My climbing career was over. Or at least my dreams of climbing hard were.
Dramatic but inevitably true – or so I believed. You see, I’d just made it through the upper crux of Livin’ A Hustler’s Dream at Nowra. I was at the last marginal shake out before the final few moves to the anchor. I felt strong – stronger than I ever had before. I rehearsed the final moves as I concentrated on my breath. The route was totally in the bag – the taste of victory already on my lips.
Except it wasn’t. A momentary loss of tension – a foot slip – and I’d failed. My cry of anguish cut through the crisp winter air.
I lowered down, certain it would go next shot.
After a good rest and some growing nerves – this would be my first 29 – I batmanned back
