoor experiences that California has to offer. Also don't underestimate the benefit of a therapist after a traumatic event like your accident - many people have to deal with PTSD after something like that.

If you ever find yourself up around Seattle don't hesitate to reach out!

Big Red wrote:

There's a technique to moving through high-consequence terrain when the rock may be suspect (don't trust one hold, pull down and push when you can, 3 points of contact, be tense and ready for anything to rip) 

This is a point worth highlighting. I kind of knew it but in retrospect did not fully respect it on the somewhat dynamic move that made me fall. Previously on alpine rock routes I had encountered plenty of choss, but it was almost always something obviously semi-detached from the mountain – a loose flake, a block, etc. For a crimp that is part of the wall itself, the standard test of knocking to check if it sounds hollow is less informative.

Sorry about your accident. That’s tough and let me know if I can help any with  your recovery while you’re still in Kenya!

Yeah the climbing in Kenya is unique. A lot of the guides or route descriptions we still use today are from the 60’s or 70’s. Coming from the States, I’ve had to do a lot of learning in the old British climbing vernacular to help with route finding. Things like a splitter crack being called a “square cut groove”, dogleg meaning a sharp turn and how landmarks are described, ie sentry boxes, anglepoise, etc. At times it feels like topo’s here are a bit of a puzzle to solve in themselves. I’ve often spent a long time at a base of a route reading over and over a topo. Sometimes after 30-min it finally clicks and you finally see what the topo is describing. But even at the end of the day, routes in Kenya will be more adventurous and often more dangerous, even when your on route, than found elsewhere. I mean the less traveled routes often feel like your climbing a first ascent when repeated. Definitely getting out with those who are familiar with an area when you’re new to a place can help you learn the unique subtleties of the area that can help keep you safe. I’ve definitely bailed a fair share here and, especially lukenya, is very easy to setup a top rope to sus out gear or rehearse moves before giving it a lead go because plenty of the routes there are basically solos due to the lack of gear.

At the end of the day, most people climb sport because that removes a lot of the risk found in Trad climbing, which is what I think also draws a lot of us to Trad climbing. Calculating risks is what we do and unfortunately sometimes things don’t go our way. Thanks for sharing your insights. I hope to get out on the rock with you once you’re all healed up!

I'm sorry to hear about your injury. Best wishes for your recovery.

I had a serious accident some years ago that had some features in common with yours. I found myself seriously run out and had the option of either downclimbing or continuing to an anchor, which I had nearly reached. I was confident of my ability to make the necessary move, so I just went for it, and the hold broke off in my hands.

I don't think anything in your story or mine demonstrates an inherent, unacceptable risk in climbing. Both of us just made bad decisions.

Rock quality is important. I don't go places anymore where it's questionable.

Ben Crowell wrote:

Rock quality is important. I don't go places anymore where it's questionable.

Thanks Ben. I had definitely underrated this previously. Curious what kind of rock it was, and/or the venue?

And Claty, I really admire your resilience. It’s true my leg is somewhat different now — apart from the titanium rod inserted into the bone, it’s slightly more internally rotated — though I’m told I will adapt with physical therapy…

Hi Alex,

Wow, I’m very sorry this happened to you. Reading your story brought back a lot of emotions for me.

I had a pretty bad accident in Norway almost 3 years ago that resulted in a broken leg, a helicopter rescue and a souvenir in the form of 9 screws and a metal plate. I won’t go into details about it, but the point is:

You will enjoy climbing again! I am sure of it. But it can be a struggle and really scary. I can still panic and even begin to cry if there’s even the slightest risk of a swing, or I’m on a traverse section. You experienced real trauma.

Keep climbing, when you are ready. Take it easy. Celebrate that you even get back on the wall.
It can be a real struggle to have a major setback in your climbing and training. Try to be ok with it – even though that is A LOT easier said than done. But it does get better.

This was not your fault. Accidents happen. You can mitigate risk as much as possible – my partner now tells me that if we need to leave a piece of gear behind that is ok, and he is right.  

But maybe my best advice would be:

Find a physio you really trust and who listens to you. I went through multiple physios who didn’t take me or my continuing pain seriously. Until someone finally did.
It turned out I had an inflamed nerve due to a small, dislodged piece of bone that had broken off, pressing in on a nerve. No one had noticed – even after multiple x-rays, MRIs and ultrasounds.
This is just my experience of course, but finding the right physio really changed my recovery.

Oh, I actually also did trauma therapy. I might not be for everyone, but it helped me a lot.

Many healing thoughts your way and all the best wishes for your recovery, you got this!

Everyone reacts differently after an accident- some give it away, others start back as if nothing happened. I spent at least 2 years after my accident in a strange place. During the week I would look forward to climbing on the weekend but come Friday I would be scared and Saturday terrified. I had the FEAR. I just kept at it and eventually it got better. I no longer climb like I am invincible but the joy has come back. It is over 25 years ago now though. Interestingly I came back climbing by crack climbing. Sport climbing can feel scary if even a little run out. However with a crack you can place gear above you and climb up to it. Essentially top rope your way to the top. You need lots of well protected cracks for this.
good luck with whatever you choose but it sounds like you want to climb again so do it and just see how it goes 

Cecilie Skytte wrote:

Find a physio you really trust and who listens to you.

