My Year Of Top-Roping
A discussion on why it failed me.
Last year in May, I declared a Year of Top-roping (1) for myself. After breaking my ankle in February (2), by May I’d been back climbing at ASCEND Point Breeze for some weeks and was looking forward to climbing outside, finally. So I said to myself, “Self, I give you leave to top-rope for an entire year,” offering little-ole-me a pass while I continued to heal.
In my imagination, my Year of Top-roping would go like this: Brian and I would climb outside frequently, and I would top-rope (TR) whatever routes he put up, even the hard stuff. I imagined myself doing laps and laps of hard pitches, safe and secure on TR. I was super-excited. It was going to be super-fun, and I was going to get super-strong. Super-duper.
Embracing my inner top-roper is a big step for me, especially when it comes to climbing outside. To me, lead climbing (1) has always been “real climbing.” When I was a beginner in 1994, I started leading within the first month of Brian and I becoming weekend warriors at the New River Gorge (3). Some might say this standard is too high, and they might be right.
But let me explain.
It didn’t take long for me to dislike that Brian always had to put up a TR on easy routes for me. He didn’t complain about it, but I didn’t want to just follow, especially when I could only get to the top of his warm-ups. I wanted to put up my own routes like he put up his own. I was determined to work up through the grades by leading them myself.
One benefit of having this high standard for myself, is that over the years, it eventually made me a good, solid lead climber. One downside of not TRing any harder-than-I-could-do routes all those years, is that gaining strength took longer, and I wasn’t very strong to begin with. Another downside is that I cried a lot because I was often scared to make moves above a bolt. I knew a few people back in the 1990s and early 2000s, who rarely lead-climbed but who were much stronger than me because they spent so much time TRing really hard routes.
So I hoped that one result of a year of embracing my inner top-roper would be that I would climb harder on TR than if I forced myself to lead before I was ready. Because of breaking my ankle, I was extra scared of taking lead falls (4). I imagined that I would practice hard routes on TR, and then, when I was ready, I would lead them for the redpoint (5). Alas! Reality turned out so much differently than what I had imagined! Therefore I have rescinded my Year of Top-roping a couple of months early and am back on lead when we climb outside, even if it means that I carry a stick-clip (6) up with me, even if it means I’m not climbing hard-for-me yet. This is not because I’m too proud to keep TRing. It’s more out of necessity.
Let me explain.
From May until November last year, Brian and I went climbing outside about five or six times. That isn’t “frequently,” but for us it was a respectable amount. However, each day out was hot, at least 80 degrees, and/or extremely humid— yes, even in November, somehow. Were we cursed? Each time, we’d go somewhere familiar and do routes we knew well, but that didn’t even matter— conditions kept us climbing easy to moderate routes, nothing hard.
Also, one important stipulation I forgot about in my own plans of TRing grandeur was Brian. He had to be willing to be the ropegun (7). He had to get his own lead-head (8) straight. And, he had his own feelings about what he did and didn’t want to climb. Putting pressure on him to put up routes I wanted to TR did not help. I have a long list of climbs I dream of, and he doesn’t. We also have very, very different strengths and styles of climbing we like. For example, just because I wanted to do Under the Milky Way on TR did not mean Brian was at all willing to put up said TR for me. Damn.
So, we didn’t end up climbing hard routes, and didn’t even climb anything we really liked— except a few 5.10s we’ve done a million times over the years— and didn’t climb anything new. Except for one day, I had very misguided hopes for both Muscle Belly and Ron Kauk Gets a Perm, hard 5.11s at Lower Endless, both in the full sun. I somehow persuaded Brian to rope them up, God only knows how or why. That was a full day of groveling up two dirty routes, a full day of whining and gnashing of teeth. I’m surprised we’re still married. We both lost 100 pounds of water weight from sweating and may have aged a year or two. It convinced us both to be way more picky. It also assured us that we both currently suck ass at outdoor climbing.
My Year of Top-roping pretty much backfired— except that I hiked a bunch, which was good for my ankle, and groveled on TR a bunch, which must have been good for my core, if not my own sense of humility. It made me realize what has always been true for me— that I should really just lead the routes I want to climb myself.
Let me explain.
I don’t think that top-roping is always the easier, safer, or best option. Okay, in certain cases, yes, it is. If the route is vertical or slabby, then top-roping is absolutely the right approach, especially if the alternative is not climbing at all because you’re too scared. Who wants to take a lead fall on a slab climb? Not me. However when you are on steep, overhanging routes or routes with any sort of roof in them, TRing actually ends up being super hard and annoying, unless your plan is to not fall. If you don’t fall, good for you, TR to your heart’s content. But if you’re like me, and turn into a floppy rag doll and fall all over the place, and aren’t close to where the rope goes through a quickdraw (9), or your belayer doesn’t take up the slack (10) tight enough, you end up swinging far away from the rock and sometimes you can’t pull back on. Or, the rope might get in the way of important hand holds ahead of you— and then you fall and end up swinging far away from the rock and you can’t pull back on. Plus, yarding back in when the rope is stretchy (all lead ropes are stretchy) and the rock is overhanging ends up being, well, kind of undignified. “Thrutchy” is the word for that. If you’re lucky, the route isn’t so steep that your belayer cannot walk in close for you to actually grab their end of the rope and pull yourself back up to a place where you can reach good holds. But even this is problematic because of, well, gravity and physics, and you often end up twirling around and getting all tangled up in the rope. Also undignified.
