The iconic film First Ascent ends with a monologue from Didier Berthod, the final line is what has influenced my summer on the cobra the most.
“(climbing) It makes me feel that I’ve lived, I see stuff, I eat sushi”.
In past years I’ve taken a sport-based approach to climbing, setting the goal of climbing the hardest I could, and celebrating the act of sending. This could be explained by growing up in competitive sports, the culture surrounding bouldering I was brought up within the past 6 years, and the drive to chase the feelings associated with sending and being celebrated by those around me. Ever since moving to Squamish, I’ve met numerous individuals who have shown me there is more to climbing than that, yet I was hesitant to dive any deeper.
In the past 2 years, I’ve worked through Squamish bouldering test pieces and added a few of my own. Ascents of these boulders felt special in the moment and short term after sending, but as time went on the feelings would fade, and I’d find myself seeking out the next big thing. Before I knew it, I’d find myself stuck in a loop, a hedonic treadmill of sorts. In the spring of 2024, I had finished most of my projects and became a bit jaded with the state of bouldering, my past relationship with it, and the values I’ve held. Grades started to mean less to me; the beauty of the line, the places I was in, and the challenge the natural world presented to me began to matter more. I wished to connect and learn from the lines I spent time under, instead of trying to conquer them. I found it challenging to continue growing in the busyness and familiarity of the boulders, so I put my pads away for the summer in exchange for a rack of gear. I was ready to dive into the deep end of trad climbing.
In May of 2023, I hiked up to the Cirque of the Uncrackables with my camcorder to film my friend Nat trying the Cobra Crack. I had seen the line before and belayed him on some earlier attempts, but that day was different. While filming from the sidelines, I watched my friend climb the crack with flawless execution, it was unlike anything I had seen before. The moment was really special, and I’m glad I got to be there to witness it. That day would stay with me for a while, eventually being the catalyst of my journey with the cobra, and unpredictably the end of my circle.
It was June of 2024 when I started hiking up to seriously try the cobra crack, accompanied by my friends Amity and Andrew. Having minimal trad climbing experience, their help was instrumental in the beginning of my journey. I’d share quite a few days on the route with them that month, first top roping and then moving on to pink pointing. By the end of the month, I was placing my gear and leading, but my crack techniques and mental confidence with the route were a long way off. With as strong of a bouldering base as I had, I somewhat expected things to go down fast up there, and I think others around me thought the same.
I ran into Nat sometime that month and had a good chat with him about the cobra, his main piece of advice helped me rethink my intentions in trying the route and reminded me of what it was really about.
“You only get to be trying the cobra for one period of your life, enjoy it while you can”
And so I stopped putting so much pressure on trying to finish things up and tried to squeeze every last drop out of my time up there. Every day I was at the cobra, I would try to appreciate the beauty of it, listen to what it had to teach me, and just enjoy being there. His words also made it clear that I wanted to allow the cobra to shape me into a better rock climber, not show that I had the skills to charm it. I slowly changed Nat’s advice into a personal vow to stop counting my sessions, and instead make the sessions count.
In trying to connect more with Didier's line at the end of First Ascent, I’d eat sushi the night before I’d have a cobra session. At first, it was because of how much I started to love sushi during my time on the West Coast, eventually, I convinced myself the large quantities of sashimi I began consuming were making me stronger, but in the end, I realized it was about the company I got to share it with. Each weekend I’d stop at Sakura Mart to grab a filet of sockeye salmon and albacore tuna. I’d invite different friends over for dinner each week and make sushi with them.
Learning new skills like how to slice the fish nicely, how to roll properly, and how to make good sushi rice were all enjoyable (and unpredictable) elements of the weekend. Sushi nights became a vessel for connecting with friends, learning new things, caring for them, and trying to improve. Now that it’s over, it’s easy to see the parallels between the meals and my time at the Cobra Crack. Ok, enough sushi, let’s get back to rock climbing.
By late July, I had improved my technical and mental skills to the point that I could climb through the iconic mono crux of the route nearly every try, yet I’d fall in the inversion sequence. Most days and attempts began to feel the same, something I think many cobra ascensionists have gone through on their journey. I felt at a crossroads, unsure if I had learned enough to move on, or if it was time to try my hardest to get it done. I was forced to sit on the sidelines for some time after tweaking my back deep water soloing, and a week later taking a ground fall that tweaked my ankle. I started to feel the pressure building, unsure if I would be able to finish the cobra up that season and be forced to wait through a long Squamish winter. The only thing I could do now was rest up, stare at photos and videos of the granite wave, and wait for my set to roll in.