This is key. I feel lucky to have found a great one here in Nairobi, makes a huge difference.

And J Kug, yeah, I think I’ll be sewing up a lot of cracks before I can contemplate any kind of runout again…

Glad to hear both of you were able to get back to it.

Hey, Alex, I am sorry to hear about your accident.

I had a fall on a low angle terrain and broke my back and got a bad concussion. My piece held, my belayer caught me, but it was a bad fall.

What helped me was to get treatment for PTSD with an awesome therapist. It was affecting not just climbing but my whole life so I am glad that is over.

As for change in my climbing, I prefer clean steep angled rock that is well traveled and protectable. I don’t feel trad is any more dangerous than sport as long as it is protectable so that has not been a factor. I will no longer climb in areas with real rock fall potential. One of my friend’s kid got disabled from a rock fall after my accident and my brain went into a complex PTSD per my therapist so now I have a rock fall issue as well as low angle terrain one.  Likely alpine is not in the future because it often involves sketchy rock and need to be ok with low angle committing terrain, but plenty of rock in lower elevation where I live so I am ok with this too. I find that these days I have more fun on climbs that I find well within my limit and have stopped pushing myself on lead. Coming back from 2 years of injury (my body went into some hyper inflammatory state where I kept getting injured after the initial recovery from the actual accident), I train extra hard and work hard outside with hope that I will be able to climb all the same routes, just with different timing. And maybe even harder routes than before the accident. But if it doesn’t happen I am fine with that too. These days I just want to have a fun and injury free day out. 

Sorry to hear about this. Read Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzales. He does a good job explaining why we make mistakes like not downclimbing or stopping to reassess terrain/beta. Basically emotion over logic. Good read and sheds some light on why accidents happen to smart and capable people 

Two years later, I wanted to write an update about my recovery and return to climbing — partly, again, for my own processing, but also because I hope others in similar situations may find it useful. 

Before I get into the details, I'll just say that I have been climbing trad at an equal or higher level than ever before — and in Yosemite, which was the dream. And even more importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy it again — for the most part.

Now I'll rewind to 2023. I broke my left femur in February. My excellent Kenyan orthopedist told me to expect the physical recovery to take the better part of a year. I was 39 at the time — “young,” I was told, which always helps. And I was very motivated. But I had a deeper-than-usual hole to dig myself out of, for a few reasons. One, my hip stabilizer muscles had been mashed into the fracture site in such a way that my ortho had to pluck them out during the procedure to insert a titanium rod into my femur. An unusually large amount of muscle was thus lost to scar tissue. Two, I spent a week non compos mentis at the hospital due to the fat embolism that affected my brain, which I mentioned in my initial post. Typically following a femur fracture, providers want you to start physical therapy literally the next day to avoid atrophy. I have no memory of this, but I apparently could not understand that my leg was broken (and thought everyone in the hospital was trying to kill me), so I could not start physical therapy until that passed. Lastly, when physical therapy did start, my therapists probably underemphasized strengthening of the gluteus medius and minimus, at least initially. 

Still, I made rehab my job. Multiple sessions a day. By May I was starting to walk without a crutch. By July I was top-roping at the local Nairobi crag, Lukenya. I didn't really know at that point if I would return to leading on gear or otherwise, but it felt so good to be able to use my body again, and to be outdoors after having spent weeks at a time cooped up inside our compound. In August I camped at Hells Gate national park, where I had previously climbed some sketchy trad routes, and took enormous pleasure in being able to do a short hike and even scramble a bit. 

I was making great progress when my wife and I moved to San Francisco in October 2023. On a trip home to New Mexico, I led my first sport climbs since my accident — a very easy 5.8 in White Rock and then a 5.9 and a 5.10a that I’d done before at Diablo Canyon. They all felt pretty good! 

But then I had a major setback. Turns out I was a little *too* motivated. On the advice of a physical therapist here in SF, I was starting to do (partial) single-leg squats. I was not resting enough, in addition to hiking and gym climbing, and it was simply too much, too soon. During a rehab session one day my left hip started hurting, and after that the pain was so intense that I found it impossible to hike anymore. I was diagnosed with gluteal tendinopathy, which is famously difficult to rehab. To make matters worse, I developed pretty bad knee pain during rehab exercises with a new physical therapist. I learned the hard way just how hard it is to find truly good physical therapy.

Prior to my setback, I had made campsite reservations in Yosemite for April 2024. The day before our first one, I felt like such an invalid that I nearly canceled it. I could barely walk uphill. But climbing was actually easier than walking because I could use my hands. And my wife helped me to realize that it would be nice just to be there and camp even if climbing proved too difficult, so we went.

