The Ha Ling Epic

The peak of Ha Ling is a prominent feature of the town of Canmore. It rises 2 407 meters above sea level and its northeast face boasts a staggering 450 meters of sheer cliff; you can see why it’s so exciting. Back when I posted Shifting Gears the climb seemed like a fanciful dream that I liked entertaining but as time wore on and the adventure in Gros Morne shook me up a bit the idea of Ha Ling actually happening became less and less clear. That is, until Ricky my climbing partner announced that he was leaving and that we had a week and a half to do it or it wasn’t happening.
The time in that week and a half seemed to fly by and much sooner than I expected I was left coping with the realization that would be climbing 12 pitches of terrifyingly exposed rock the very next day.
I woke up with a deep sense of dread. I hadn’t quite got my climbing groove back since being so scared in Newfoundland and had only climbed once since, I have to say I didn’t enjoy it at all either but I knew I needed to push on. I gathered my gear told my friends my stuff was theirs if I didn’t come back, and I got in the car.
The first challenge I had to face that day was actually driving to the crag. I crashed my mom’s car a year ago and really haven’t driven since then so I was terrified of just simply getting there. In hindsight this was a really good thing because it made me forget the fear of actually climbing that day. As soon as I got back in the car it was as they say, like riding a bike, and I got back into it. Unfortunately however, that caused the panic of the climb to creep back in and I started running through excuses in my head, I needed to get out of doing this and if there was any possible way that I could I would. I pulled into a parking lot when I arrived in Canmore and called up Ricky telling him I thought it was going to rain and that we should call it off. Of course, that didn’t work and Ricky gave me directions to where we would start the climb. As I drove up I feebly attempted to psych myself up for what was to come and I secretly prayed that it would rain. By the time I arrived the skies were looking better and as I pulled in I saw other climbers gearing up to climb at the smaller crag, Grassi Lakes, which sat below us. I got out and walked over to Ricky’s van to chat about the climb before I grabbed all my gear and found him with a twisted smile on his face. “There’s something I need to tell you” he said as I started to feel a knot form in my stomach. “The route is trad, all twelve pitches”. I felt a flood of relief oddly enough, trad was a no go for me so this was the excuse I was looking for to back out.

In case you are unfamiliar with climbing terms, trad stands for traditional and it is a style of climbing in which there are no fixed bolts on the climb. As a climber leads a route they trail the rope below them and clip into points as they climb so that in the event that they take a fall, they only fall for as much rope that is let out above their last clip. For example, if a climber climbs up ten meters then clips in and climbs another meter higher, instead of falling eleven meters they fall two- the meter down to the last clip and another meter from the slack rope above that clip. In sport climbing, every clip would be into a bolt anchored right into the rock but in trad there are no bolts so when you want to clip, you need to place pieces of metal or camming devices in cracks and clip those instead.
Upon immediately backing out, Ricky told me about another route we could do that was bolted- Sisyphus Summits, a 5.9 which is three grades higher than I planned on climbing. I paused to think for a moment then asked how many pitches, a variable measurement of vertical distance in rock climbing. The answer was twenty-two, ten more than our twelve pitch, easier route. A closer look at the guidebook revealed it to be a grade 5.10d which wasn’t even within my climbing ability, let alone four hundred and fifty meters up.
Somehow, Ricky managed to talk me into doing our original route, the 5.6 twelve pitch monster named Northeast Buttress. We started hiking as soon as possible so I didn’t have time to back out and soon broke into a nice rhythm. The approach hike was frustrating as it climbs through heaps of loose rock all perfectly sized to roll onto your ankle and cut you. Finally, we reached the base of the climb and scrambled up some steep rock to get to the first anchor. Nerves had set in but I knew that once I was on the rock I would feel better. we racked our gear, put on our climbing shoes and uncoiled the rope to set up. Ricky was to lead every route as I was extremely uncomfortable with leading trad. I took a few photos as we were already very high up and had an amazing view of Canmore. Where the actual climb starts the ground is extremely steep, a misstep could send you tumbling down the whole mountain before you even begin. I was scared, but it was my moment and I had to take it. I belayed Ricky up the first pitch, a fifty meter climb until he reached the anchor. I heard him faintly call down that he was secure so I tied in and waited for him to pull up the slack.

The climb was hard. I didn’t expect such a thing out of such an easy grade but I found myself scared and struggling though after a few moves it opened back up into the sort of climb that I was expecting. The next few sections were pleasant- easy climbing, beautiful view, and good flow. Soon however the rock seemed to shift, what was once easy “kiddie climbing” turned into something else; steeper, zig-zagging and frustratingly confusing. The climbing was no longer pleasant but now just a desperate attempt to be done with it. One pitch I remember in particular was long, very long. I lost sight of Ricky early on and I felt as though I was endlessly feeding out rope, I kept a close eye on my pile of rope beside me just waiting in anxiety praying that he didn’t run out of rope before he reached the anchors. with about five meters of rope left I heard him call out ever so faintly that he was there. It was a long climb and it took quite some time, unusual for Ricky so I was nervous. As I climbed it I felt defeated, it was not difficult and I didn’t take any falls but this was only around the sixth pitch. Halfway. I felt tired and lost, the route looked nothing like the guidebook said it did and I had the overwhelming sensation that we had wondered onto Sisyphus Summits by accident. As I reached the anchors I felt a mix of relief that it was done and dread that I had to do it six more times. Again the rock changed and we now faced a seemingly endless vertical corner with smooth featureless rock stretching to the left and a perfect ninety degree outcrop to our right. This feature was the source of great anxiety for me.

On one pitch I remember feeling absolutely helpless being so exposed and I felt as though the fear that Newfoundland had caused had ruined climbing for me. The weight of these thoughts seemed to pull me back towards earth and my hands started to slip. Gripped by fear and shaking from panic I called out to Ricky though I knew it made no difference. The usual words of encouragement were said and they were processed in a more civilized part of my brain. The problem with climbing is that the fear you experience is so very primal that no form of thinking and logic can battle it, you have to fight instinct with instinct and find an equally primal instinct that will allow you to continue on. I chose self-preservation which is convenient because it ties in well with logic when you are so high above everything. Soon I was moving again and I shakily pulled myself up to the anchors. We stayed at those anchors for a long time, talking, eating some chocolate Ricky brought up and evaluating why I am panicking on such an easy climb. Ricky told me that I am a better climber than I think, that the fear itself was making things harder than they actually were. Maybe it was the height, or the chocolate, but either way I believed him. The last pitches, though the same rock type, were beautiful and smooth. Excitement to finish and pride in what we were doing replaced fear and soon we found ourselves at the twelfth anchors.
A short scramble would take us over the edge of this monstrous face and I stood before it ready. Ricky picked up on what I was feeling and let me lead the last pitch, an exceptionally generous deed given that he had lead the whole climb and yet he surrendered the honor of standing up there first to me. I eagerly pulled myself up the last few moves and crawled over the edge only to find two hikers standing there watching. Ricky followed up to the top and we hugged and grinned in pure happiness. The hikers took a photo of us and we proceeded to eat all the food we had. After maybe twenty minutes on the top we were ready to head home so we hiked down in silence with shaky legs.
Ha Ling taught me many things- patience, confidence, and overcoming fear. Every challenge I take on moves me and changes me. Many people have told me that they are impressed with how fearless I am but it is quite the opposite. I am riddled with fear and I do these things so that it doesn’t consume me. If I had no fear my challenges would not be challenging and therefore I would feel no sense of accomplishment upon completing them. Life is about challenge and without it we might as well be sleeping.