beyond the climb
It’s the first cold morning as we near the end of summer. Sitting in the car with climbing partner and best friend Alex Laakmann, I rub the sleep from my eyes. The 3:30 wakeup this morning was rough. As we pull into the Smith parking lot, we both try and shake ourselves fully awake. It’s hard. It’s supposed to be 80 today, but in the cold dawn this morning, it is in the low 40s. Neither of us have suitable clothing on due to our poor planning the night before. Climbing out of the car, you can’t help but be awoken by the crisp air. It’s one of the last days Alex and I will be together for the next year, so we plan on savoring it. Packs on. Rope around the shoulders. Camera in hand. It’s the attire of the dirtbags we aspire to be. The walk into Smith feels short today, and the first rays of light are just starting to filter into the dimly lit canyon as we tramp toward Asterisk Pass. Nearly five years ago, we climbed together at Smith Rocks for the first time. Same route. Same gear. Different people entirely. In the last five years, we’ve both changed. I would venture to say mostly for the better. I ask Alex to walk out along the ridgeline. Of course, he obliges. As he walks out along the ridgeline, I bring my camera to my eye. His headlamp bounces off the rocks as he comes towards me. It’s exactly what I was looking for. One thing I’ve always appreciated about Alex is his ability to see my photographic vision. It’s probably because he has an incredible eye. He wouldn’t tell you that, though. 
Upon pulling my camera out, Alex’s expression turned to playful exasperation. I make him model too often. He hates it. We’re getting ready for the rappel now, and he starts coiling the rope. I’m snapping desperately to try and get the shot. Alex is a bad model. He can’t keep it together. Every time he’s in front of the camera, he just breaks down laughing, and this is no different. After the first coil, I flick through my photos and see absolutely nothing high-quality. He has to do it again. The light is way too good not to. Reluctantly, he starts his coil from the beginning. I can tell that this is getting old for him, but I need the shot. As I’m clicking the shutter, I can feel it line up. Now I’m laughing out of pure joy. He still stands there, shaking his head.
The rappel goes smoothly, and we’re standing on the ground ten minutes later. We’re still bullshitting as we put shoes on for the walkout. His demeanor never changes, and I think that’s what I love most. No matter the circumstance, he’s still the same Alex. Looking back ten years down the line, I won’t remember the moves or the pitches we climbed that day. I find getting my ego wrapped up in the routes easy, kicking myself for a one-hang or blown move. Climbing with Alex and finding joy in the process of just being reminds me that it’s not about the climb but the bullshitting in between.
I like the look of the photo. He’s a good subject when he’s not trying. Putting the camera over my shoulder, we continue over the pass. Now is a good time to clarify that this isn’t just a climbing story. No mishaps or life-threatening situations arise on this day. Alex and I’s robust friendship presents itself through climbing, and the best memories of my life have been made on walls or in wind-whipped tents with my best friend. At the base of the day's route, we bullshit with each other. For the most part, our conversations are entirely irreverent. I think that’s why we have such a strong relationship. We never have - and likely never will - talk deeply about our feelings. Maybe this contributes to our inability to get sick of each other. This summer, we’ve spent over a month together. That’s an incredibly long time to be with someone. We’re continuing our time together on this morning’s climb. I rack up for the first pitch and begin climbing as soon as it’s light enough. In our typical fashion, neither of us brought adequate food or clothing up the route. As we were swinging leads, the first belay was especially cold. The route went fast for our standards. Five pitches in under an hour and a half was a good time. Leading the last pitch, there was a sense of sadness. Alex and I have agreed that we’ll be each other’s best man, but the time apart is a strain on both of us. In our respective futures at University, there is no doubt that we will find our own communities and new climbing partners. The kinship and experiences we’ve had together are an indefinite link between us. Despite our different futures, there is no doubt that we will come together in the future as fast friends without a moment's hesitation. Alex followed my lead on the final pitch of Wherever I May Roam. While he is the stronger climber between the two of us, I have never seen the slightest hint of a competitive edge. It would take teeth-pulling to get him to brag about anything, and he’ll be more stoked for my 5.11 send than his 12a flash. In all honesty, he ticks off hard routes with ease. This morning’s adventure was not one of those hard routes, yet it bore more significance than pulling hard on credit-card-sized crimps. As he topped out, his typical shit-eating grin graced his face. It’s scary how much he looks like his dad. 