The short recovery from my tweaks coincided with my family visiting town, and I was grateful they let me drag them up to the cirque. I chatted with them while taping up, although this time I opted to leave the end of my right pinky exposed in hopes of getting my crux lock better than normal. They sat quietly at the base of the route while I gave my try, the intro climbing felt no different than the others, but things changed when I arrived at the base of the overhang. Upon grabbing the first lock (with perfection) I locked into that perfect flow that all climbers aspire to be in. I don’t think I could’ve stopped mid-sequence if I wanted to, all I could hear in my head was “This is it, go for it”. I felt the crystal inside of the crux lock tear my skin as I entered it, I kicked my heel above my head, a drop of blood fell on my face, and a few moves later I was taking the iconic cobra whipper.
I had completely ripped the side of my pinky, meaning it was back to waiting. My family seemed a bit concerned about my flesh wound, so I brushed it off saying it was no big deal, and that I’d just have to wait until Wednesday to try again. We hiked down from the cirque and spent the next few days catching up while I tried my best to play tour guide (slightly hindered by a violent hangover from the Arc’teryx fest after parties).
Wednesday came after a blur of busyness and good times. I was feeling exhausted, my pinky skin had healed up for another try, but I was far from confident in my efforts. My tired state and lackluster conditions led me to not text my friend Tempei (who had been filming my efforts on the route that summer). In his place was my friend Hamish, who was kind enough to hike up my clunky camcorder, which hadn’t seen the cirque since Nat's ascent.
While waiting for Andrew to come and belay me, I taped up my pinky and got up on the fixed rope to fiddle with the crux lock, seeing how it felt. Things went south after pulling on it a few times and noticed some blood seeping through the tape. I lowered back to the ground with little confidence, Andrew showed up and I belayed first while contemplating if I should even try. By the time his burn was over, 6 of my friends showed up to try the nearby offwidths. I became pretty anxious about my effort, everyone knew I had been close on the route but with the odds stacked against me (or so I thought), I was unsure if I wanted to try with such a large group around.
By the time I was taped and racked up, I had found some stillness within me, only to lose it when I turned around and saw Hamish’s partner and her family hiding in the bushes. I got tense again but told them they might as well come over and watch the burn. I don’t think I had ever climbed the bottom section of the route while being so shaky and nervous, normally I try to stay as composed as possible and hold that feeling with me while approaching the steep climbing. I placed my gear before climbing down to the no-hands rest, re-racked the crux pieces onto the velcro loops I sewed months earlier, and closed my eyes to visualize what it could be like to climb the cobra.
I could practically feel the locks while rehearsing the sequence in my head, there was no fighting, only a connection with the cobra. I felt my set roll in, opened my eyes, and began climbing. It’s hard to describe that try, it kind of just happened, the effort felt passive and my mind was still.
I grabbed the jug at the end of the hard climbing, ripped the .3 off my harness, felt my forearm cramp while placing it, clipped fast and moved on. Some very easy but dirty rock climbing led me to the lip of the route where I topped out, untied and was greeted by an incredible view. All this time I knew I had been close, yet it still felt surreal when it happened. Upon returning to the ground, I saw Hamish standing exactly where I had been filming Nat 15 months prior, except this time I was on the other side of the lens and had just climbed the cobra crack.
Everyone rushed over to congratulate me, and I’m glad to have had so many friends there to share the moment with, although it certainly was overwhelming. After some celebrating I sat in the dirt and wrote my name on the Earlmaker 2000. I got to write my name below my friend Didier Berthod, who had been a source of inspiration for me all summer. His words at the end of First Ascent played back in my head, but instead, this time I twisted them into “I’ve seen stuff, and now we can eat sushi”. I felt like I had lived.
The Cobra Crack has been the most impactful journey in my climbing life, and I can’t wait to continue down the path it has led me to. This chapter taught me that it isn’t about the first ascent, the grade associated with a line, or even the act of sending. Climbing for me, is about interacting with inspiring rock formations that present me with a challenge that forces me to improve, as a climber but more mainly in life. More importantly, it’s about the people I share the spaces with, the memories we create together, and the places it takes us.
There are too many people to name and thank, so I’d like to give a general and massive thank you to everyone who I shared time, conversations or memories with around the Cobra Crack.
Climbing, it makes me feel that I’ve lived.
Read a couple times now. I appreciate the thoughts.
I discovered Substack and you with the careless podcast and I'm grateful for that: not only did it open up long-form content that I'd been looking for for a long time (compared to, say, Instagram, which I don't feel comfortable with), but I'm also fascinated by the depth of your relationship with climbing (like Aidan's, by the way)!
Thanks for sharing! Looking forwards to reading your future posts :)