I wouldn’t have chosen the Nears today, a day that’s only barely gorgeous for February. The Nears get more wind and less sun than the Trapps, but today is Todd’s day to choose, so here we are. There are an awful lot of scary-hard 7s and 8s in the Nears. Maybe we ought to walk over here more often.

We start with Disneyland, a classic and usually over-booked 5.6. I’m pretty sure I’ve led it before but don’t remember. I certainly don’t remember doing the “crux mantle move” and am fairly sure I won’t be doing it this time. I make my way up the pitch slowly, approaching the move, then do nothing like a mantle, or at least nothing like a mantle that any real climber would admit to doing, more of a squirmy wiggle up onto the finishing ledge. We walk off from Disneyland, triumphant and only a little cold.

Todd wants to do Yellow Belly next, a two-pitch 5.8. The first pitch, rated 5.7, will be mine. It seems ideal, nothing too terrifying for either of us this early in the season. But upon looking at the topo we see that the first pitch goes up the corner to the roof, then detours under the roof around to the left, pulls around that corner, goes up, pulls back around another corner, etc. I can feel the rope drag already. We check the topo in the other guidebook and find something completely different. The other book shows the first pitch pulling the roof directly. It also rates the first pitch at 5.8.

“Look,” I say. “I’m just going to pull the roof. It’s well protected, one move of 5.8 roof and then it looks like 5.4 climbing to the top.” When will I ever learn? We don’t rate routes 5.8 because they have one move of 5.8 roof and then 5.4 climbing to the top at the Gunks. Those we rate 5.6.

I dance easily up the opening corner, drifting right onto the face below the roof as the crack in the corner widens into an off-width. I reach the roof feeling smooth and confident with only a couple of pieces beneath me.

Ouch. Damn helmet. I can’t get close enough under the roof to place gear. Bang, smash. I’d like to take the friggin thing off. Bump.

“Damn it!”

When I finally manage to get a couple of pieces in, I’m excited about the idea of pulling this roof just so I can get out from under it. I reach over the roof as high as I can and find a bomber finger lock for my left hand. I bounce my feet, can’t find a good place for them, finally put my left knee up, not that that helps. The next holds, the horizontal above me, seem just out of reach, but I make a final push and snag the horizontal with my right hand. Uh oh. Not bomber, dude. Not bomber enough that I feel like taking my left hand out of that finger lock, not without any feet anyway.

Scurry back down. Hide under roof. Bang. Damn it! Breathe hard.

“I think a bit of height might help here,” I tell Todd, remembering the thing that looked like a jug over my head and off to my right.

I take a second stab, worse than the first. Knee hurts now. I know I’m not supposed to put it up there but my foot just won’t go.

Scurry back down. Hide under roof. Smash. Damn. Breathe hard.

“Can you get some gear in over the roof?” Todd asks. Of course, the old gear in over the roof trick. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Maybe,” I tell him.

For the third time I put my pinky finger into the finger jam that is becoming less and less apprecicated for its bomberness. Where could gear go? Not where that finger jam is but maybe in the horizontal where it curves around to the right. In fact, if I could just grab that jug . . . Somehow it’s not as far away as it looked. Jug, mama, jug. I wrench my fingers out of the finger lock, almost believing they aren’t going to come out this time, and put my other hand on the horizontal and now I can get my feet over the roof. I’m here!

Smash. Ouch. Bloody helmet. There’s another roof over this roof.

I’ve got just about my whole arm sunk into the horizontal. My head might go in if it weren’t for the helmet. My back against the side wall, both feet under me, up to my butt. There isn’t enough room in this alcove for me and my helmet and the rock and the rack. The rack. Yes, put a piece in. First piece goes in, hallelujah, just have to clip it. Seriously consider clipping it straight to my belay loop. No, hang a runner. Should clip it long here. Can’t do it. Might want to hang right now. Draw then. Consider clipping straight into it again. No, pull up the rope. Won’t go in. Slipping down, just friction keeping me up here, had to let go of the jug to place the gear, sliding, I can tell. Clipped. Safe.

Immediately I want to get out of here. A simple escape to my left and I’ll be standing, standing like a normal human being stands, just standing. I want it so bad.

I move to the left, just need to grab the edge of this big crack up here and pull myself into it. I don’t believe I can do it. I’m exhausted, my hands are numb from fishing around in cold, damp cracks, the pinky won’t regain feeling for two weeks, my gear is all the way down there at my feet. I crawl back into the alcove.

“Why did you go back in there?” Todd asks me later.

“I needed to rest,” I tell him.

“I didn’t find it very restful there,” he says.

“Neither did I,” I agree, “but it was close to my gear.”

Somehow I manage to warm my hands up and sally forth from the alcove once more. This time, all goes well and before too much longer I’m slumping down on the belay ledge, wishing I could just lay here but knowing that I have to set an anchor, pull up the rope, put Todd on belay.

I’m flattered when Todd pokes his head over the roof and retreats back down before pulling it, then know he’s in the alcove when I hear him laughing to himself. He makes quick work of the rest and now it’s his turn.

From the belay we can see that someone has bailed from the tree (twig!) above us. Hmmm. Must get hard up there or something. With a few false starts, Todd gets up into the crux of the second pitch, stuck in an alcove below a roof, where else?

“I think you want to go left,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I think so too,” he says with deep regret.

I don’t know what to tell him except that from down here it looks pretty easy. When he commits to the moves he makes it look easy too.

My hands have gone numb from the cold while belaying, I’m glad to be climbing again. At least I’m glad until I crawl into that alcove.

Smash. Damn. This route ought to come with a no-helmet warning. It’s cozy in Todd’s alcove, a lot more comfortable than mine was. I could stay here all day. I ponder the possibility that I will stay here all day since it’s totally unclear how I’m going to leave here. Have to turn around the other way (bang). Okay. Nasty little horizontal, no feet. This is one of those stinking fingertip traverses is what this is. I decide that I’m going to use the one foothold the wall offers, way up and off to the side. I undercling the horizontal, yanking myself up and over onto that foot.

There, sitting on my foot. Just like the pros do it. Only now I have to somehow leave this position. I grope blindly with my left hand, must be something around this corner to hold onto, and finally wiggle and jiggle my weight off that foot so I can actually move again.

The rest was easy, by the way.