Longline
Upon inspection, the cracks are flared. What seemed like a web of tight fissures from two pitches below morphed into distressingly rounded seams as we approached, taunting our acidic forearms. I gloomily pondered the prospect of the crux, half-closed fingers gently teasing slack as Maya battled through steep terrain below. The previous pitch had been hard enough, and it was two grades easier than the next. As if to confirm my thoughts, Maya explodes away from the overhang with a shriek of fear, nine hundred metres of exposure swinging beneath her feet. Undeterred, she threads prussiks and swiftly ascends to vertical terrain and better holds, and my secret relief. Hauling a hanging partner is exhausting. Maya arrives at the belay, red-faced and grinning. “Hey, I was so scared!” She glances back down, and shivers. “The rope felt like it would cut in that sideways swing.” We both share a moment of thankfulness for the wonders of nylon sheaths. Vaporous cloud spirals below our feet, w
