Ups and downs Image

Climbing

Ups and downs

A raw big-wall diary entry about route-finding errors, gear scares, hauling mishaps, and the mental grind of pushing upward alone.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

September 19, 2011

Reading Time:03 minutes.

I’ll keep this short. My back’s killing me from hauling too much gear, and my tea’s going cold in the jetfoil. I wish I’d brought a proper cup. Couscous floating in your brew isn’t pleasant.

Bad night. The tarp flapped like a wounded bird. I tried to ignore it for hours, then finally had to get out of the sleeping bag and pack it away. Should’ve done that earlier.

Today was meant to be the big push — haul everything and get established high on the wall. It didn’t quite go that way.

I hauled to the pitch two belay, then set off for what the topo called pitch five, aiming for a sheltered bivy. Above that the wall steepens hard.

I’m convinced the topo was written by someone who’d never climbed the route. I spent all day on one bloody pitch. The last ascent took ten days. I can see why.

I drifted off route at one point — properly scary — then finally committed to the groove system I’d ignored earlier because it looked too grim and too loose. It was both.

Biggest moment of the day: I stood up onto what looked like a tipped-out Camalot 4. As I weighted it, one side of the crack began to prise away from the wall. The flake started to move. The cam opened. Somehow that stopped it levering further, and it held just long enough for me to downclimb onto my last piece. I haven’t been that scared in a long time.

The topo describes a section as “lost.” Sixty metres later I ran out of rope five metres from the belay. I’m guessing they meant “long.”

Time was running out. I didn’t want to bivy below pitch five, so I fixed the ropes and rapped back to pitch two to lower the bag. Future me may not thank present me.

Then, at pitch two, after rehearsing the haul and knot pass in my head, I realised I’d left my jumars at the high point — in the tag bag.

Luckily I never travel without a backup system. Two Tiblocs and up I went. Twice as fast, partly from efficiency, partly to punish myself.

So I’m back at my usual perch. Not sure what the weather will do tomorrow. If it holds, I’m a third of the way there. At least.

{title} image
PV Podcast

Read More

Writing

New Kickstarter Project: The Beyond

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Reflections

Midnight Run

A midnight emergency run across Lough Corrib with a badly burned child—fear, mistakes, and instinct collide in this raw story of risk, parenting, and consequence.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Reflections

G is for Garibotti

A quiet evening in Rolando Garibotti’s Boulder kitchen in 2004 reveals the human side of one of Patagonia’s greatest climbers. A personal reflection on talent, illness, humility, and the day climbing regained its wonder.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Reflections

U is for Unknown Pleasures

What do you really get out of climbing? Not just the views. A deeply personal reflection on the small, unexpected rewards of mountaineering — from frost-nipped fingers and cheap tea to coming home changed.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Climbing

GriGri Unconfidential

A raw, honest confession about repeatedly fucking up with the Petzl GriGri — misthreading, open-device rappels, and the psychology of climber errors. Not a gear review, but a deep look at why we all make mistakes and why honesty matters more than looking competent.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Climbing

Beyond Help

When professional rescue isn’t coming: A gripping account of a near-fatal fall in Kenya and a fatal accident in Kalymnos. Essential reading on self-rescue, expectations vs reality, and staying alive in the mountains.

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Climbing

Psycho Vertical (2017)

"Psycho Vertical: a raw climbing film about fear, obsession, and pushing into the vertical unknown, where control slips and consequences bite."

By Andy Kirkpatrick

Reflections

Brotherhood of Rope

Andy Kirkpatrick returns to climbing after a neglected bicep injury, grappling with ego-bruising restarts, chaotic family crag days, and the raw futility of the sport. Reflections on old friends, near-misses, and the heavy shadow of suicide—including the sudden loss of a charismatic climbing mate and a salvific message from a fallen hero—explore pain, connection, and why words can feel like morphine when life unravels. Intimate, humorous, and unflinching.

By Andy Kirkpatrick