Back on Crack

I gaze down from the top of a sheer, blinding granite slab. Fifty meters below me swell dances over rock cloaked in kelp, swirling and receding and gathering in a mesmerizing dance to peak and crest in white spirals. Vibrant green stalks and broad leaves sway just below the water’s surface as waves churn against the rock’s white dips and crevices, twisting and tugging kelp against aqua depths as water draws, surges and ebbs again in a mesmerizing, rhythmic, oxygen-rich frenzy.

We scramble, squeeze and press our way down the sea cliffs to narrow ledges just above the water, where yellow and black bands mark the tide line. Stripey orange crabs and snail shells crowd crevices beneath us. The sea heaves against our granite pedestal as we lay out our rope and begin climbing. Swell impacts boulders protruding from the water, catapulting spray high above our heads.

I find myself drawn into a semi-meditative state as I follow the familiar comfort of cracks and corners up Whitewater Wall. The water’s rhythmic surge and rush drown any other ambient noise, including my gear’s metallic clink against the rock. Verbal communication with my partner becomes impossible, containing me in a minute world.

When I set my anchor and tie myself to safety I turn toward the world once more. From my belay I gaze over an unbroken disc as sea meets horizon in a crisp, unbroken blue line, stretching into infinity against the sea’s rhythm as water rises and recedes beneath me.