The rocks are gritty, high and steep,
But I have a promise to keep,
And holds to go before I sleep,
And holds to go before I sleep.
The rocks are gritty, high and steep,
The rocks in Bishop, CA are far from home, carried by glaciers and abandoned. Their arrangement is haphazard, like a child placing Lego pieces in the middle of a living room. A lone piece here. A clump there. Another lone piece way out there. It’s a boulderer’s paradise. The boulders are tall, short, casual, hard, and always gritty.
But I have a promise to keep,
I’m here for a week. I’m alone and all too aware of the risks I’m taking. I have the biggest “crash pad” I can carry, but if I misplace it and fall elsewhere, it’ll do me no good. But progress in climbing is measured in holds, not in “top outs” (climbing onto the top of a boulder). So, I promised myself I would focus on making just one more move.
And holds to go before I sleep,
The holds resemble dry cookie dough with too many chocolate chunks (crystals, in this case) sticking out in every direction. They feel different every time you grab one, and I know what’s coming. Soon, my skin will be pink and raw. It will burn even to hold my stainless steel water bottle. My skin will be done, but I will not. I grit my teeth and tell myself, “Mind over matter.”
And holds to go before I sleep.
My hands start to burn and I ignore it. The temps are far from ideal. It’s summertime, after all. The sun is coming for me and when it does, the rock will warm. With my shredded skin, it’ll feel like touching a hot stove (probably). I won’t get another week off for the foreseeable future. I pull myself back on the rock, wincing as I do, but there’s something about dancing with this boulder. Maybe it’s joy. Maybe it’s love. Whatever it is, in this moment, I am sure I have never been happier.