I experienced all of this indignity in my (Slightly Less Than A) Year of Top-roping. My argument is, when you are climbing steep routes, it’s better to lead them and learn to take the falls when the falls are likely to be all air. Or, like I said earlier, haul up a stick-clip, and clip your way up the climb. This is a somewhat-valuable technique for sport climbers to have, though only slightly more dignified than hang-dogging (11) on a top-rope.
But hey, it’s good to be humble.
So far this year, Brian and I have been climbing outdoors a few times already (yay us!), and I’ve been back on lead. I’ve climbed with our somewhat small stick-clip clipped to my harness sometimes, so that if I get freaked out and don’t want to climb above a bolt, I can stop and clip it from below (12). I practiced this method on a 5.10 that had a scary-weird move above a bolt, as well as on some easier 5.12s. Carrying a stick-clip on the gear loop of your harness is a bit awkward and definitely doesn’t look sexy (6), but it does what it needs to do— it offers a way for the wimpy to find courage— and who’s watching anyway, right?
Hopefully, carrying the stick-clip up a climb is a temporary crutch. As I continue to go outside and put routes up myself, I will become braver, and the need for me to take the stick-clip with me will end. I really, really hope so. I’ll remember that falling on lead is safe most of the time, and that I don’t need to be so scared. It’s all part of the process— even after more than 30 years of calling myself a climber, I’m still finding a lot of ways in which I need to become better and stronger.
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In the climbing gym, ropes are already set up at the top of each “lane.” Outside, one person has to go up the climb first, pulling the rope up with them. This is called leading, or lead climbing. The person leading clips the rope into protection (permanent bolts or removable gear) set into the rock every five feet or more, so if they fall, they won’t hit the ground. When they get to the top, they set up the rope in anchors so that the next climber can follow them up. Hence, top-rope. You can also sometimes set up an anchor and a top-rope from the top of the cliff, if it is accessible.
Yep, still referencing this injury.
Weekend warriors work all week and climb outside all weekend, usually camping as well. In early years we spent most weekends at the New River Gorge in WV, where there is a ton of sport (and trad) climbing.
When a lead climber falls above the safety gear in the rock, they are likely to fall 5 to 10 feet, or more— much farther than a top-rope fall. They won’t hit the ground, but falling still feels “unnatural.” And also, you might swing hard into the rock, which has the potential to mess up your ankles. Most lead-climbers have to get used to falling.
Redpoint means that the climber has practiced the route at least once before, probably falling a bunch, learns all the moves, and then successfully leads it without falling.
A stick that you use to clip a bolt you cannot reach. Hence, stick-clip. The stick-clip has a “clip” apparatus at the top of it where the quickdraw (9) fits. The rope is clipped into the bottom carabiner of the quickdraw. Then you can telescope the stick out to reach the bolt above you and clip the top carabiner of the draw into the bolt. The apparatus at the top of the stick should release the draw so you can lower the stick back down to yourself.
In the 1990s, we actually used big heavy sticks that we found on the ground outside, AKA, mini tree branches. We’d tape the top of the quickdraw to the stick, and lift it up to the bolt. Sometimes it would be difficult for the tape to “let go” of the draw, and we’d have to yank and yank. Sometimes two people were required to lift the “stick.”
Later we learned how to build a stick-clip out of paint poles or lightbulb poles that we’d attach a clamp to. Now they sell new-fangled lightweight poles which telescope down very short, so you can clip them to your harness and they don’t get much in the way.
Rope-gun is another, cooler name for the person leading the route.
There is a mental aspect to lead climbing that makes it feel harder. If you are a scaredy-cat, you have a weak lead-head. If you are brave or unafraid, you have a strong lead-head.
A loop of webbing with a carabiner on each end, one side for the bolt, one side for the rope.
How loose the rope is— if there is a lot of slack out, the rope is very loose and you will fall further.
I think the term hang-dogging is kind of obvious. Use your imagination.
There are a lot of moving parts for stick-clipping mid-route to be possible. Too much information to put here in a footnote. Don’t try this without learning how to do it ahead of time! Also, stick-clipping mid-route works 80% of the time. Sometimes the rock gets in the way so you can’t get around it to stick-clip the bolt.
