Saturday was, in fact, cold with the highs in the teens but it was sunny and not windy and we found ourselves more motivated than we expected. "Let's find out how hard you can climb," Todd said. To that end he led Apoplexy, a fun 5.9 (I think) and then we both did Coronary on top rope while we were in the area. This seemed like a good strategy, so we moved to an area where we could get three TRs for the price of one lead. Todd led/soloed (I believe I cleaned two pieces) Bunny with a diagonal traverse to the anchors we were after: Retribution and Nose Dive. 

We started with Retribution. "You go first," Todd said, "I want to see your problem solving skills." If I was being tested, I passed that one. So far, so good. Next came Nose Dive. Although they're rated the same at 5.10b, I found Nose Dive to be much more difficult because it was more sustained. I failed the Nose Dive test, falling at the crux a couple of times before figuring out the right places to put my feet so that I could pull through it. 

Todd cruised both of these easily but next up was No Solution, the route in between Retribution and Nose Dive. "This one's a little harder," Todd told me. "I can't do it, but I want to see how you do on it." It boggles the mind. Obviously I would flail on it. Still, I'm willing to fall off anything, so why not? 

"I'll go first," he said, "so you can see the moves." There followed a lot of whining, hanging and cries of "take hard." I figured out I could "take hard" by jumping off of the rock I was standing on to belay and walking backwards until he pulled through the move. Between the two of us we got him to the top and he lowered off. My turn. 

"You know," I said, "if I can't climb this one of us has to climb something else to clean those anchors." 

"Yes, you do," he said. "Why do you think I went first?" 

"All right," I told him. "But there's going to be maximum cheating involved." 

And indeed there was. There are three cruxes on this route. I managed the moves in between the cruxes but not much else. There was no question of my being anything but hauled through the third and hardest one.

Todd decided that it was time for me to lead something. The sun had gone around to the other side of the rock and the temperature change was noticeable. We had our heavy-duty coats and gloves back on. He offered me the choice between a two pitch 5.5 and a one pitch 5.7. I had followed the 5.5 before and I remembered it as having colder-than-average rock and ice in the cracks. The 5.7, by contrast, had a tree at the top of it. Trees often meant rap stations which meant I could rig up to lower and belay him from the ground wearing the marshmallow (we call Todd's 8000m TNF coat "the marshmallow" not because it looks like a marshmallow but because you feel like one when you're wearing it - poofy, but toasty). I wimped out by choosing the 5.7. 

It's a curious thing, but I'm never cold when I'm leading once I get through the first couple of placements. I don't know if it's adrenaline or if the rock is just warmer higher off the ground, but even my fingers stop feeling numb. In this case though, the route ended with a series of mantles onto successively bigger ledges, each ledge covered in snow. The mantle is not my best move. (Note to self: work on problem areas before being required to do them under adverse conditions.) Worse yet, the tree at the top did not have a rap station. Luckily I had worn my coat and carried my gloves and Todd followed me pretty darn quickly, especially considering he was wearing hiking boots. 

It turned out we had to walk off. It also turns out that the phrase "sticky rubber" is not universally applicable. Rock shoes don't stick to snow. Todd gallantly stood at the bottom of some of the steeper parts to catch me if my sliding descent got out of control. I finished with a full out glissade to the bottom, landing at the feet of a couple we had met earlier in the day. 

"Rock shoes," I said, pointing to my feet as I sat fully and damply in the snow. "Hiking boots," I said, pointing to Todd, dryly and casually standing nearby. 

"I understand," the woman assured me. 

When we got back to the car we discovered that it was only 3:45, making us officially wimps as there was plenty of time for one more route. But we had had a good day climbing and were happy to retire to a warm restaurant that served sensational clam chowder and nice, big helpings. 

"So," I said, "Monday?" 

"It's going to be cold," Todd answered. 

"So?" 

Stumped, he agreed to meet me Monday. He called Sunday night. 

"You're not canceling on me!" I accused him. 

"Nooooo," he said. "It's going to be cold though." I waited him out. "Bring your ascenders," he said. "Maybe I'll just stay on the ground and watch you jug." 

As you all know (thanks, Rex), Geoff and I are doing a wall in March. My new ascenders and aiders had just arrived by mail and my homework assignment was to practice jugging. Todd doesn't aid climb, so I figured I'd better learn how to rig everything at home if I was going to do it in the cold the next day. I fixed a rope to the top of my stairwell and carefully followed Geoff's emailed instructions on how to assemble the whole rigmarole. Then I started up. 

