Courage to follow

In climbing, they call it taking the sharp end of the rope. It's usually Ben's role, and we both enjoy that. As the stronger climber who is, generally and specifically, the braver of the two of us, he scouts ahead, moving us farther away from the ground.

As the second climber, my role is patience and speed. I wait while he climbs, places gear, and sets an anchor. I wait for the tug or the call that tells me to catch up. A lot of climbing teams will trade leading pitch-by-pitch because it's faster. And if their skills align, it gives each climber the chance to be the sharp end, taking the associated risks and gaining the rewards of ascending a tough route.

For my own sake, I hope I will lead someday. I think it will be a milestone in my quest to let go of fear and trust my skills. But even the way I talk about it – "someday" – reveals my true feelings. I like to follow. I'm comfortable following. Considering the many fear- and discomfort-related hurdles I've jumped as we've pursued this sport, I like that I can keep at least one aspect comfortable.

The first time he led me on a trad multipitch route, we were in Wyoming. We planned a trip to see family in Spearfish Canyon in the fall. We brought a friend and planned to introduce him to the area.

What if we climbed Devils Tower? the friend asked a week before our roadtrip.

What if we did? It's a short drive from the canyon.

We had some tell us we weren't ready for such a climb because Ben's trad experience was minimal and didn't include real multipitch routes. But as we talked, Ben grew more confident that he had the right skills, he just hadn't ever put them together. And eventually you just have to do it.

I worried for a moment. New to climbing and brand new to the world of trad, I didn't understand the work it would involve and what, if any, expectations it would put on me. But a week and a 10-hour drive later, we drove to the Tower before dawn and picked out our route (Durrance). We were alone for awhile as we started to climb. It took us ... a really long time. Longer than it should and longer than it will again.

This style of climbing opened up a new world of possibilities for us. It spoke to our wish for adventure because it gave us the skills and the scope to want more than to get out of a car on the side of the road and hop on a crag. We could camp, hike in, climb for the whole day, and leave with the satisfaction we'd usually achieved only after days- or weeks-long backpacking trips. And it restored balance to our climbing relationship. As much as I need his bravery and skills to learn from, he needs my willingness to follow. Unless you free solo, you need someone who will catch up, or, duh, you can't keep climbing higher.

Sometimes it's hard to follow, and I'm talking about life now. It's hard to look at the person in front of you and trust that he's got the right idea. And I worry often that that's the only definition of following that we know – one that offends many women, including me because it devalues the secondary position. When we climb, I follow. When we moved to Bowling Green, I followed. When we move again, whether to take a job for me or for him, it will follow a dream I wouldn't have if it weren't for Ben. But none of that negates the truth that following takes decision and courage. It takes trust. It takes initiative. It takes self-awareness. And if I didn't follow, in climbing or in life, he would lose heart. Not because he lacks ambition or will, but because the degree of his ambition and will requires support. Someone to untangle the rope and recover gear – someone to pay the bills when he works those 100 hours I mentioned (you'll notice I didn't say someone to clean the house because we both do!). Someone to catch up and share the joy of hanging on the side of a cliff 800 feet off the ground.



Useful definitions
Trad or traditional climbing refers to using the natural features of the rock to place protective gear as you climb. Once you place equipment, you clip in the rope, stringing it up with you. 
Multipitch climbing refers to climbing routes that reach beyond the length of a single rope. To climb higher than 100 to 200 feet, one person climbs, builds an anchor out of protective gear that they hauled up with them, and the second person climbs up to meet the first. The second person is basically top-roping, but instead of tagging the anchor and descending, the couple will repeat the process until they've both reached the top.