I remember the strange mix of emotions as we entered the Valley. It was this place that had loomed so large in my imagination, a place I had so often dreamed about over the decade I had been climbing. And of course it was (and is) strikingly beautiful — in a way that, to this day, still hits me every single time. But I also had a foreboding feeling because I was planning to climb on gear for the first time since my accident. I got flashes -- not so much visual as visceral -- of the day of my accident, the worst day of my life. But a journalist friend who worked on trauma told me something that I took to heart: not every traumatic experience leads to PTSD. I made a point of not avoiding the subject of my accident, so as not to increase its power. Meditation teaches you something similar: when you try to push something away, you increase its salience.

It was a Friday afternoon and we went straight to Swan Slab, which has a nice easy approach though my wife still carried most of the gear (she's very strong). She had offered to take the lead on Swan Slab Gully (5.6, classic Yosemite beginner route) but she also hadn't led anything on gear since before my accident. She also had zero experience with Yosemite granite. And she had generally always been more reluctant to jump on the sharp end. So I took the lead myself.

I got so gripped. Sure it’s 5.6, but it’s kind of awkward if you’re not used to Yosemite granite. I think I placed an entire double rack on the first, short pitch — which is all we did before bailing off the tree. I didn't enjoy it at all, but it felt like a necessary step if I wanted to get back to trad climbing. I spent the rest of the weekend top-roping, much more pleasant. And as cliche as it may sound, being in nature really was healing.

Having read a little bit about exposure therapy, I'm pretty sure I went too fast. I think you're supposed to ever so incrementally increase your exposure so that you don't get overwhelmed, have a bad time, and actually increase your aversion. But what can I say, I was torn between abject fear and impatient eagerness. The next weekend I tried to lead Claude’s Delight (5.7). I had already top-roped it and knew I could climb it, but when I reached an awkward section that required a slightly committing move, I froze up. I looked below and could see I really did not want to fall on that low-angled terrain. I placed another piece and shouted down to my wife that, once I managed to get past this section, I was going to bail off a tree. I thought to myself, “I hate this, I don't know why I thought I could do this, and when I get to the ground I'm going to sell all my gear and move on.” But to her credit — and only she could know that this was the right approach for me, and also only she had this kind of credibility with me — she encouraged me to continue to the top, saying, “Doesn’t it ease off after the tree?” It helped that there were ants swarming on the tree, and ants in the cracks above, so I had a little choice but to keep moving reasonably quickly. I reached the anchor, and even as I was lowering I realized that in fact I did still want to do this, for some reason.

What is that reason? I'm still not entirely sure. People talk about climbing as some kind of spiritual experience, but without judging those who believe this, it never quite fit for me personally. I love being outdoors in beautiful places, but you can be outdoors in beautiful places and just hike, which is a lot safer. I love the movement and the feeling of improvement, but you can get most if not all of that in a gym. In the end I think it's because it's the most engaging experience I’ve ever found. Nothing else has ever absorbed me so fully. Which also partly explains why trad climbing captivated me more than sport climbing ever did: it's the full package, mental as well as physical. I did wonder if it was like drugs — which I used to do quite a lot of in my younger days. But that's a bad analogy, because drugs are passive: you ingest and feel the effects. With climbing you have to put your own effort in. I still ask myself if I *should* be climbing. I don’t know the answer. But I keep climbing.

Gradually the balance between fear and enjoyment shifted toward enjoyment. And as I gradually took on larger approaches and longer climbs and descents, my leg strengthened to the point that it wasn’t really a limiting factor anymore. I did a lot of top-roping and following stronger climbers, and this was hugely helpful because it showed me what level I was capable of climbing at, with no stress. I did a lot of bailing when leading multis with my wife and things didn’t feel right, and considered this a victory every time. It definitely helped that she was my partner on most of my multipitch leads over the summer, because I could gut-check with her: “Is this OK?” And she could reassure me that I wasn't doing anything unreasonable. For obvious reasons, I’m pretty picky now about partners for anything committing.

I did discover that I strongly prefer steeper routes where any falls will be clean. Over the summer I took some big whippers on 5.10 gear routes and felt totally chill. I led a couple of 5.8 face routes that were well-bolted by Tuolumne standards, but very spicy by sport-climbing standards with 20-25-foot runouts, and also felt pretty chill. But put me on a 5.6 ledgy/blocky runout and I was again gripped by fear. The fear has grown less intense over time, but it has never gone away and I don't think it ever will. I realized that overcoming fear is not the goal. Overcoming *irrational* fear is the goal. *Rational* fear keeps me safe. And if I overreact rather than underreact to danger, that’s OK! I've tried to be kind with myself, and I've been pretty successful at this, remembering that any day in the mountains where nothing bad happens is a gift, no matter the frustrations.

I've basically decided that I have no intention of returning to doing alpine or “adventure” routes where rock quality is more questionable and rescue is more difficult. I do have some longer moderate multis on my to-do list, but I find them more mentally tiring than before and am much more interested in cragging than before. And this is fine too!

Now I'm entering a new chapter of life, climbing-wise and otherwise: My wife is having a baby. It will be interesting to see how that changes things. (Will I become a gym-bro?)