Booty

Bridged in a corner, my feet pressed against the dolomite of Castle Mountain, I looked through my legs and saw my last piece of protection 15 metres below. The next move was not obvious and I began to panic. I was in doubt and desperately looked for a gear placement. The hum from a hummingbird’s flight spooked me, it stayed suspended over my shoulder. My heart-rate and the speed of its wings were in synch as my focus switched from my potential season-ending fall.The little bird was mesmerized by my slow movement. Jim Elzinga, a modern mentor, was belaying and was surely worried about the time I was taking. Smoke from a nearby forest fire clouded the air.

The first hummingbird I saw while climbing was in September 2000, at an Alpine Club of Canada ( acc) Tuesday night gather ing in Thunder Bay, Ont. I was invited to climb with the old-guard at the local 10-metre high bluffs. After hours of reviewing tape-knots and tree-anchors I roped up, tied securely into a top-rope. The aptly named Randy’s Crack is a 5.9 fist-crack with a small roof halfway, a real grunt-fest. At the roof I kicked my foot into the crack, as if I were kicking crampons into br ittle-ice, and pulled up on my wedged fists that was wrapped with tape. Flexing my fists for maximum purchase I tr ied to move my feet, but the one I bur ied with a kick was stuck. I tr ied everything to hold onto my position, but my efforts were futile and I weighted the rope. With a stuck foot I dangled, we all laughed at my awkward position. It was my first crack climb. Looking up at what I had not climbed, a hummingbird flew by; it caught my attention, and as quick as it appeared it was gone.

Heckles came from Jack, the scotch-dr inking crack-master, and words of encouragement from acc section chair Frank Pianka. Joining the club was about more than climbing, it was about community and mentorship. I returned every Tuesday night for the rock and in the winter I joined them for Saturday ice climbing, each time lear ning new tr icks.

I do not use the club as much as I used to, but I do spend time at the club house and use their mountain huts. I began climbing in a climbing gym, but the valuable lessons passed on from generation to generation rarely make it to artificial walls. Clubs and climbing have been woven together since the founding of the Alpine Club in Britain in 1857. Clubs were a medium for shar ing resources, beta and route infor mation. Since guidebooks and online topos are easy to purchase and use, clubs are no longer needed in a way they once were. Nevertheless, clubs offer a depth to climbing such as grants, tutor ials, lessons and a place where climbers can come together.

Urs Kallen, the 70- year-old Swiss legend based in Calgary, has passed on wisdom that is vital to my alpine climbing. He taught me to never un-rope, even on the descent; br ing two days food, but expect to spend three; the only way to climb good routes is with good partners; when in doubt, run it out.

“How’s it going?” I heard Elzinga ask. The hummingbird stayed with me for another minute; I remembered what Kallen said. With shaky legs I stopped looking for a gear placement, I ran it out. Two more metres of insecure climbing and I found a good finger-lock and a crack for a cam. “All good,” I said back to Elzinga, the hum from the hummingbird was gone, the crux was behind.

I wondered what my climbing would be like if I had never joined the acc, perhaps I would not be climbing at all. The club added profundity to my passion. Standing on top of Castle Mountain I felt a sense of place, on our way down we stopped at the acc Hut on the Goat Plateau. We stared, through smoky skies, at the wall above the hut and traced new routes with our hands, a mentor and a protege.