my best friend clutched the rope in a hip belay with all my protection hung out like laundry on the long loop of slack. If I harbored any illusion of confidence at that point, it vanished as the look on my friend’s face summed up my grim situation. I looked down into that maw of granite blocks 80 feet below and made the most broken promise a climber makes: “If I get out of this alive, I swear I’ll never do it again.”
For a brief moment, I actually started to calculate where I would hit and what my chances of survival would be when something deep and powerful within me arose of its own accord and took over. I felt both a surge and a calm that magically welded my mind, body, and desire into a single point and, in a move that took only a second but formed a memory that has lasted a lifetime, I reached across and climbed to easier ground. As I pulled myself onto the summit—physically and emotionally spent, I was already breaking the promise that seemed so reasonable just seconds earlier. It was 1974 in Joshua Tree National Monument; I had just survived my first epic lead and I wanted more.
“Play for more than you can afford to lose, and you will learn the game”—Winston Churchill could have just as easily been talking about traditional lead climbing as World War II. In the 30-plus years since that transforming lead at age 16, a blend of fear, elation, confidence, and uncertainty has drawn me to the mountains and rock walls of the world. Again and again, I risk a life I cannot afford to lose but equally cannot afford to live without a journey that excites my soul.
While learning the game of traditional lead climbing, I have formed my finest friendships, discovered my strengths, and found myself perched between rock and sky in some of the most amazing places on earth—not to mention being treated to many grand, memorable, and suffering epics. My traditional climbing and life have been shaped by great climbers of the past in their writing and images, bold climbers of today with their inspiring accomplishments, my partners who have shared both challenge and adventure, and, of course, by mother nature who can be wonderfully gentle or surprisingly harsh.
“The best way to avoid epics is to gain experience and the best way to gain experience is to have a few epics…”: this saying is a blessing in disguise to a traditional lead climber for it promises that the learning curve will last a lifetime and that the excitement and discovery you unlock as a beginner will always be there. With its wealth of technical information, safe procedures, and excellent firsthand advice from experienced climbers, Traditional Lead Climbing is the perfect book to help you lead out on many fine climbs and give you a base of knowledge that will help you turn those epics that may await you into learning adventures.
Good climbing!
—Dave Nettle
Tahoe City, CA
February 5, 2007
Since his first traditional lead climb in 1973 in the southern Sierra backcountry, Dave Nettle has climbed in Patagonia, Canada, and the Dolomites, as well as in the Sierra Nevada backcountry and Yosemite Valley. Dave began mountaineering in the late 1970s and has climbed in Alaska, Nepal, and South America. He has thru-hiked the PCT, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Great Divide Trail. An internationally certified rope access technician, he is the lead instructor, teaching people to work at height on ropes, for Ropeworks, Inc. His writing has been published in Climbing, Rock & Ice, and the American Alpine Journal.
Allison Kreutzen at Donner Summit, California
Introduction
Most seasoned rock climbers agree that lead climbing often evokes a state of consciousness so focused that many compare it to the act of meditation. Life is distilled to pure simplicity when you lead a climb. In this concentrated state, free from both internal and external distractions, you rediscover your innate ability to experience the present moment. Zen practice never seemed so easy. Offering yourself to the rock wall above, you navigate up mysterious rock pathways, shifting your focus between motor skills and intellect. Emotions emerge and dissolve, spilling in and out of your consciousness. Angst, fear, confidence, relief—each feeling fades into the past as swiftly as it emerges.
Moving skyward, the objective of taking “the sharp end” becomes more obvious. Leading is a game of exploration and discovery. Linking together a chain of holds not visible from the ground, you deftly navigate over bulges and plug your feet and fingers into cracks, all the while looking for ideal protection and rest opportunities. Decisions are made intuitively, as your body embraces a ritual memory entirely its own: placing or forgoing safeguards, resting or not resting, moving right, left, or easing back down to a stance. Your personal orchestration of each individual route as the leader is a creative and unique process. No two lead adventures are alike.
Leading gives you opportunities for independence and freedom. Without leading skills, your climbing experience is limited to top-roping or following others. A partnership in which one team member takes every lead cannot be as fulfilling as sharing lead responsibilities. And top-roping opportunities are limited by logistics: arriving with only top-roping gear to explore the celebrated granite cracks of Yosemite Valley, the soaring sandstone towers of southern Utah, or even Bouox’s famed limestone pockets in France is like arriving at Northern California’s Pebble Beach Golf Course with a croquet mallet.
A climber who successfully completes a challenging lead possesses an almost ethereal clarity. The climber who was disagreeable at the base sheds all emotional baggage by the summit. The formerly reticent individual is animated and talkative. Your postlead “buzz” defines the phrase “on cloud nine” in a way that Merriam or Webster never could. Meet the leader.
Spanning almost two decades, my rock climbing experience features venues that support various styles and methods. Some highlights include bouldering at Hueco Tanks in Texas and Fontainbleu, bolt clipping in southern France, free climbing on desert towers, big-wall climbing in Yosemite Valley, and climbing backcountry routes in the Dolomites, the Rockies, the Alps, and the Sierra Nevada. While each is a treasured memory, most cherished are the free-climbing experiences that required what is known today as traditional (trad) lead climbing skills.
Trad lead climbing is fundamentally about placing your own protection and anchors. While you may clip an occasional bolt or piton already in place as you lead, you mostly place your own gear; you set Stoppers, camming devices, Hexes, and other devices into cracks as temporary anchors to protect yourself from long falls. As the leader, you must balance technical gear skills with physical capabilities while remaining relaxed and focused.
Despite its many joys, traditional lead climbing happens to be one of the more dangerous climbing activities. While it offers you adventures aplenty, you enter an arena where risks are extremely high and mistakes unforgiving. Therefore, without expert guidance, learning to lead with gear will be frustrating and could be life-threatening.
I first became motivated to write this book when several newcomers asked me to recommend a book that would teach them specifically how to lead with gear. I was certain such a book existed and erroneously recommended The Art of Leading, which turned out to be a short video. After some research I learned that, while the information is available in chapters of several instructional texts, a book had not been written. Now it has.
Another reason I wrote this book stems from my own challenges learning to lead in Yosemite National Park in 1984—a few years prior to the advent of sport climbing (before gear-leading was referred to as “traditional”). It was a dangerous and frightening undertaking, but I didn’t know it at the time. I was young and, like many of my friends, far too consumed in the glory of it all to realize the risks I took. I haphazardly borrowed equipment from (understandably) hesitant friends, and thrashed my way up anything relatively “easy,” which, in Yosemite Valley, amounts to a humble smattering of routes you can count on two hands. The instructional information available at this time was sparse, and what was available wasn’t as accessible as resources are today. Although the copies I owned were obscenely outdated, Basic Rockcraft and Advanced Rockcraft were my bibles, and probably helped save me numerous times.
Today, learning to lead