THE SECOND
few months ago, I went on a training course to update my creaking SPA (Single Pitch Award) qualification in line with the sparkling new RCI (Rock Climbing Instructor). There were four of us attending, all dyed-in-the-wool trad climbers. Part of the syllabus dealt with safe belaying, at which point one of the delegates began making comments like ‘Belaying! Isn’t that when you switch off for an hour?’ and ‘That’s when I usually read the guidebook!’ It seems to me there is a lot we never teach about belaying. It brings to mind school sex education in the 1970s – one lesson, basic diagrams, the physical mechanics. But no talk of love, care, the spiritual connection inherent in the activity. For belaying continues to get a bad rep. Gets pushed aside as the not-doing part of the game. A frustrating interlude before it’s your turn to lead. The price you pay for someone else holding your ropes. At worst, simply wasted time. It doesn’t have to be so. Clearly there are occasions when it is cold and wet and uncomfortable belaying your partner. They’re taking ages. You’re on a hanging stance. They keep falling off and slamming you. Your neck aches from looking up. Yet it can also be beautiful – a place of care, of meditation, of appreciation. When first introduced to climbing I was astounded at the responsibility of the belayer. It seemed phenomenal I was allowed to hold the ropes, and be in charge of the life or death of another human being, so explicitly. Because the whole purpose of the belayer is to keep the other climber alive. Which is done by managing a piece of string and a holey bit of metal. It didn’t seem enough. Shouldn’t there be a ritual, a blessing, some formal documentation to allow anything so extreme? But no. A few words. And their life in your hands. It’s very lovely to care for a creature and be accorded such trust. An honour.
Let’s think about the ropes. Something magical happens. Each rope becomes a nerve, a single cell, stretched between the two of you. Feel it. Your top hand, resting on the nylon, fingertips alert, listening through your attentive, haptic, calloused skin. This is especially obvious when your leader is out of sight; has traversed a rib, stepped round an arête, climbed far above you and disappeared. Do you fish? Perhaps it’s like this, handling the line, knowing weed from sand from pollack from bass. Knowing what is going on in the dark water. You know the pattern. You know what happens, how climbing works. The pauses. A tricky section – was that in the description? More likely placing gear? Slide your grip a fraction down below the plate, ropes suspended in the merest Mona Lisa smile. Ready to hold a fall. Ready also, when a measured tug comes, to feed the rope through. The pull. You feed. Paid out a lot? An overhead runner. Visualise them bunging the wire from below, lumped by its own weight into the slot. You have them on this rope – take in slack as they move up. Simultaneously ease the other line out. You see this. You see it in your mind’s eye. You know what is happening on the rock, out of sight, where your partner is climbing. You are following their progress with your hands and your imagination; keeping them as safe as you can with the tools that you have. Some while later, coils at your feet subtracted from the pitch, you follow what is going on at the top. A long period of relative stillness? The fashioning of a belay out of multiple anchor points. A rapid pay-out? Swift walk to a pinnacle, or to stakes on a grassy rise. You know the land. You know when they’re heading back to the cliff edge, ready to clove-hitch and equalise. You know. All the same, you do not let go of the live end, or take off belay,
until you are certain your leader is safe. Even if this means feeding the rest of the rope through the plate. That’s just how it is. By the time the leader has taken in all the slack and you’ve yelled ‘That’s me!’ to the wind, you have your shoes on and all the gear out save one shiny staple or one bomber nut (assuming you’re comfortable on a ledge, assuming that’s reasonable having assessed the circumstances) and you’re ready to second. This was how I was taught. The second services the leader; stands where they’re asked, doesn’t keep the leader waiting. An act of focus and attention. An act of tenderness. An act of love, for the leader is vulnerable and we need to care for each other. That’s when the leader takes care of you. Reeling in the enchanted, plaited strand of Rapunzel’s synthetic hair.
WATCH: HOW TO BELAY A LEAD CLIMBER ON BMC TV
Feeling like you need to be shown the ropes again? We’ve got you, watch our video on belaying on the BMC’s YouTube channel.
www.youtube.com/teamBMC
SUMMIT#103 | AUTUMN 2021 | 37
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