Stand on top of Polish Pillar, that tall, slender,
topsy-turvy spire jutting up from the emerald water far to the north between home
and Ha Long Bay.
The Crew
• Luca, an Italian volunteer who speaks five languages
fluently and a bit of Arabic on the side. The guy climbs hard and has extensive
experience on the wall, both clipping bolts and placing gear. New rock releases
Luca’s inner eager puppy, and he’s been on a roll putting up first ascents in
the bay since his arrival.
• Liz, a badass volunteer out of Minnesota who’s been
traveling SE Asia and extended her stay with us from one month to two after the
earthquake nixed her plans to continue into Nepal. Our similar personalities
and philosophies on a lot of aspects in life have led to a fantastic
partnership, both as roommates and on the wall. The girl is most definitely my
new favorite climbing partner.
• Mike and Vince, two Canadian travelers along for the ride.
• Myself.
Amongst us, we compile a modgepodge of gear. We bring Luca’s
single rack of finger-to-hand sized cams and my armful of single- and double-length
slings. The goods also include three small coils of retired rope, ten
well-loved wires of varying sizes and brands and five or six even better-loved
cams of random sizes scavenged from the shop’s gear box.
Our basket boat takes us an hour and a half up through Lan
Ha Bay, rounding a slender point into the channel separating us from Ha Long
Bay. The pillar rises from a small cove just on the channel’s side. Swell rocks
the tiny boat as Liz and I gear up, yarding ourselves and our rope onto a tiny sloping
ledge to set up a belay, and I begin to climb.
I soon realize that it’s been close to a year since I
climbed in the traditional style, placing my own pieces of hardware into the
wall to clip into and protect myself as I continue upward. Although the
climbing itself is technically fairly easy, it’s also terrifying. I’m
well-versed in effective gear placement, but I’m working with unfamiliar
pieces on unfamiliar rock. And I know
how this rock is formed, dissolving from the inside out, and that it’s not
exactly the most intact material in the world. … Did I mention this spire in particular is forecasted to have toppled just about yesterday?
My route wanders into a section of white and tan blocks,
comprised of minerals left behind as water seepage evaporates. It’s the exact
same stuff that’s broken off in my hands before, leaving me on my butt on a
beach in front of several good-humored customers (I don’t think they realized
how damn close my head came to a boulder on the way down).
I waffle as I decide whether to place a cam to protect this
section of the route, weighing the potential consequences of prying off a block
in case of a fall (dropping a boulder on Liz, cutting my rope, dislodging who
knows how many more blocks barely held in place in front of me) against the
security of having a piece of protection placed just below me as I navigate the
upcoming minefield of choss.
I place the piece and pray.
As I move upward, the rock surrounding me rings hollow.
Ledges and points and bars, all easy to cling to and stand on, hold to the pillar
through crumbling connections. As I cautiously shift my weight across the rock,
my right foot swings abruptly into the air. The spur I’d been standing on on
bounces down the pillar and zings past Liz into a wash of emerald water below. I
take a moment to gather myself, tapping the rock supporting my left foot, and
it vibrates beneath me.
I promptly decide that climbing this pile of crumbling crap
in a remote bay off Vietnam’s north coast is pretty much as Stupid as it gets.
Ego be damned, I’m terrified and it’s time to downclimb.
Then I compare the crumbling rock I’ll have to navigate to retreat
against my potential traverse toward solid rock above me and rapidly reverse my
decision; at this point, continuing upward is actually the safer decision. A
body length up and two steps sideways bring me back onto blessedly sturdy black
limestone. Another ten feet up through seeping rock I sling a slender tree,
eliminating for good the possibility of hurtling myself into the sea on a misstep.
The rest of the route is relatively straightforward: I pull
over a couple of ledges and push through a pocket of brush, disturbing a nest
of fire ants in the process. My surroundings seem to drop away as I press
forward away from the insects. I collect an ancient quickdraw placed some years
earlier in the rock, clipping into the attached wire (booty!) before making a few airy steps up a final corner to build
a big, beautiful anchor within the shade of a big, beautiful tree hanging out over
the water thirty some-odd meters below.
__________
The weight of what we’re doing really falls on me as we
prepare to rappel back down to sea. Climbing is such a contentious endeavor in
this area– as much as we explain over and over and over again about climbing
safety and ropes and bolts and anchors, local police and tourism officials view
climbing as Very Dangerous. As evidenced through the regional fallout in boat
tourism after the South Korean ferry disaster last year, an accident in one
area can have far-reaching ramifications. Were an accident to occur on rope in
the Ha Long Bay area, it could very potentially result in a shut down of
climbing in the region and come down on Asia Outdoors as the face of outdoor
climbing in Vietnam.
I collaborate with Luca to build a bomber rappel anchor and
he heads down first. I then freak out a little bit inside when I realize I’m
now the most experienced member of the party, tasked with ensuring every person
is set up for a safe, long-ass, free-hanging return to the boat below. Convincing
a couple of guys I’ve just met who are having the time of their lives that I
need them to listen to me, and that rappelling from a giant natural spire is a little
different from working on a ropes course, proves a bit of a task. Although I
know what I’m doing, I still find myself feeling insecure.
Last week I led one of the scariest and proudest routes of
my life.
Been there, Done that, Never again.
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