After a brief struggle of no more than half an hour, I arrived at the top of the stairwell. Hmmmm . . . What was my plan now? I couldn't quite figure out how to "top out" over the "ledge". I briefly imagined calling for a rescue and being found dangling in my stairwell wearing a harness, pajamas, hiking boots and 6 or 7 yards of webbing. Then I realized that I didn't have any way to call for a rescue anyway, so I decided that it would be a good time to practice descending the rope. Amazingly, the trip down was even harder than the trip up. "Why is jugging so goddamn hard?" I asked myself. "It'd probably be easier just to go up the rope hand over hand." To which I replied, "It'd be easier to just walk up the stairs," which set me to laughing pretty hard. Honestly, sometimes I slay myself. 

After five trips up and down the 15 feet of rope I felt like I was getting the hang of it, so I packed everything up for Monday, imagining how competent I would look. 

Monday dawned bright but cold and with a strong, piercing wind. The bank clock said zero degrees Fahrenheit as I drove past it, but that wasn't accounting for the wind chill. I kept repeating Steven's suggestion, "Good things happen to those who at least try to get out" like a mantra. It looked like I'd get that jugging practice at least. 

Todd and I discussed our options over breakfast and decided to head to the Nears where we thought we might get some protection from the wind. We were wrong. It was far too cold to think about climbing. And take off our gloves?? Are you kidding?? At least jugging is warm and can be done with gloves on. And so it was that Todd and I stood at the foot of the crag contemplating the age-old question: how does the rope get up there? One of us was going to have to lead something. Todd volunteered me. 

"You can't call yourself a 5.10 leader until you can lead 5.10 under any conditions," Todd said. This seemed like a moot point since I'm not a 5.10 leader under any conditions and besides, I didn't see him leading anything. He laid out my options: a two pitch 5.6- or a 5.7 with an anchor I could lower off at the end of the first pitch. Once again, I took the easy way out: "5.7 please." Todd cautioned me to place a lot of gear. 

"It's too cold to place a lot of gear," I moaned. Let me tell you: you might think rock is cold, but it's nothing compared to how cold biners are. 

"So, you're more likely to fall because it's cold, so you have to place more gear because it's cold," he reasoned. Fine. Todd's idea of a lot of gear is more like Steven's version of regular gear anyway. Once I was on the rock it turned out that our strategy wasn't a complete failure. The wind stopped about ten feet up and I was, as usual, warm enough once I got into the rhythm of leading. 

"Climb faster," Todd yelled. 

"You told me to put in a lot of gear." 

"Well, put it in fast. But good. Put it in fast and good and then climb faster." 

I was climbing plenty fast enough, considering, but belaying him from the ground a bit later I saw his point. It was like a wind tunnel down there and any exposed skin paid the price. Even the marshmallow couldn't fully protect me. 

Todd fixed the rope at the anchors and I set up to jug. I had memorized which loop of which chain to use for what, so I was ready quickly, looking pretty professional I thought. Ha! It was a travesty. Todd snickered at me as I floundered up the rope inches at a time. He hollered up the occasional helpful comment along the lines of "Are you sure you know what you're doing?", "I don't think you're supposed to fall over backwards like that" and "Boy I can't wait to see what happens when you get to that roof!" 

But I showed him by not looking any more incompetent going over the roof than I had below it and once I had rock underneath me it was pretty easy going up to the anchors. Todd watched me anxiously as I repeatedly came within inches of killing myself in the process of switching from jugging a fixed line to rapping a free line, including dropping my belay device. Instantly, the following Lord Slime quote, which I had very recently run across on Deja, popped into my head: 

"I've also seen climbers drop their ATCs for no apparent reason in mid-day and clear warm weather. Then I have to set up a biner brake for them since they don't know how." 

Well, it wasn't warm anyway. I vowed that when I got home I would actually practice setting up a biner brake and not just look at the picture. I wished Lord Slime was with me. (Well, maybe not Lord Slime exactly - I don't think I want to know what he would have said to me at that moment - but I wished I had someone up there with me.) Luckily, I had a partner on the ground. Todd sent my belay device back up to me and eventually I arrived on the ground with all of my body parts and all of our equipment intact. 

It was only midday, but we were done. We stopped by Rock and Snow where Todd found a book on Big Walls with a picture of a person jugging who wasn't falling over backwards. But I found a passage that said it was hard not to tip over backwards while jugging an overhang, so we called it even and went to lunch. "Let me know when you want to get out again," Todd said as we parted. 

Steven said that good things happen to those who at least try to get out. I've been heard to declare that there's no such thing as a bad day climbing. Still, I think you have to draw the line somewhere and that line is henceforth being drawn at zero degrees. But a good thing did happen and that was Todd. What can you say about a partner who gives up a day to belay you on a single pitch of 5.7 in sub-freezing temperatures? I guess I'll just have to add him to the growing list of reasons why I'm probably the luckiest newbie climber in the world.